TheBanyanTree: (no subject)

[Robin Tennant-Wood]

That's a wonderful story ... taking a leap into the unknown and suddenly
discovering you have wings takes courage and love and your story is full of
both!

cheers

Robin

On 11 December 2016 at 12:13, Indiglow <indiglow at sbcglobal.net> wrote:

> I'm sorry - so old, tired, addlepated and confused - I thought the
> original was Kitty's post and sent her kudos.  The belong to you, my
> beloved!  You are so the epitome of the spirit of Christ in the world, and
> I love, love, love how your spirit and your openness and willingness to
> hear the voice of God leads you, and you follow, and thus make the world a
> better, brighter place.  For the non-believers here, your mileage may vary.
> but I will hold tight to the view that the world could use a few more
> people like Pat!J
>
>
>       From: Pat M <ms.pat.martin at gmail.com>
>  To: thebanyantree at remsset.com
>  Sent: Saturday, December 10, 2016 2:15 PM
>  Subject: TheBanyanTree: (no subject)
>
> The Gift in Giving
>
>
>
> Late summer of this year, I had a most unusual experience. I walk my dog
> Rascal daily, almost always in winding trails in the woods, and usually go
> with a friend. Rather than sit over a pot of tea, I use this time to
> connect while getting some exercise and enjoying the outdoors. There’s
> nothing more fulfilling than someone trusting me to share their feelings
> with, and nothing better than knowing the person I am­­­ with can be told
> anything – the good and bad in my life, the hurts and the joys – and that I
> am accepted.
>
> On this particular day, however, all of my walking buddies were either
> occupied or out of town and so I set out on my own, driving towards one of
> my favourite trails.  En route one passes a road blocked to vehicular
> traffic that I seldom walk. In my estimation, a flat, straight road can’t
> compare to the twists and turns, ups and downs of the narrow mossy trails I
> prefer.
>
> That day, for reasons unknown, I felt compelled to stop and walk what I
> consider that rather boring route. Rascal is blind but one of the happiest
> and most loving of creatures I have ever kn­­­own. He is content wherever
> we walk, and so we set out, he prancing along and I deep in reflective
> thought, enjoying the solitude and silence.
>
> After some time I saw a single figure on a bicycle coming towards me and as
> it neared I recognized Sandy (name changed), a woman I’d met at the local
> dog park on a few occasions. We’d only ever spoken a few words to each
> other, but she slowed and stopped.
>
> “How are you?” I asked.
>
> “I’m okay,” she said, but something alerted me her words were untrue. More
> intuitive than most, I have an uncanny ability to sense others’ emotions.
> As we engaged in some light chitchat, I knew, just knew, something was
> amiss, and I felt compelled to address it.
>
>  “Are you feeling sick? I can hear something in your voice.”
>
> “Why are men such assholes?” she erupted, and then burst into loud
> anguished sobs.
>
> Immediately, I went to her and held her. After a while, she regained
> control and began to tell me of her relationship and how much it was
> hurting her.
>
> “He doesn’t hit me but he torments me, continually. I need to get out.”
>
> Her unhappiness poured out of her, words tumbling over each other until
> they again dissolved into long heart-rending wails.
>
> This time I asked if I could hug her (as I should have done initially).
>
> “Please do,” she said and I wrapped my arms around her, comforting her as
> best I could. When her sobs subsided, I told her my story.
>
> I had been in her position.
>
> “I told myself that once my daughter left home, I would leave, but when it
> happened, I couldn’t go; I was afraid of my husband’s anger. It took me
> another 2 or 3 years before I found the courage to do it,” I confided.
>
> “I’m scared. I know how difficult he’s going to make it.”
>
> “I was scared too, but I did it and so can you.” I paused, evaluating
> whether to sugar-coat the truth or tell it like it is. I opted for the
> bitter pill.
>
> “It’s not going to be easy but you will get through it, and you’ll feel so
> much better. I used to carry a terrible feeling in my stomach all the time;
> I was constantly upset. It’s gone now. Life is short; there isn’t much time
> (like me, she is retired)­­­­­­­­­­­­. If you want any happiness you’ve got
> to do it.”
>
> “Do you ever wish you’d done it sooner?” she asked.
>
> “Yes, I do, but mostly I am just filled with gratitude that I was able to
> do it at all. My life changed for the better. I’m happy now.”
>
> Sandy dabbed her eyes with a tissue and blew her nose noisily.
>
> “I wasn’t planning on walking this trail today. I believe we were meant to
> meet,” I said with wonder.
>
> “Neither was I,” she said. “I think you’re right.”
>
> We stood in silence. Something had led both of us to discard our plans so
> that we both traveled that road at the same time. How did she know she
> could be her authentic self with me, and reveal her total and utter misery,
> and that I would accept her? How did I know the right words to soothe her?
>
> Her tense face relaxed for a moment.
>
> “Thank you so much Pat,” she said. “I always knew you were a good person.”
>
> “You can do it!”
>
> Our meeting touched me deeply; I live for moments like that when I feel I
> have made a positive difference in someone’s life.  For the rest of the
> walk I marveled at our chance meeting.
>
> A few days later, we ran into each other at the dog park. I arrived just as
> she was getting in her car to leave. The usual group of dog owners and dogs
> congregated nearby, and we had no privacy to speak. Our gaze met and held.
>
> “I have to go,” she said apologetically.
>
> “You can do it.” I whispered.
>
> I didn’t see her after that, and summer gave way to fall. I didn’t know how
> to contact her and couldn’t help but wonder how she was doing.
>
> Nearly four months later, I stood at the till in Staples when out of the
> corner of my eye I saw her make a beeline towards me – Sandy.
>
> “I’ve been thinking of you and wanted to contact you but I didn’t know how
> to. You saved my life that day you know,” she said.
>
> She grabbed me and gave me a long, tight hug, seemingly oblivious to
> everyone around us.
>
> Still holding my shoulders, she backed up and stared into my eyes.
>
> “I’m alive today because of you – seriously. Thank you! Thank you! Thank
> you!”
>
> I saw strength in her that hadn’t been there before.
>
> “I’ve left him and I’ve started going to AA. I’m two months sober and I
> have support now. It’s not easy but I’m doing it.”
>
> “Good for you! I’m so happy to hear that! Thank you.”
>
> “No, thank you!”  ­­
>
> Addictions run rampant in my family and I shared that with her.
>
> “So you understand then.”
>
> “Yes, I do.”
>
>  “Lots of good karma coming your way!”
>
>  She smiled, patted my shoulder once more, and then left to do her
> shopping.just as the clerk finished my transaction Sandy returned. She
> hugged me and thanked me again.
>
> “Lots of good karma coming your way,” she said.
>
> There is no doubt that Sandy had desperately needed to hear my words that
> day in the forest, and they had inspired her to take action. And I was
> given a gift too, the privilege of helping another find her way through the
> twists and turns, ups and downs of this winding road called life.
>
>
>


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