Many years ago, as I began to conduct private channeling sessions, I was stunned to discover that large numbers of people felt the same confusion and hopelessness that I had. Many of us resist our important lessons, feel disdain toward our best teachers, and have no clue about where we should be going. We can also be unaware of our life’s purpose and how to achieve it, and live in a state of negativity and powerlessness. And, after all of these years, on some days, I still do! I’ve come to believe that no matter what your level of enlightenment, wisdom, or maturity, it takes remarkable courage to face your issues and take responsibility for what you were meant to accomplish while in your earthly life. There are certain days, even now, that I would much prefer to hide under my bed. We are all an ongoing spiritual work in progress.
While navigating my path, I’ve learned how to forgive and appreciate what my best teachers were trying to help me with . . . if only I had been open enough to realize it at the time. I want to extend a heartfelt “thank you” to two of them. My dad, with whom I so badly wanted a close father-daughter relationship, has now—in spirit—become a very good friend and guide. Not until I stopped lamenting over how hurtful his behavior had been while he was on the earthly plane did our friendship blossom into what it is today. My ex-husband was also a key teacher for me. I honor his presence in my life, and thank him for his resolute determination to carry his end of the spiritual apple cart. I wish, now, that I had possessed the maturity to have realized his contributions as they were being made.
The memoir you hold in your hands is a radical departure from my previous books. While working on this project, I had family members, like my brother, tell me, “Just don’t talk about me!” Some people wondered aloud, “But you’re not a celebrity . . . who would be interested in reading about your life?” Others told me, “You’re crazy to share such personal details . . . I never would!”
I had to make difficult choices about which parts of my life I was going to share to prevent the book from evolving into 4,000 pages! In addition, following much deliberation, I have chosen to change the names of some of the people I talk about in these pages to protect their privacy. I’ve shared conversations that took place long ago to the best of my recollections. With the help of my angels, I have shared this narrative of my life as it has evolved to this point, in a way that I trusted would be insightful and encouraging to others who are struggling with similar issues. I hope you enjoy my story.
I’m sharing my personal story to demonstrate that you aren’t alone, that others are struggling just like you are, and to convey, by relaying vignettes of my life, how making even the smallest—but different—choices, can yield big rewards. You can find happiness and peace in your life, no matter how flawed you feel you are . . . and I’m living proof of that! I discovered that the whole process isn’t about becoming a perfect person as reflected in other people’s estimation; but instead, by being true to yourself—releasing the need for other people’s approval or endorsement for the choices you make—and being true to the particular, unique path that you feel is your destiny.
Introduction
On a sweltering midsummer night in 1966, when I was ten years old, seven young women were brutally raped and murdered in their dormitory by a lone assailant. The savagery of the crime inspired the biggest manhunt in the history of Chicago. Although the perpetrator was captured three days later, people never again felt as safe in their own homes.
When my frightened parents told me that we were, suddenly, going to start locking our front door at night, adding, “You’re not old enough to know why,” they didn’t realize, and couldn’t know, that I had already seen—firsthand—what the reason was. Because I had been a witness to the crime . . . in a psychic dream.
Unbeknown to them, my parents had triggered the onset of the terrifying psychic dreams that I was to endure throughout my childhood. The dreams always involved real-life events that took me to the scene of violent crimes, forcing me to become an unwilling spectator to events so unspeakable that they still haunt me.
My guardian angels were a vivid part of my childhood, too, providing tangible support and encouragement. But even they could not help erase the violent images that tormented me while I slept. In my mid-teens I began to wish, with all my heart, that my psychic ability would shut down and disappear so that I could be left in peace.
Miraculously, the psychic images came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly, I began to enjoy untroubled sleep. The terrible psychic images slowly began to fade—as did the tangible presence of my angels. I no longer had spiritual friends conversing with me. I did not miss the terrible nightmares, and I did not miss the presence of my angels. Quite frankly, I simply felt relieved.
By the time I was in my early thirties, I had created a life so dysfunctional that I didn’t know where to turn. I had just gone through a very painful, demoralizing divorce. I was in a business with my ex-husband that was going bankrupt. I had no money and a mountain of debt. I had no friends. I believed that I had nowhere to turn. In a moment of sheer desperation, I called out to God for help. I was shocked when help quickly arrived . . . in the form of John Reid, one of my childhood guardian angels.
Although I had begged for assistance, I responded to the angel’s presence with disbelief and resistance. But he refused to give up on me. Through his patient guidance, I discovered how I could develop my psychic ability and use it to help others, how to take a leap of faith, how to fully trust, how to face my issues, how to create abundance, and how to navigate the winding road that was to ultimately lead to my soul mate and my children. I was about to discover my true destiny.
Part One
Chapter 1
The Calm Before the Storm
1966 was a different time. In the Chicago suburbs, people left their front doors open at night. Summertime brought everyone outdoors to celebrate the warm temperatures after a long, snowy winter. Children of all ages played outside and safely roamed the streets on brightly colored bicycles. Neighbors waved to one another and exchanged heartfelt pleasantries. Laundry hung to dry, caressed by a summer breeze sweetened with the captivating scent of sunshine, new-mown grass, and blooming flowers. Under an endless blue sky, kids in bathing suits frolicked through sprinklers that automatically fanned back and forth on lush green lawns.
We drank milk, Tab, Coke, and Tang. Water was considered a beverage with which to take an aspirin, make Jell-O, or stir into powdered Kool-Aid. If you wanted a cup of coffee, you made it in your own kitchen—for pennies—from a large can of ground Folgers. If you happened to see someone jogging, they were trying to catch a bus. Grownups exclaimed over the latest technological advancement—the color TV—and all of our friends hoped they would be the first to own one.
That summer, our apple tree produced fruit so tart that it was inedible but I nibbled anyway because it was our