On Christmas Eve, 2016, a familiar experience with Jesus occurred, yet its deeper meaning went unrecognized until days later.
Jesus was not an active part of my childhood. My father had pointed out that in our church the cross was simple and behind the minister’s pulpit, not in the chancel. He once described a neighbor’s religion as “the opiate of the masses.” Raised as a Lutheran, he was resolved that his children would have the freedom to choose their own beliefs, and years later, I was grateful to have no ties to break to move my beliefs elsewhere.
Then, at forty-seven, without having asked for occult abilities to enter my life, they did. It was months before I recognized that my inner visions and inner words had a name, for I experienced them in innocence and only belatedly shared them with one person. It was through inner vision that Jesus then entered my life, playing roles in scenes that were not Biblical and neither were they realistic, but they were evoking my belief in Him, and I was wholly open with wonder. In A Flower for God I write of those details that brought me into the fold of His Love.
Still curious to me is that it was after Meher Baba had become a part of my life, in January 1997, that I had the sweetest experience with Jesus. It was beyond my imagination then, and still I carry a wisp of unbelievability now, but it settled Him permanently into my heart, and simultaneously gave me permission to move my loyalty to Meher Baba.
A now familiar experience with Jesus had begun after I thought that I was fully focused on Meher Baba. But that would change. There was a first time driving, when I had to react so swiftly for safety that my behavior had preceded thought. In maneuvering my car, I had heard, “Jesus”—it was my voice, as if spoken through me, not by me—His name a lingering comfort as my heartbeat quieted and slowed to normal.
On this Christmas Eve, I had invited a friend to join me for the caroling. I parked in my customary place of years, under a tree where there was space for several motorbikes, as well. Returning, joyful with the outpouring of many voices, we got into the car, and I started to back up. A “thunk” brought forth my exclamation, “Jesus.” We were immediately out our doors, and I moved to the back, fearful. A motorbike was parked horizontally behind my car. “Extraordinary!” I thought.
Several days later, this occurrence brought an epiphany. No driver would consciously park a motorbike directly behind my car; it had been parked there by a decision beyond my understanding. On the eve of the religious date of the birth of Jesus, He got my attention, with no physical harm done, to let me know that He is still watching over me.
My realization is, “When one is ready to accept that within us is far more guidance and help—whether religious, spiritual, energetic, angelic, or of other forms—we open our receptivity to a spectrum beyond our consciousness.”
Jesus was not an active part of my childhood. My father had pointed out that in our church the cross was simple and behind the minister’s pulpit, not in the chancel. He once described a neighbor’s religion as “the opiate of the masses.” Raised as a Lutheran, he was resolved that his children would have the freedom to choose their own beliefs, and years later, I was grateful to have no ties to break to move my beliefs elsewhere.
Then, at forty-seven, without having asked for occult abilities to enter my life, they did. It was months before I recognized that my inner visions and inner words had a name, for I experienced them in innocence and only belatedly shared them with one person. It was through inner vision that Jesus then entered my life, playing roles in scenes that were not Biblical and neither were they realistic, but they were evoking my belief in Him, and I was wholly open with wonder. In A Flower for God I write of those details that brought me into the fold of His Love.
Still curious to me is that it was after Meher Baba had become a part of my life, in January 1997, that I had the sweetest experience with Jesus. It was beyond my imagination then, and still I carry a wisp of unbelievability now, but it settled Him permanently into my heart, and simultaneously gave me permission to move my loyalty to Meher Baba.
A now familiar experience with Jesus had begun after I thought that I was fully focused on Meher Baba. But that would change. There was a first time driving, when I had to react so swiftly for safety that my behavior had preceded thought. In maneuvering my car, I had heard, “Jesus”—it was my voice, as if spoken through me, not by me—His name a lingering comfort as my heartbeat quieted and slowed to normal.
On this Christmas Eve, I had invited a friend to join me for the caroling. I parked in my customary place of years, under a tree where there was space for several motorbikes, as well. Returning, joyful with the outpouring of many voices, we got into the car, and I started to back up. A “thunk” brought forth my exclamation, “Jesus.” We were immediately out our doors, and I moved to the back, fearful. A motorbike was parked horizontally behind my car. “Extraordinary!” I thought.
Several days later, this occurrence brought an epiphany. No driver would consciously park a motorbike directly behind my car; it had been parked there by a decision beyond my understanding. On the eve of the religious date of the birth of Jesus, He got my attention, with no physical harm done, to let me know that He is still watching over me.
My realization is, “When one is ready to accept that within us is far more guidance and help—whether religious, spiritual, energetic, angelic, or of other forms—we open our receptivity to a spectrum beyond our consciousness.”