“I do believe in an everyday sort of magic — the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we’re alone.”
~ Charles de Lint
Divine Guidance. Signs. Help. Answers to prayers. Last-minute reprieves. Dramatic turn-arounds. Miracles. Most of us have asked for them at one time or another, but are we actually heard? Can we really reach out like that and expect things to change?
I believe that the answer is yes. But it is useful to understand the process. Our job is not only to ask. (I’ve written about that process here: Asking for a Sign) Our job is also to be receptive to answers, no matter what they look like, or how they come to us. Our job is to ACT on those answers and synchronicities. Our job is to know that we need to trust in Divine Timing. Especially when what’s happening in our lives is not going to OUR timing – the timing we want for ourselves and our plans and dreams.
Let me explain…
Back in November 2012,I stood on a moonlit beach in Thailand thinking of a particular set of circumstances in my life. My beloved Nana had just died, and I would not make it home for her funeral. And earlier that day, when I still suffered from congestive heart failure, I’d been crippled with severe chest pain. The pain had gone, but it had left me frightened and bemused. Once again I’d hit a wall with my health, and no matter what I’d tried (and the list was exhaustive) nothing was working. I realised I had reached my limit. No matter what I did, I was dragging myself through life, not enjoying it at all, but trying my best. For my husband. For my friends. For my clients. Every day was a struggle. And every day I was getting worse. Again.
I missed my Nana. I felt like more of my cheer squad was now in heaven than down here on earth.
My deteriorating health was impacting my marriage, my work, my very ability to draw breath. I knew in my heart I couldn’t go on like this. I didn’t have it in me any more. I’d found the end of the line. I stood there on that beach, oblivious to the beauty, with tears streaming down my face and I said, “Do you know what, God? I just can’t do this anymore. I’m done.”
I was ready to go home.
I meant it. I said what was in my heart. There was no neediness. No wanting or hoping. So it wasn’t really a prayer, or even a request for help. I just said it how it was. A definitive statement without expectation. I was squared away with dying. In fact, I fully expected that death was where I was heading. I was okay with that, sad as I would be to leave my husband. I was so very tired. I had no fight left in the tank. I really was done. I turned on my heel, went back to our room, and then forgot all about this seemingly one-sided conversation in the days ahead.
Less than a week later, I bumped into a friend in Bangkok who told me that she’d been having thyroid problems. She mentioned that it could sometimes cause chest pain.
We talked some more…
Oh, she said. You need desiccated pig thyroid, not that other stuff you’re on. There aren’t too many doctors back in Australia who prescribe it, but there’s one in Brisbane. And she gave me his name.
A few days later I was back in Brisbane, and I called that number. By some miracle I ended up with an immediate appointment with a doctor who usually took a year to see. In fact, I’d tried to see him three times during the past ten years and been unable to get an appointment at all. But he was in his office, it was a Friday afternoon, his secretary had gone home with the flu, and he’d just had his last appointment of the day cancel. Could I come in straight away?
I could, and I did.
Before I saw him I had to fill in a very long and exacting health history. Standard procedure for doctors who think outside the square.
I wrote it all down. All thirty years of it. Something I hadn’t bothered to do for a long time.
He called my name and I went into his office.
I looked around at the pictures and the box of toys on the floor while he read my history. It took a very long time.
Finally, he looked up.
“This is textbook Lyme Disease,” he said. “Ever been tested for it?”
I’d never even heard of it.
He gave me forms so I could send off some blood samples, and that was the day I began to get my life back.
He was right. I did have Lyme Disease. I told my sister. She stumbled upon some information concerning another doctor who was about to open a new clinic, specifically treating this illness. I was one of the first patients to be seen.
These two physicians changed the course of my trajectory forever.
Now I am healing.
One day I fully expect to be well, whatever that may look like.
Why am I telling you this?
Because I know that somewhere, right now, someone is reading this who needs to know that they are not alone. That our thoughts and prayers are heard. That answers sometimes come from left field, and in manners that we could never have imagined.
Sometimes we need to ask for help. Sometimes we need to surrender.
And it usually doesn’t happen in the timing we’d hoped for.
…wherever you are at, know that miracles are possible.
Change is possible.
Help is possible.
Healing is possible.
And you are worthy of all these things.
Sending you much love, and holding a candle for you in my heart, Nicole xx