Messenger Between Worlds Page 16

  I read for a young man who dreamt of being a professional ballroom dancer. He had taken lessons since he was a small child and was now, in his mid-twenties, respected in the industry for his talent and optimism. He loved to teach and inspire others, yet he wasn’t following his path. Instead, he worked full time in an office—an office that lacked the creativity that he craved. He said that every morning when he got up, all he saw was black and a piece of him died inside—until he got on the dance floor and something inside of him stirred enough to get by until the next time. When asked why he wasn’t teaching or dancing professionally, his response was rife with excuses. A wife who really wanted him to have a “regular job.” A father who always wanted him to follow in his footsteps. Two babies to take care of. Now, the babies were a priority, I was with him on that, but as we continued the session, I could tell that while he was trying to please everybody else, he was losing himself. In the end, it would destroy his marriage, his family, and possibly his relationship with his father. We worked out a plan during that forty-five minutes, and I have to say that I held my breath to see if he would email me his family’s reaction. Two days later, I received an appointment request from a young lady with the same last name of the dancer and met her the next morning. Instead of being upset with me, she burst into tears of relief. She stated that she could feel the excitement in her husband’s voice and the rush of passion not only for the future, but in their relationship—something that had felt blocked for years—and that she wanted help with her life path, too.

  Our paths do change over time depending upon responsibilities, but our dreams never should.

  Ralph Waldo Emerson said it best when he was quoted as saying, “Always do what you are afraid to do.” Sometimes coming out of your comfort zone is enough to get the ball rolling. And if you feel as if you have lost your path, stop and reset your GPS for another destination. This is a journey, not a race, and sometimes when you think you are lost, you may actually have some wonderful experiences.

  One day I came home from work stressed and sad. A client was dealing with cancer, and I was helping her overcome some of her fears, but I could see the apprehension in her eyes and her soul as we spoke. The more we talked about the crossing-over process, a man in spirit stepped closer until I could make out his features and could give her full details of who it was. He clearly said “dad.” She began to cry as I relayed messages from the person she validated as her father, who had passed away over ten years earlier. He told her that he had been there to help her into the world and would be there just the same to help her on to the Other Side. We both sobbed during the reading, and as we said our goodbyes, I asked her to send me a sign when she was settled in over in heaven.

  Now, my dad and I live together and it isn’t always the best of times. Not the worst, either, but he is a traditional male. Think Archie Bunker, only not so grumpy. As long as dinner (and it has to be meat and potatoes and dessert) is on the table by five o’clock, life is okay. With my crazy work schedule, that hasn’t always been the case, and although my family adjusts fine, he doesn’t. I wasn’t even in the door when he began to nag me about being hungry and how he wanted dinner. He had also been looking all over for a sponge for the mop and wondered where I put it. I normally walk away quietly, but this time the stress of the day had gotten to me, and I had a temper tantrum—I yelled, screamed, and cried. Instead of Dad reacting with my heightened emotion as he usually does, he grabbed my hand, gave me a hug, and told me that I needed a break. That made me laugh, because it was his nagging that took me to the breaking point. My dad isn’t ever quick to say he is sorry, a problem my mom had for years (“Your father always has to be right!”), but I knew that simple hug was his way of apologizing, and I called it good enough.

  Often we get caught up in petty arguments and silly grudges. Instead of holding on to all of those emotions (which is the easy thing to do), let go. Release it all because each grudge only holds us back from progressing in life. Think of it as weights in your shoes. Shrug off the weight and walk freely. I was so happy that I did that with my dad.

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  thirty-one

  Hope: Full Circle

  It had been a horribly long day and I had been at my office for more than eight hours doing readings, conducting radio interviews, and finishing up a writing project. An hour previously I had seen that there was about an inch of snow on top of my car and I moaned. I hated driving in the snow, especially at nighttime. All I wanted was to get home, jump into a hot shower, throw on some flannel PJs and fuzzy socks, and spend some time with my kids before I had to tuck them into bed. Just as I went to shut the final light off, there was a gentle knock on the door. Expecting it to be my landlord or one of my office mates, I was more than surprised to see a young lady standing there. She had mascara-filled tears streaming down her face. Her outfit was a gray sweatshirt, pajama bottoms, and bare feet.

  “I … tried … to find you,” she said, gasping for air between sobs. “I called where you worked before and they told me you didn’t work there, and they didn’t know where you were anymore and … I found you.”

  Turning the lights back on, I gently guided her to the couch and handed her some tissues. It wasn’t until after she wiped her eyes that I recognized her. Her name was Hope. Several years back, she and her grandma had come to the shop where I had been reading. She was one of those tough-skinned teenagers who didn’t much want to listen to what I had to say, but most of that tough energy was fear. Her mother had been an addict and left her with her grandmother when she was only five years old. When I was reading for her, I had seen badges all over her energy, which to me represented judicial problems. I offered the warning, with more specifics, but she merely shrugged and smirked at me. I had also read for her grandma, Dottie, who had been diagnosed with lung cancer, but didn’t much wish to quit smoking or accept the treatment. It didn’t take a psychic to see what the end result of that would be.

  “She’s gone, Kristy,” Hope sobbed. “She’s gone.”

  There was an energy that sparkled next to Hope, and I was certain that it was her grandmother. The sparkle, in lieu of an apparition, was my indicator that her grandmother had just passed within the last twenty-four hours. You see, as much as I do see those that have crossed, along with those who are stuck between worlds, the timing is so very important. For the first six months, I tend to only get a sparkle of energy and communication through guides, or what can only be described as telepathy in which I hear the communication in my head. It takes an awful lot of energy for a spirit to manifest into anything larger than that. Those six months (sometimes more) on the Other Side is what I refer to as Angel Boot Camp, where they get their orders, choose their housing, reunite with loved ones over there, etc. And so when scheduling a reading with any medium, it’s beneficial to wait at least six months (if not a whole year) after they pass, so that the loved one on the Other Side is strong enough to last an entire session. They can visit you, but you may not feel them until their energy strengthens. The dream state is often easier for them to come through because you are meeting them in the middle, so to speak. So, there was Hope’s grandmother next to her. I could feel that she was concerned, and Hope’s spirit guide came through and told me that she was contemplating suicide, thus the pajamas. This wasn’t the first time that I had someone show up in pajamas contemplating suicide. One time, the gentleman actually had a gun with him—a danger of my occupation, I suppose. I didn’t sense danger with Hope, only grief and guilt. I had felt the exact same with Dottie. Dottie was torn between which world she should be in, wanting so badly to be with her loved ones, but scared to leave Hope. And somehow, someway, Dottie led her to my office.

  Hope confessed to me all of the legal trouble she was in after our initial session—the prediction that I saw had come true. Instead of learning the lesson, she instead was angry at the legal system, angry at her mother for abandoning her, and angry at her grandmother for
not stopping it. After almost two hours of listening to her and giving her my impressions, I excused myself to attempt to make some late-night phone calls in order to contact those who might help her along her path. After the fourth call, I peeked over to find that Hope had fallen asleep. I called my husband and told him that I would be late, really late. Covering her with a blanket, I turned off most of the lights and closed my eyes. The earlier vision of a hot shower and fuzzy socks became a distant memory and something that didn’t seem very important anymore.

  Hope woke up several times, sobbing and falling asleep again. Each time, I could feel the pain in Dottie’s energy. Her sparkle dimmed. It was several hours later that the young girl woke up. Looking embarrassed, she quickly grabbed her purse to go. I pulled her back to talk about allowing Dottie to leave, allowing her to cross where she could help instead of being stuck. Hope plopped back on the couch and poured her heart out. She spoke of the good and the bad, but a whole lot of ugly, and then she asked Dottie for forgiveness. The light grew brighter around Hope, to the point that she could actually feel the temperature difference. She knew, without me having to explain, that her grandmother was going to be with her no matter what. The light grew dim, little by little, and then it was gone (not as dramatic as The Ghost Whisperer, mind you). We both sobbed, as we knew Dottie had crossed.

  It was at least a year later, when I was walking through a retail store, that I heard my name called. Turning around, I saw was a gorgeous young lady, dressed in a business suit and carrying a newborn.

  “Kristy, meet Dahlia.” The young lady handed me the fair-haired baby girl.

  “Your grandmother’s favorite flower,” I said, tearing up.

  Hope nodded and smiled with pride. “I’m working, going to school, in a great relationship, and loving being a mom. I honestly never thought I would get here.”

  “Amazing what happens when you allow someone to help, huh?” I grinned, referring to her letting her grandma assist her from the Other Side.

  I oohed and aahed over the gorgeous baby and then hugged Hope before we said our goodbyes. She finally had found the meaning of her name: Hope.

  Oftentimes we get so caught up in our own pride and stubbornness that we forget that not only are there people on this side, but there are people on the Other Side who can help us. We just have to ask.

  So, I hope you find some hope in this true story. Whether you are mourning a loved one, going through a financial difficulty, in an unhappy relationship or a job you hate, or whatever, know that all you have to do is ask for assistance. And have hope.

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  thirty-two

  Christmas Socks

  Christmas was a magical time fo me growing up, as it was for most kids, but our household was also filled with a lot of arguing over silly things. Two headstrong parents made it that way.

  Every single year, my parents would get into a major argument while decorating the Christmas tree. I can’t tell you how many times the tree was thrown out to the curb, ornaments and all, because my dad couldn’t get the lights to work. Mom would cry, and I would try to mediate while my brother ran out to gather what he could before the ornaments were stolen. Our next-door neighbor, Aunt Ernie, would yell, asking my parents to stop arguing. I can laugh at the antics now, but back then it was near tragic, or at least I thought it was being all of eight years old.

  The holiday season meant time off of school, sledding, family, and new socks. Yes, new socks. Our next-door neighbor, Aunt Ernie, was an ornery redhead who didn’t much like women, but put a man in front of her, and she glowed and flirted. Aunt Ernie also pretended that she didn’t like kids, yet we could see through her hard façade, especially when she would hand us candy and tell us to hide it, or when she would set up summertime talent shows just to see the neighborhood kids sing and dance. Or when she helped us make lemonade and then became our biggest customer. Aunt Ernie had a heart of gold and a spiked tongue. She worked long hours at the five-and-dime store’s cafeteria and let me tell you, she made a dynamite pulled pork sandwich.

  Every Christmas Eve, Aunt Ernie would dress in her stained, shiny, faux silk shirt and polyester pants and come over with a pile of gaudy decorated boxes. Each one had a handmade bow and an array of ornaments tied on—none of which anybody would ever think of putting on their tree. The gift inside the box was always the same: socks. As kids, we thought it was the most ridiculous gift ever, but my mom would tell us that one day we would miss them. It sounded like the silliest thing to my sister, brother, and me. Why would we ever miss the annual socks?

  When I was twenty years old, I moved out of my childhood home and married my high school sweetheart, during what I truly felt was a magical season: Christmas.

  Instead of Aunt Ernie’s normal modest attire, the seventy-something aunt by heart showed up at the church in a beautiful emerald velvet gown with a green bow in her auburn hair. She wore the biggest smile on her face, so much that she shined. Her wedding gift to us was—socks.

  Aunt Ernie didn’t trust the medical community and so when she started to feel ill she ignored it, despite our persistence. Not long after my wedding, Aunt Ernie crossed over to be with Uncle Bill, her husband. It has been years since I thought of that annual gift. Not out of ungratefulness, but I am so emotional that perhaps something so tender to me was best left filed in my memory bank.

  There was a time when I felt as if I had strayed off my path. I felt as if I was missing something that I should’ve been doing and kept seeing angels’ wings whenever I meditated. I wasn’t so sure what the significance of that was, but I decided to ask for more validation and patiently waited.

  And then an elderly lady came in for a reading. Her energy reminded me of my Aunt Ernie, and her husband in spirit who came through reminded me of Uncle Bill. I honestly didn’t think she liked her reading. She was very cross with me, and she neither validated nor invalidated anything I had to say; she only scowled. It was a reading that exhausted me because there was no direction.

  A few days after the reading, I went into the office on my off day and was retrieving my mail when our mail carrier handed me a small package. He said that a lady had dropped it off, and he wasn’t sure how he was going to fit it in my box, so the timing was good.

  The box was ornately decorated with a large glittery silver bell. I took it to my office and decided to unwrap it right then and there. Inside was a note that just said “Thank You” from the client I didn’t think I had impressed. Underneath the tissue paper was a gift—a pair of socks with angels on them. My Christmas socks. My sign. I picked up my phone to call her with a return Thank You, only to get a message that the number was no longer in service.

  Everybody comes into our life for a reason and, by paying attention to those who we find along our life journey—even the ornery ones—it only betters our life. Was this client an earth angel or perhaps the spirit of my Aunt Ernie? It could’ve been both, or neither, but instead of feeling sad about the memory of my annual socks, I was left feeling grateful and thanked Aunt Ernie for coming through with validation.

  If you are feeling as if you are missing your path, ask your guides and angels for validation and then trust that they will help lead you back on the path. Maybe things aren’t working out because it is part of the path—not the final goal. Stay focused on the outcome and not how you think it will happen. Sometimes the path might not feel right, but it is the final destination that matters most of all. Embrace the fact that you are being guided. Your resistance is what causes the frustration and roadblocks. Let go. Release. Look past the weeds and uncertainty with the knowing that if you simply turn on the Angelic GPS, the way will be discovered.

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  thirty-three

  Heart to Heart

  Sitting down at the small table at the bookstore, I removed my laptop from its carrier and sighed in comfort. I had several pending projects that were pressing and worki
ng from home just wasn’t cutting it. I could’ve gone to my office, but that felt like work, and here, well, I could sip a Frappuccino and take in the energy of my favorite thing—books.

  I ordered a Caramel Frappuccino (no lectures, please) from the young girl at the counter. She told me that she would bring it out for me. One thing that I have to tell you is that no matter where I go, I can’t shut down the spirits. I can try to ignore them, but they are there. Standing next to the barista was a spirit that looked like the girl’s grandfather. He stood tall, with gray hair and mischievous green eyes. His spirit felt fresh, as if he had just recently crossed over, and he had a worried look on his face. I smiled at him, he smiled back (yes, they know when I am there, too!), and I sat back down at my table. I had just started to type out something witty, or at least I so, when the girl came over with my drink. Her mood was melancholy, but she was doing a very good job pretending to be all right.

  “Are you okay?” I asked her.

  She forced a smile and nodded, tears filling her eyes.

  “Want to talk about it?”

  She shook her head. “I’m probably just sleep deprived. Or hormonal,” she said, laughing. Moving to the table next to me, she started to clean.

  I looked over at her grandfather, who gestured for me to keep talking to her. A pushy man, I thought. I rarely intervene, but I didn’t feel like being haunted by anybody after I left, so I thought it best to get this done with now.