A course in miracles

Several years ago I had a bug up my butt to purchase a manual on changing your thoughts. As a spokewoman for the self help literature movement (haha), when I paid $45 for a book I knew that I was all in. I even formed a coalition of women to join me in my crusade, meaning I convinced others to buy this book and study it with me.

But it is a giant book and I lost motivation almost as soon as I had it. Through these years that have passed I’ve returned more than a few times for short bursts, but I always stop. The day after we lost Isaac it was one of the books I grabbed when I remembered that in anthroposophy (a spiritual study I tinker in), you could read a spirit into the light– so I grabbed a pile of esoteric texts, and Isaac’s senior photo proof book, and including my bible, headed back to Isaacs old fort, climbed into the balcony, and began to read to him. I had asked all those who had held vigil with me over the last 24 hrs to let me be and not let anyone back. My dear friend Chris broke through their little barriers and brought me an apple. Found me bawling, staring into Isaacs eyes in the proof book, and it was my first laugh. It was awesome, actually.

After last weeks series of mysteries and miracles I decided it was time to dust off the manual again. So Sunday morning I did just that and it got as far as my kitchen table. Josh and I went for our Sunday drive and grocery shopping and hurried home to put them away before our weekly family/tribe art gathering at sister Jenns bldg. As I was cutting up oranges the dogs starting barking and someone knocked on the door.

An old classmate of ours, from elementary school was standing there in tears. We haven’t seen him in a long, long while and only in passing since we graduated. He said God sent him with a message for me to “Go tell it on the mountain”. He said he remembered me singing that back in kindergarten. I reminded him that it was in third grade and it was my first duet with the man who is now my husband. He said he aches for me everyday and that he truly feels that I hold the power to help others with my story and that I need to share it, go tell it on the mountain. I told him that I feel that also but that I know in the bones of my bones that I have to heal more, first, so that when I share our story there’s no shame left that makes me doubt myself so much.

He shared his own journey through sorrow and pain and faith, and his poise and humility were overwhelmingly beautiful. We thanked him– deeply– for his courage, and when he left, Josh and I just stared and smiled at each other.

This life….

A woman I love, Glennon Doyle  Melton, says this life is beautiful and brutal– this life is brutiful. I agree. And this life is also a course in miracles. I think you just have to be open and broken and hopeful enough to let ALL OF IT inside of you.

Thank you, Mr. Reed. Thank you courage. Thank you mystery. Thank you Isaac. Thank you, God–

Published by: christinaryanstoltz

I write to touch the supple center of unguarded ache~ To release myself from the pressure of not knowing how to move forward from the unfathomable loss of my beloved son, my beautiful boy Isaac, to suicide, of not knowing how to release my grip on of the past, both the worshipping of it as well as the beating myself up for it, and letting go of the need to know what I could’ve done or what on earth I will do now. I write to heal.

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