I plant seeds – seeds of hope, inspiration, motivation, praise, encouragement to do daily acts of kindness. Most times I never get to see them sprout, grow, or be harvested. I never see the fruits of my labor.
Over the years I have wondered what has happened to my seeds. Did they grow, or wither away with society’s condemnation of having a different view of your world. Your soul saw through pure eyes, why couldn’t others.
Perhaps you wanted to be an artist because you saw the world very differently than the black and white it is painted in. You wanted to add color, change the picture perhaps, add something different – create a world more pleasing, one you wanted to live in.
You wanted to be a writer, but your teachers told you no one would want to read what you wrote. After all, who were you to think you were worthy of having something to say that could make a difference in someone else’s life.
You knew you were different – you could hear the voices of those who had passed into the spirit world. They weren’t the only voices you heard though – everything in nature and the animals all communicated with you. Those who didn’t understand were afraid of you, even your own mother. You knew you had spiritual gifts; how could you ever use them and feel safe again?
Or perhaps you wanted to be a dolphin trainer and your mother told you without bringing up your grades you would never make it into college. Little did your mother know that you were being bullied for your good grades by so called “friends”, so you stopped working for your dream. I am so sorry I didn’t know until it was too late. I only saw you as a brilliant student and daughter. I didn’t understand why you were failing when your dream was so strong. Forgive me please. You would have made an exceptional dolphin trainer with your own gifts of spirit.
It bothered me that I couldn’t see how my words helped others. Then one day, when I was at my lowest, God told me that I was just the “planter.” That s/he had sent others to do the watering, weeding, pruning … I felt better knowing the seeds were attended to and all my work was not in vain.
The years went by, and I forgot about planting seeds, who was listening anyway. I moved through this black & white world, afraid to be “me.” I felt I was a failure. I had failed the seeds, failed myself, failed my daughter, failed those in the spirit world wanting me to write their stories… It would take a number of years to pass and a cancer diagnosis in 2007 to get my attention.
As I was sitting on a beach in Cape Cod, counting the waves and seeking change and healing, I realized communicating with the world of spirit and sharing those messages (planting seeds) with others must be a way back to living the life I was meant to live. I listened.
I painted a new world full of colors, I added daisies and cosmos, the wind flower to every street corner. I listened intently to the spirit children who had come through with their one, two, three, four, five, six … “Writer, are you there?” It is then I know the spirit children have brought someone for me to write their story.
It would be through my books of those stories (and my own) that I would hear from others how my words had made a difference in their own life. I’ve written six books and it is this last book: When Spirits Speak: A Gathering of Heroes – Stories of U.S. Soldiers – the Cost of Freedom (2nd Edition – 10th Anniversary) that I have seen the fruit of my labors, getting cards and letters from people I don’t even know, seeds I planted along my way.
My mother, my teachers, those who didn’t believe in me, they didn’t have a clue about the effect my words would have on others along the way. I suspect I didn’t always recognize those who followed my planting, watering, weeding, and pruning, nor did I know what words they shared with me. Without them I would not have grown into who I am today. They would be an integral part of changing my own world, helping me to grow. Thank you to those who helped me along the way.
I may just be a seed planter, but today I received the most amazing validation of my right to be a writer – I know who I am and what I am meant to do. I guess someone must have planted me when I wasn’t looking. Plant seeds wherever you go, you never know how those words will help another person change their life.
How many of you have thought about your ancestors? How many generations back have you researched? I can go back 10 generations, and then it gets muddy.
The salty wind whipped through my hair and the rhythmic crash of waves against the shore were the lullabies of my childhood.
Looking back at my life this time, I realized that my dream had come true. I was working with Native American children and sharing my passion and skills with them. I was making a difference in their lives, and they were making a difference in mine.
Chino Valley, Arizona
info@whenspiritsspeak.com