Monday, May 2, 2016

Ladders and doors

Continued from Thanksgiving

On Saturday morning, December 5, I left our lake house to run some errands a half hour away. Bruce had chores around the house.  

It was one of those exceptionally beautiful mornings. Although December isn't my favorite month to be outside, when vegetation is dead and the weather is blustery, the lighting on this particular morning raised my awareness. The clouds were dramatic white and gray contrasts against the darker-than-usual blue sky. The majesty of the heavens caught me off guard. I was suddenly overwhelmed with joy and gratitude. I couldn't imagine my life could get any better than it was at that moment. I began praying aloud, thanking God for my wonderful life and family, and praying aloud for the protection of each one of them by name.

As I approached our driveway, I notice the ladder was propped against the house. Use of the ladder when home alone is contrary to our rules. If Bruce cleans gutters, I need to be there to secure the ladder, or call for help if needed. Holding my breath, I drove up the short, steep hill of our driveway, craning my neck to see the floor of the deck. I was relieved to NOT see my risk-taking husband sprawled unconscious beneath the ladder. I winced, remembering the "vision" in my closet. when I had assumed it was Roma I "saw" falling from a ladder. I had had too many thoughts about ladders lately. 

He was glad to see me home. He met me at the door to tell me excitedly that he had fallen off the ladder. As I silently rewound to my prayers of thanksgiving and protection for my family earlier that morning, Bruce babbled, marveling that he was spared injury.

"It was only by the grace of God, I wasn't hurt," he kept saying. He had climbed the ladder to the roof level, but the ladder was too upright and began to fall backwards, away from the house, with Bruce hanging on. He related that he had fallen in slow motion, and it was "miraculous" that he had the presence of mind to push the ladder away from himself, so it wouldn't hit him when he landed on the driveway. He rolled when he landed and only had a scuff on his shoulder. "It is only by the grace of God that I am not hurt," he repeated several times.

I scolded him for climbing the ladder while alone. I told him of my overwhelming gratitude while I was away that led me to praise God and also pray for the safety of my family. That moment of prayer, led obliviously by the Holy Spirit,  had been one of those moments of heightened awareness of God's almost tangible presence I experience sometimes. I wish there were more of those moments in my life: maybe there are, but I don't always recognize them. When I do,  I'm always overwhelmed by the sudden recognition of them. They are hard to describe. It's like at one moment I'm not even thinking about it, whatever "it" is, and the next moment, I'm surprised by profound understanding of it. And this sudden knowing always catches me by surprise.

I thought Bruce might be sore from his fifteen foot arc from roof to asphalt as the day progressed, but every reminder had him praising God he wasn't hurt, or worse.

At 4:30, I texted Roma, " How was your game? Who won?"

Roma: "We won!  I threw a touchdown!"

Me: "Great job! What was the score?"

Roma: "27 to 6."

I told Bruce to text him too, more often than usual, so he would know we were thinking of him, and so he would remember our trust in his word that he would behave himself.    

The next morning, I awoke as the early sun had ever so slightly begun to light the sky. I was startled by a green glow in the room.  As I lifted my head from my pillow, I was surprised by the morning light. I never noticed this before. Was it an optical illusion? I closed my eyes for a few seconds. When I opened them again, the room was still filled with green, almost like a gas. I rolled on my right side, facing the open door of the bathroom. Not only was the room glowing green, but the color now seemed to be concentrated on the open door of solid oak five feet in front of me. It was another heightened awareness moment. I started to wake Bruce to show him, but I doubted if he would see what I saw, so I dismissed the idea. Bruce is a light sleeper, and may not be able to go back to sleep, I reasoned. And he would try to give me a logical explanation of why the oak door was green. I didn't want him to try to explain it to me, as my scientist husband was likely to attempt. I just wanted to know if he saw what I saw so clearly.

I was puzzled.  Bright chartreuse. I had never noticed light was that color in the first moments of morning. I closed my eyes for a few minutes, thinking I might go back to sleep. Then I opened them again. The door was still glowing green in the early morning light. What in the world? I studied the edges of the door. The room glow faded and the green no longer extended beyond the edges of the door, but it was not like the oak door was painted that color. The color shifted and blurred at the edges of the door, like I looking through a gas vapor.

 I still do not know what it was all about. If a reader has some insight, I am eager to hear. A scientific explanation of the peculiar sight is impossible, in my humble opinion. 

Continue with The Sorrow

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