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Turning the lights on

Sometime around age eight, I had a series of dreams. For three nights in a row, I dreamt of a van. This van was the large, cargo kind and each night it got closer to me and my friend. On the first night, the first dream, it parked down the street and just sat there as my friend and I played on her front porch. The second night, it was parked across the street and someone was watching us from inside. The third night, the van screeched into the driveway and people got out with guns and killed our families while we hid under the bed. Just a little scary for a young girl but, it wasn’t over. Day four, no dream, as I practiced my cartwheels and hand stands on our front lawn, my dad working on a car in the garage; a van, white, came from out of nowhere. It pulled in front of our house at a sharp angle and a man got out and quickly began to walk towards me. It felt like a dream, pun intended, the one where you need to scream but nothing comes out?… But something did come out, “Dad, dad!” As I took a couple steps backwards, the man stopped, then turned and quickly jumped back in the van and drove off. I truly believe, to this day and this very moment, if I didn’t have those dreams, I may not have been able to scream for my dad. I don’t think I would have even known what to do. For weeks we had patrol cars keeping watch on our home.

I’m the oldest of five kids and we are all within seven years of each other which made for a very busy, loud home. My parents are both brilliant individuals that “did it right”. They are both college graduates, the 4 year kind. They were married in the salt lake temple and they both have done extremely well in their careers. They stayed married for 27 years, admirable. During my childhood, we were expected to go to church every Sunday and attend all church activities during the week. I loved church and I loved going. I remember when I was about five, it was an early Sunday morning and as usual our house was alive and moving right along. All of us were busy getting ready for church, I wore a raggedy ann dress that I just adored and was so excited to wear. My parents suddenly started into an argument and as they say, “all hell broke loose.” They announced, very loudly, “we’re not going to church today.” But I was ready for church, so I snuck out of the house and went to my next door neighbors, asking for a ride. I was five. They didn’t ask a lot of questions and agreed to give me a ride, back then these things were ok and my neighbors were practically family anyway. My parents didn’t know until later but I didn’t get into any trouble. I felt peace at church, as if it was my home away from home. I mention this because, well because, as I’ve learned and continue to learn, there is a spiritual realm that guides us. Some of us have been gifted with the ability to see and feel this realm, some may call it a curse and there are oft times I feel this way myself. However, it has been my tether to truth in all things. Not to say I’ve never told a lie, I believe my parents have a list somewhere but I always ‘know’ the truth. You may be wondering where I’m going with all this, so let me tie it all up in a pretty bow. If not for my gifts, I would not be able to understand my son the way I do. I can literally feel his voices and I’ve even heard them. I am connected to his mind in a way that allows me to be able to respond and react in a way that ‘brings him back’. I know what you’re thinking, I must have the same ‘diagnosis’, it must be genetic. As a society, we like to give things we don’t understand, labels; for example, mental illness. I could google it real quick to see exactly when we coined this ‘term’ but I’m tempted to say it’s been within the last century. Before that, I think for the most part, people who exhibited any type of ‘odd’ behavior were either institutionalized or burned at the stake and this is taking it mildly. What we don’t understand, we fear.

There is another side and there are spirits that want to communicate with us. Some are good, some are not. We can’t see, hear or feel them with our physical selves so we have to, carefully, listen with our hearts.

I’ll tread lightly here because I realize how sensitive this subject is but this is my truth. When my son talks about the shadow people, I know exactly what he’s talking about and I can guide the conversation to a place of light and truth. I know because I’ve seen them too. I’ve battled them and won. However, it’s a continual battle, easier to navigate now but still a battle. You know that saying “there’s an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other”? This is a little more literal in my case and my sons.

It’s the things we can’t see, that we must explore. When you’re sad, can you take it out, set it on the table and look at it? Can you touch it? What about your anger or even happiness? Can you smell it? But you’ve been sad, right? So it exists…happiness, it is very real. Don’t we live for love? Psychics, mediums, sure, some are fake and out to make a buck but there are others who will show you over and over again, there’s much more to the story.

This was a tough post for me. Only my closest friends know this side of me because, I’ve been afraid to share. No more fear. I’ve been walking through these woods and it’s been dark and lonely. I’m turning the light on, all the lights and illuminating the truth. I have a lot of these stories and I hope to share them all. It’s all connected you know. There’s scripture that says something about how when we are in Gods countenance, it will be so overwhelming that we won’t be able to speak. Imagine if every question you’ve ever had could be answered in the blink of an eye, just imagine how that would feel. Now, think of your child on the spectrum, think of their heart…is it not the most beautiful thing you’ve ever ‘seen’?

Let’s start there.

Much love, Julie


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