tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-17862405445635296202024-03-13T07:27:51.054-07:00Theresa TalksUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger27125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-14924412768086543342012-04-08T17:39:00.002-07:002012-04-09T14:16:24.669-07:00My Cousin, Chucky<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">To listen to <i>My Cousin, Chucky</i>, click on the link below:</div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://theresasneed.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/My-Cousin-Chucky.mp3">http://theresasneed.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/04/My-Cousin-Chucky.mp3</a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h2AKv7NIoCc/T4NO6C-Jm2I/AAAAAAAAAug/H2B5vhNtgCw/s1600/mom+021+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-h2AKv7NIoCc/T4NO6C-Jm2I/AAAAAAAAAug/H2B5vhNtgCw/s200/mom+021+(3).JPG" width="200" /></a></div>When I was a little girl, I had this cousin, Chucky. He was actually a first cousin once removed - is that how you say the child of my father's first cousin? It was cool, because he was close to my age, cute, and really nice to me. We were more than just cousins, we were friends. He was fun to be around and just a great kid. I remember the day he died. Snowmobile accident. I cried for three solid days because I didn't know where he was, or if I'd ever see him again. The funeral was horrifying. They propped him up in the coffin so you could see him through the whole service.<br />
<br />
That's when I figured it out. I remember walking down Lincoln St. in Dover deep in thought. The body I had been drawn to stare at throughout the funeral, <i>wasn't</i> Chucky. It was the mortal body he had "worn", but had stepped out of. I know now that his physical body, made from corruptible matter, was dead, but his spirit made from heavenly matter, was not. Back then, I couldn't really put that into words, but I felt it in my heart, and it gave me comfort.<br />
<br />
The day will come that we will all be resurrected from death - reunited with our perfected bodies. Everyone will, no matter your creed, belief, or even your unbelief. It's called Salvation.<br />
<br />
What that means is that I will not only see Chucky and the many others who have returned to heaven, but that I will have a full and complete association with them again.<br />
<br />
So, what is eternal life? Is it the same thing as salvation? It is not. We will pass through a keen judgment - down to our very thoughts, and if found worthy to inherit eternal life, we will - if not ~ we won't.<br />
<br />
The most important thing that we can do in mortality is to keep the commandments ~ don't pretend you don't know them, you were born with them etched in your heart ~ choosing the right over the wrong in every aspect of your life, and don't pretend that you don't know right over wrong either. Christ will pierce you to the very center of your soul, and you will not be able to say ... I did not know.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-25088444883317581912012-02-23T05:56:00.000-08:002012-02-23T05:59:55.771-08:00Who Was It?I wanted to write this down while it’s fresh on my mind. Last night I had the coolest experience. I woke up and someone was standing beside my bed—someone I love a whole lot, but I don't remember who it was. When I saw this person, I was so excited, I reached behind me and tapped Bill three or four times rapidly and firmly to get him to see too. I was smiling so big that it hurt, so it must have been someone I was extremely happy to see and also someone that Bill knew too. The feeling that I had was that this person was someone he loved as well, but he only mumbled a few words and did not look up. <br />
<br />
Immediately, whoever it was—was gone and a faint, rectangular light remained, almost as if the image was quickly peeled away from the dull scene of the side of my bed. But my big smile still remained while I studied where the light had been and tried to pull back from memory who it was. I tried for several seconds then came to the conclusion that I was not supposed to remember the person, but just the feeling and the light.<br />
<br />
I love experiences like this, because they strengthen my conviction of life after death and that this life is but a moment in the eternities, and also, and most importantly, that the ones we love and hold close to our heart are not far from us and watch over us. <i>One day, we'll be together again.</i> I look forward to that time when mortality will be but a <i>glimpse</i> of a memory, and we are settled back into our true existence once more.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-14970038309502524162012-02-14T08:44:00.000-08:002013-12-31T05:56:25.155-08:00Experiences with the Spirit World<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
par•a•nor•mal <br />
adj.<br />
Beyond the range of normal experience or scientific explanation <br />
<br />
I was only nine years old when I had my first experience with the paranormal—definitely beyond the range of normal experience or scientific explanation.<br />
<br />
Though it was many years ago, I vividly remember the bedroom I shared with my older sister, JoAnn. It was big enough for our twin beds, which straddled the only heat source in our room, a small register in the middle of the floor. Our bedroom had one window that looked out over the meadows and on to the woods. The room had three doors, one that led down an enclosed stairwell to the kitchen, a short door that opened to a small cubby, and a door to the attic. JoAnn slept in the bed closest to the window—mine was by the attic door. The door that led downstairs to the kitchen was at the foot of both our beds. <br />
JoAnn had stayed late at a friend’s house and upon returning, decided to sleep downstairs on one of the two couches in the living room. I awoke during the night and went downstairs for a drink of water. I left the door upstairs open. As I ascended the stairs, my eyes beheld a being, all arrayed in white, sitting on JoAnn’s bed, facing mine. I did not turn and run, but quickly surmised the situation. I looked to the heat register to see if any light from it could be causing the image I saw. I checked the window and the attic door for any signs of light. There wasn’t any, and yet the being remained, eyes fixed on me. He did not do, or say anything. I suppose he waited for my reaction to him. He presented no danger to me—no reason to fear him, but I did. I’m convinced that a strict religious upbringing entrenched in unnatural fear gripped my young heart, of which I sorely regret. I inched my way over to my bed, snatched a pillow then hurried downstairs to the second couch with our family dog, Duchess, by my side. I did not sleep, but prayed for protection for the rest of the night.<br />
Who was that being; and what was his purpose? Why was he entirely white, from the top of his head, to the bottom of his feet? Did he have a message for me, or perhaps a request? Dare I imagine I hold some importance to him somehow? Or was he merely resting, before continuing his journey? <br />
I do know, as anyone would, that he was not of this world—at that moment at least. Perhaps he was an ancestor returning to stir my heart towards spiritual matters, or an angel of God, whose purpose remains unknown for a while longer? <br />
Whatever the purpose, this undeniable fact remains—there is more to life than meets the mortal eye. I bear firm witness of that.<br />
<br />
I was a freshman at BYU when I had this experience with the spirit world.<br />
<br />
I had transferred from USC to BYU and knew very few people. I felt so alone. Because I worked the graveyard shift full-time, from 11:00 p.m. to 7 a.m., I didn’t get to socialize at all. I didn’t have a car and from January to April walked two to three miles each wintery night to work then walked home in the morning. I barely made enough money to pay for my rent at the Riviera Apartments and for my own food. I had classes at 10:00 in the morning and because I played in the BYU Symphony Orchestra, I sometimes had concerts in the early evening. I remember a couple of times not going to bed at all, but going from work to school to concert to work …<br />
I guess I had had enough, and one evening deep in thought, I unwittingly willed myself to go home. It wasn’t anything I was attempting to do, it just happened. I lay on my bed at the apartment, and simply asked to leave earth for good—it didn’t seem like I was asking to die, but merely to return to heaven. I felt a swirling sensation that started from my feet and moved up through my body. It felt like my spirit was leaving my body, and it frightened me, so I stopped it. <br />
<br />
After I finished that year at BYU, I returned to Maine and then shortly thereafter went to Ohio and met my husband and the experiences with the spirit world continued.<br />
<br />
I was about three months pregnant with our oldest son, Jason, when I pulled a string of muscles in my back lifting a small TV. The doctor told me to stay in bed for two weeks while it healed. We left our small apartment in Batavia and stayed at Bill’s parent’s home on the other side of town. We stayed in Bill’s brother’s room. It was a small bedroom, but we managed to put a TV in the corner, and our three year old daughter Mandee’s sleeping bag on the floor beside us. There was a window across from the bed and a dresser against the same wall as the headboard. The bed was alongside the wall opposite the window. I slept on the outside of the bed for easier access in and out of bed.<br />
I awoke one night to find two men dressed in white standing by my bed. They were not frightening in the least; in fact, it seemed quite natural and not out of the ordinary at all to see them. The one on the left reached his hand out to me, and said, “It’s time to go.” I began to sit up and reach my hand to his, but looked back at Bill, and said, “No. I want to stay with Bill.” I do not remember anything past that. I must have simply cuddled next to Bill, and gone back to sleep.<br />
Was it a dream? If anything had been out of place in that room, I may have wondered so, but there wasn’t. The room was exactly the way it was when I went to sleep that night. I noted that the TV was in the corner, the dresser to my right, Bill on the other side of me, and Mandee sleeping soundly on the floor. There just happened to be two men, dressed in white, standing there, too. <br />
Was it my time to go?—apparently not, but maybe so. Did I have a choice?—perhaps. Was it the same choice that I had at BYU? I think so. <br />
<br />
I have had several experiences with the spirit world. In fact, one of the most poignant experiences that I have ever had with the spirit world happened in Gilbert, Arizona.<br />
<br />
In the middle of the night, I awoke and found my deceased father standing across from me at the foot of my bed. Bill was sleeping in between us. My dad called me by my nickname, Terri. It was wonderful to hear his voice! The voices of the deceased ones that I love are the hardest part for me to recall, but I recognize them immediately. Daddy didn’t say anything else, but I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to return with him.<br />
I said, “I will be obedient,” but then began to cry as my eyes rested on Bill. I said, “I love you,” to Bill three times then lay back down. I heard a soft rumbling sound and felt a gentle swirling sensation growing in intensity surrounding my body. I knew that if I did nothing my spirit would leave my body, so I stopped it. <br />
Instantly, Daddy was gone, and I was not asleep. I had nothing to wake up from, no pulling out of any sort of dream state, nor dreamy awakening … I was not sleeping, so did not need to awake. I was simply there, alone with Bill sleeping by my side. <br />
What does one do, when in an instant a pretty incredible experience ends, and you are left to ponder its meaning? Does one simply go back to sleep? Oh, no, no, no, no. <br />
I immediately got out of bed and got on my knees. I told God that I would be obedient, if indeed he wanted me to come home that evening, then I would go, but, if I could choose, then I wanted to stay with Bill. Then I sat down and wrote the whole experience out and a message to each one of my children.<br />
I am not afraid of death. It holds little mystery and all wonder to me. I imagine when I do leave this existence, it will be quite like the experiences and dreams I’ve had, but only better. <br />
The veil between earth and the spirit world is very thin. I’ve witnessed some pretty amazing and marvelous things—<br />
<br />
The first time I saw this young spirit was in Dover-Foxcroft, Maine. She was wearing a knee length dress, and had long hair. She looked directly at me then turned back and passed through the upstairs hallway in front of me—not up or down the hallway, but through the walls on either side.<br />
The second time I saw her was in Phoenix, AZ. It was the same thing—I stepped into the hallway, and saw her pass through the walls again. <br />
The third time was rather interesting. I saw her in the temple—twice. It was hot that day. I don’t recall if there had been a problem with the air conditioning or not, but the room was stuffy. They told us they were going to leave the door open a bit to let the air circulate, as they had had someone faint earlier. <br />
I occasionally found my gaze wandering to the partially opened door and saw a group of women walk past, and only saw the hems of their long white dresses—then I saw a young girl with long hair pass by. The curious thing is that she later passed by going back the way she came then passed by the door again. There was a young boy—a little taller than she was with her one of those times. I also saw temple workers talking to each other at the foot of the stairs, and noted that I could only see the top half of them, because I was sitting down. <br />
After we were finished, I lingered for a while, and when I went to leave the room, I was absolutely surprised to find that there was no hallway on the top of the stairwell where I had seen the hems of the group of women pass by and the young girl and boy. I totally expected to see a hallway cross the outside of the door where I had seen them pass, but there wasn't any, only the enclosed stairwell going down to the lower floor. <br />
<br />
While we were living in Maine, and about one year before we moved to Ohio, I had an incredible experience. One night I dreamt of my recently deceased brother, Donnie. He died in 1988 as a result of drinking and driving. In my dream, I opened a door and entered a pristine waiting room. Donnie entered a door from the other side of the room. He was radiant. The colors of his face and the blues of his eyes, the whites of his teeth were like colors I had never seen before, far greater augmented and brighter than any earthly hues. He called me by name, and we embraced. I can remember no more. I am not meant to. But when I awoke I had a smile plastered on my face that was so intense that it hurt. Was it a dream? I don’t think so. The colors were nothing like I had ever experienced here in mortality, and the joy I had upon awakening needs no confirmation, nor explanation.<br />
About a year later, shortly after we moved to Ohio, Bill’s parent’s ward were sending several of their youth ahead of the adults to the Chicago Temple to do baptisms. My two oldest children, Mandee and Jason went with them. After they left, and had already arrived at the temple, I realized that Jason could do Donnie’s baptism, so I called the temple and requested that he be allowed to do my brother’s work. Proper protocol was to send a family group sheet along, and I hadn’t. They called Salt Lake, and Jason got special permission to perform his uncle’s baptism. One of the sisters in the ward that witnessed it told me that Jason had already performed his fifteen baptisms and redressed, but they had him change back into baptismal clothing again for Donnie’s baptism. She said it was very spiritual. <br />
The next day, we arrived to do the rest of the ordinances and a particularly interesting event occurred –in a special location of the temple, my brother Donnie—more than three years deceased, audibly called me by name. I recognized his voice immediately. I was at first surprised, because no one speaks above a whisper there, and Donnie’s voice was not a whisper! I turned to look for him, but saw nothing, but I know it was him. It was his distinctive voice. I’m sure that I was kept from viewing him there at that moment, because I would probably would have disrupted the quietness in my excitement to see him. <br />
<br />
How can I ever question the reality of things not seen? The Lord has blessed me above measure with many out-of-the-ordinary personal experiences that testify to life beyond this life.<br />
<br />
I truly wish not to record this, but I know I must, for they are as much a part of my life’s experiences as the pleasant, peaceful, and joyous ones are. <br />
<br />
We moved from the dairy farm into town. My parents bought a large two-story house on Union Street. I do not have bad feelings about that house. I loved that house, even though very scary things happened within its walls. I will not elaborate, or embellish with lofty words, I would much rather simply record the events and be on with it. So, suffice to say, I saw, I felt, I heard, I experienced the unimaginable. Steven King hasn’t written anything near to what I experienced there. Fourteen nights in a row, gripped by some unseen force, my jaw locked in place, visual, even actual electricity from my head to frayed electrical cords, indentations in my leg, horrifying sounds. Imagining the hand of God protecting me, and sleeping with a Bible by my side were my only reprieve. <br />
Later as a freshman at USC, while waiting for friends to come back to the car, I heard the frightful sound of wild dogs growling and gnashing their teeth, first off in the distance, but then surrounding the car that I sat in. I could see nothing outside the vehicle, but could only hear the terrible sounds. I prayed, and the sound went away, but came back twice. <br />
In Ohio, when I went downstairs into Bill’s parent’s family room, I saw a plant rocking rhythmically back and forth. And one evening, I saw just the head of a very frightening apparition, in full horrific color floating above me in my bed. I’ve seen other spirits—one that was alarming and one that was not, with her long gray hair and quiet demeanor.<br />
Okay, why? Why me? Why not everyone? Maybe I needed to experience the evil to appreciate and choose the good. Maybe I’m chosen to stand as a witness that these things do exist. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, maybe I can help someone understand that they need not fear the unknown, for that is what I have learned. Fear is a choice. All things have purpose, nothing is without a cause, and all things can be explained and understood. There is sweet and comforting peace in knowledge and faith.<br />
<br />
Around May 2009, Bill and I were heading west on Brown, when he jumped and pointed forward. He had just seen the tail end of a collision at Brown and Val Vista. We were among the first at the intersection and were the first in line in the far right lane. The cars involved in the accident came to a stop on the other side of Val Vista—across from us, in the east bound lanes. Bill hopped out of our car and ran over to help, along with two or three other people. I stayed in the car and watched. <br />
It didn’t seem like a very bad wreck from where I was sitting, and though I was concerned for the young girl behind the wheel, and her friend in the back, I wasn’t too worried. I watched as Bill stuck his head in the driver’s side window to check on her and the other girl, and then I just played the waiting game for him to return to our car. He was over there quite awhile. <br />
Finally, he came back, and I had lots of questions. I wish I had recorded this when it happened, because too much time has elapsed for me to accurately recall all the details, but I think Bill told me that she had lost consciousness, but I’m not sure now. However, the one thing that I do remember clearly, as if it just happened yesterday—was his response when I asked how the girl was in the back seat. <br />
He looked at me strange and said, “There wasn’t anyone in the back seat—there wasn’t anyone else in the car.” He was adamant about it, but I so was I. I disagreed with him for a short while, but he would not relent and neither would I. He was over there—he stuck his head in the car, and he was there for a long while trying to help out, and I was simply sitting across the intersection, observing. But, I truly had seen both a girl behind the wheel and a girl looking straight ahead from the back seat. So, who did I see? <br />
I’ve often wondered about that—wondered if she had left her own body—and wondered why I could see her, and not Bill.<br />
<br />
I am humbled to have been entrusted with such incredible experiences. They have helped to develop and define me and given me a firm testimony that the spirit world exists and a strong desire to share what I’ve experienced in the best way that I know how—through speaking and writing. <br />
<br />
To correspond with Theresa write to tmsneed.author@yahoo.com. Visit her website at <a href="http://www.theresasneed.com/">www.theresasneed.com</a> To purchase her No Angel Series, visit her Amazon <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Theresa-Sneed/e/B005IRY8LM">author page</a>. </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-65332978869312694212012-01-17T07:44:00.000-08:002013-12-31T05:57:55.363-08:00Why I Write About Angels<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The written word has always had a powerful effect on me—even works of fiction, like the great writings of JRR Tolkien. I thrived on his simple yet profound words like, “Faithless is he that says goodbye when the road darkens.” I spent the first nineteen years of my life in spiritual darkness. I had no intention of saying goodbye, but of finding a way to bring light into my life. I wasn’t born into an LDS home, but I was born into a home with a mother who believed in Jesus. She faithfully took us to the small Baptist Church in Charleston, Maine for several years. I had lots of questions—and not many answers. But the Lord had a plan for me and guided me… looking back, I see his loving hand in training and preparing me for my future as an author who writes about angels and the spirit world that surrounds us. <br />
<br />
For years, I had this strong feeling that I needed to write a story using the wealth of experiences that I have had, but try as I might, I couldn't. But, just like one of Tolkien’s characters, Samwise Gamgee says, “It’s a job that’s never started that takes the longest to finish,” I had to ‘start’ by allowing myself the necessary time to develop my talents, before I was ready to effectively use them. While working hard to develop my writing, the Lord gently taught me the eternal truths that I would weave into the fabric of my stories, but it would take a long time, even years to go from the ‘start’ of my journey toward the ‘finish’ which in reality is truly a never-ending story. <br />
<br />
I remember when I first heard the Joseph Smith story--where he had seen an angel. I could relate to it, because I had had similar experiences in my youth—not nearly the magnitude, nor especially the magnificence, but enough for me to know at a very young age, that there was more to life than what we see—and that not many had seen what I had. <br />
<br />
When I hear stories like the following told by Kent F. Richards in the April 2011 General Conference, I don’t question, or wonder—I <i>believe</i>.<br />
<br />
“Thirteen-year-old Sherrie underwent a 14-hour operation for a tumor on her spinal cord. As she regained consciousness in the intensive care unit, she said: “Daddy, Aunt Cheryl is here, … and … Grandpa Norman … and Grandma Brown … are here. And Daddy, who is that standing beside you? … He looks like you, only taller. … He says he’s your brother, Jimmy.” Her uncle Jimmy had died at age 13 of cystic fibrosis. “For nearly an hour, Sherrie … described her visitors, all deceased family members. Exhausted, she then fell asleep.”<br />
Later she told her father, “Daddy, all of the children here in the intensive care unit have angels helping them.” -Kent F. Richards<br />
<br />
Children and angels seem to go so naturally together. I was only nine years old when I had my first experience with angels.<br />
<br />
Though it was many years ago, I vividly remember the bedroom I shared with my older sister, JoAnn. It was big enough for our twin beds, which straddled the only heat source in our room, a small register in the middle of the floor. Our bedroom had one window that looked out over the meadows and on to the woods. The room had three doors, one that led down an enclosed stairwell to the kitchen, a short door that opened to a small cubby, and a door to the attic. JoAnn slept in the bed closest to the window—mine was by the attic door. The door that led downstairs to the kitchen was at the foot of both our beds. <br />
<br />
JoAnn had stayed late at a friend’s house and upon returning, decided to sleep downstairs on one of the two couches in the living room. I awoke during the night and went downstairs for a drink of water. I left the door upstairs open. As I ascended the stairs, my eyes beheld a being, all arrayed in white, sitting on JoAnn’s bed, facing mine. I did not turn and run, but quickly surmised the situation. I looked to the heat register to see if any light from it could be causing the image I saw. I checked the window and the attic door for any signs of light. There wasn’t any, and yet the being remained, eyes fixed on me. He did not do, or say anything. I suppose he waited for my reaction to him. He presented no danger to me—no reason to fear him, but I did. I’m convinced that a staunch Baptist upbringing entrenched in unnatural fear gripped my young heart, of which I sorely regret. I inched my way over to my bed, snatched a pillow then hurried downstairs to the second couch with our family dog, Duchess, by my side. I did not sleep, but prayed for protection for the rest of the night.<br />
<br />
Who was that being; and what was his purpose? Why was he entirely white, from the top of his head, to the bottom of his feet? Did he have a message for me, or perhaps a request? Dare I imagine I hold some importance to him somehow? Or was he merely resting, before continuing his journey? <br />
<br />
I do know, as anyone would, that he was not of this world—at that moment at least. Perhaps he was an ancestor returning to stir my heart toward spiritual matters, or an angel of God, whose purpose remains unknown for a while longer? <br />
<br />
Whatever the purpose, this undeniable fact remains—there is more to life than meets the mortal eye. I bear firm witness of that.<br />
<br />
We moved from our farmhouse into town and switched from the Charleston Baptist Church to one in Dover-Foxcroft. I continued to search for truth and answers to my many questions. I was more confused than ever as this new church we began attending had conflicting doctrine with the old church not fifteen miles away. I met with Reverend Miller weekly, and he told me that he hadn’t discussed religion as deeply with other ministers as he had with me. One day, while baking cookies with my mother, my hand slipped off the oven mitt and onto the hot pan. It was a searing pain that throbbed all through the night. I agonized over more than just the physical pain. I had been taught that if a baby died without baptism, that it was damned to hell, but how could a loving God cast a baby into a fiery hell just because it’s parents did not have it baptized—let alone even the most vile human being! To burn <i>forever and never be consumed</i> is beyond comprehension. So, at a multi-church revival held up at the high school, I approached several of the town’s ministers that I knew on a first name basis, because I had attended their churches and had even taught in the Methodist Church for a couple years. I had seriously pondered and prayed and come to a decision. I told them that if God was a God that could cast anybody into a fire to burn forever and never be consumed, that I did not want to have anything to do with him. They led me into a small room and laid their hands on my head to ‘cast out the evil’ that was in me. I allowed them to do that for their own peace of mind, but I knew they were wrong, and I continued to search for truth. Once, I even stopped a young JW on the streets of Dover to ask him why he went to his church. After he told me, I asked him if there was no fear of burning in a fiery hell—would he still go to his church?—and he said no. I remember thinking that I did not want to go to a church that used fear tactics and continued to search. <br />
<br />
I was very blessed to be born in a town in Maine that actually had an LDS Church, but only recall about seven or eight Mormons in my entire high school, though there were probably a few more than that. My friend, Mari Lou Alexa gave me a Book of Mormon, and a missionary named Elder Brown did also. I put the two Books of Mormon on a shelf in my bedroom and never touched them all through high school.<br />
<br />
After graduation, I reached a point in my life where I wanted to become the best adult that I could be. I had been dating an excommunicated Mormon who still had an unwavering testimony of the Church—and that <i>amazed</i> me. I began reading the Book of Mormon two weeks before I went to USC in LA and was astounded with what I read. All of my life, I had spent countless hours searching for words of truth in my hometown public library pulling various books off the shelf and finding passages that brought meaning to me. I’d copy them down by hand and tack them up on the wall by my bed. When I began to read the Book of Mormon, I was <i>breathless</i> with the truths I had discovered within those pages.<br />
<br />
When I got to USC, one of the first things they had me do was fill out an information card on my religious preference—well, I <i>preferred</i> the LDS Church, but was not a member—I hoped I wouldn’t discover that it had conflicting doctrine from Maine to California. They thought I was Mormon and invited me to institute. I showed up and sat in the middle of the room. The missionaries sat directly in front of me. They went around the room introducing themselves, and when they came to me, I said, “Hi! My name’s Theresa Small and I am not a Mormon, but I want to learn more.” Elder Bishop and Elder Brandley called me golden. I didn’t know what that meant then, but I do now. I felt like I was coming out of the darkness.<br />
<br />
I eagerly consumed the missionary discussions, and I was a bit impatient to get baptized. I thought I had to go through all the discussions first in a timely order, and I did, but the desire of my heart was to get baptized immediately. I already knew and believed everything they said. They told me about an angel bringing a message to a modern day prophet? That was so not a problem for me to believe. They told me that Christ’s church had been restored and was led by a prophet and apostles. That was great news! They told me about modern-day scriptures that complimented the Bible? It made total sense that God spoke to a living prophet on the earth, and that the Book of Mormon was a history of another people who originated from Jerusalem. But the one thing that I had never heard of and was completely taken by surprise with was the premortal existence. I had always been taught that our spirit and body were created at the same time. It only took a second to absorb, and I was like, really? Wow! That is so cool! That’s why I write about angels and the premortal existence, because I know there are hundreds of thousands of people who don’t know that simple and beautiful truth—that we came from heaven before we were born on earth!<br />
<br />
I finished that semester and transferred to BYU Provo, because I couldn’t get enough—I was like a sponge absorbing literally—every single thing anyone said at the pulpit. In fact, when I went to BYU, I took most of my classes in institute—and no one stopped me! It was while I was a freshman at BYU that I had another spiritual experience with the spirit world.<br />
<br />
I felt so alone at BYU. I had joined the church at USC, transferred to BYU, and knew very few people. Because I worked the graveyard shift full-time, from 11:00 p.m. to 7 a.m., I didn’t get to socialize at all. The two students Martha, and Mary, who transferred from USC to BYU with me, had become great friends with each other, and I felt more like a bother to them than a friend. Martha had a car, and a bank account her father kept up for her, and Martha really liked Mary, and took her everywhere. They never asked me to go with them. I didn’t have a car and from January to April walked two to three miles each wintery night to work then walked home in the morning. I barely made enough money to pay for my rent at the Riviera Apartments and for my own food. I had classes at 10:00 in the morning, and because I played in the BYU Symphony Orchestra, I sometimes had concerts in the evening. I remember a couple of times not going to bed at all, but going from work to school to concert to work …<br />
<br />
I guess I had had enough, and one evening deep in thought, I unwittingly willed myself to go home. It wasn’t anything I was attempting to do, it just happened. I lay on my bed at the apartment, and simply asked to come home, back to my Father in heaven, exercising the faith that I had. My faith and will were in conjunction with the spirit. I felt very close to the Lord. I felt a swirling sensation that started from my feet and moved up through my body. It felt like my spirit was leaving my body, and it frightened me, so I stopped it. <br />
<br />
After I finished that year at BYU, I returned to Maine and then shortly thereafter went to Ohio and met my husband. We were married in the Washington DC Temple, after I had only being a member for 1 ½ years, and the spiritual experiences with the spirit world continued.<br />
<br />
I was about three months pregnant with our oldest son, Jason, when I pulled a string of muscles in my back lifting a small TV. The doctor told me to stay in bed for two weeks while it healed. We left our small apartment in Batavia and stayed at Bill’s parent’s home on the other side of town. We stayed in Bill’s brother’s room. It was a small bedroom, but we managed to put a TV in the corner, and our three year old daughter Mandee’s sleeping bag on the floor beside us. There was a window across from the bed and a dresser against the same wall as the headboard. The bed was alongside the wall opposite the window. I slept on the outside of the bed for easier access in and out of bed.<br />
<br />
I awoke one night to find two men dressed in white standing by my bed. They were not frightening in the least; in fact, it seemed quite natural and not out of the ordinary at all to see them. The one on the left reached his hand out to me, and said, “It’s time to go.” I began to sit up and reach my hand to his, but looked back at Bill, and said, “No. I want to stay with Bill.” I do not remember anything past that. I must have simply cuddled next to Bill, and gone back to sleep.<br />
<br />
Was it a dream? If anything had been out of place in that room, I may have wondered so, but there wasn’t. The room was exactly the way it was when I went to sleep that night. I noted that the TV was in the corner, the dresser to my right, Bill on the other side of me, and Mandee sleeping soundly on the floor. There just happened to be two men, dressed in white, standing there, too. <br />
<br />
Was it my time to go?—apparently not, but maybe so. Did I have a choice?—perhaps. Was it the same choice that I had at BYU? I think so. <br />
<br />
I have had several experiences with the spirit world. In fact, one of the most poignant experiences that I have ever had with the spirit world happened in Gilbert, Arizona.<br />
<br />
In the middle of the night I awoke and found my deceased father standing across from me at the foot of my bed. Bill was sleeping in between us. My dad called me by my nickname, Terri. It was wonderful to hear his voice! The voices of the deceased ones that I love are the hardest part for me to recall, but I recognize them immediately. Daddy didn’t say anything else, but I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to return with him.<br />
<br />
I said, “I will be obedient,” but then began to cry as my eyes rested on Bill. I said, “I love you,” to Bill three times then lay back down. I heard a soft rumbling sound and felt a gentle swirling sensation growing in intensity surrounding my body. I knew that if I did nothing, my spirit would leave my body, so, I stopped it. <br />
<br />
Instantly, Daddy was gone, and I was not asleep. I had nothing to wake up from, no pulling out of any sort of dream state, nor dreamy awakening … I was not sleeping, so <i>did not need to awake</i>. I was simply there, alone with Bill sleeping by my side. <br />
<br />
What does one do, when in an instant a pretty incredible experience ends, and you are left to ponder its meaning? Does one simply go back to sleep? Oh, <i>no</i>, no, no, no. <br />
<br />
I immediately got out of bed and got on my knees. I told God that I would be obedient, if indeed he wanted me to come home that evening, then I would go, but if I could choose, then I wanted to stay with Bill. <br />
<br />
Then I sat down and wrote the whole experience out and a message to each one of my children.<br />
<br />
I am not afraid of death. It holds little mystery and all wonder to me. I imagine when I do leave this existence, it will be quite like the experiences and dreams I’ve had, but only better. <br />
<br />
The veil between earth and the spirit world is very thin. The Lord has allowed me to witness some pretty amazing and marvelous things in preparation for my mission as an author here on earth—<br />
<br />
The first time I saw this young spirit was in Dover-Foxcroft, Maine. She was wearing a knee length dress, and had long hair. She looked directly at me then turned back and passed through the upstairs hallway in front of me—not up or down the hallway, but through the walls on either side.<br />
<br />
The second time I saw her was in Phoenix, AZ. It was the same thing—I stepped into the hallway, and saw her pass through the walls again. <br />
<br />
The third time was rather interesting. Four of our closest friends, the Loves, and the Gentrys, and Bill and I, performed forty temple sealings in the Mesa Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It happened to fall on Valentine’s Day—which was kind of sweet. We were in a small sealing room that had a narrow stairwell leading up to it. It was hot that day. I can’t recall if there had been a problem with the air conditioning or not, but the room was stuffy. They told us they were going to leave the door open a bit to let the air circulate, as they had had a patron faint earlier. <br />
<br />
We took turns in the various sealings, and when it wasn’t my turn, I sat and occasional found my gaze wandering to the partially opened door. I saw a group of women walk past the door, and only saw the hems of their long white dresses then I saw a young girl pass by. The curious thing is that she later passed by going back the way she came then passed by the door again. There was a young boy—a little taller than she was with her one of those times. I also saw temple workers talking to each other at the foot of the stairs, and noted that I could only see the top half of them, because I was sitting down. <br />
<br />
After the sealings, I lingered for a while, pondering the eternal nature of a temple sealing, and when I went to leave the room, I was absolutely surprised to find that there was no hallway on the top of the stairwell where I had seen the hems of the group of women pass by and the young girl and boy. I totally expected to see a hallway cross the outside of the door where I had seen them pass, but there wasn't any, only the enclosed stairwell going down to the lower floor. <br />
<br />
I immediately went to see the person in charge of sealings and inquired if there had been any children sealed to their parents that afternoon—live sealings. He said no, but earlier that morning they had had a Hispanic couple with children sealed. Because I could compare the women's hems and the full length view of the two children passing by the room with the temple workers at the bottom of the stairs that I could only view from the waist or so up, I concluded that these indeed had been spirits who had witnessed their own sealings and were most definitely family members of mine. <br />
<br />
I have had other experiences with the spirit word—including hearing the voice of my deceased brother Donnie in the Chicago Temple, but unfortunately, some experiences that I have had with the spirit world were not of God. I am grateful to have a clear understanding of the opposing forces that are ever diligent in seeking the destruction of mankind—to ignore these influences would be a folly, as it would be to glorify these influences through any form of sensationalism. <br />
<br />
These words come from an apostle of the Lord, Elder Jeffery R. Holland:<br />
“We don’t talk about the adversary anymore than we have to, and I don’t like talking about him at all, but the experience of young Joseph [Smith] reminds us of what every man [and woman] … needs to remember.<br />
<br />
Number one, Satan, or Lucifer, or the father of lies—call him what you will—is real, the very personification of evil. His motives are in every case malicious, and he convulses at the appearance of redeeming light, at the very thought of truth. Number two. He is eternally opposed to the love of God, the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and the work of peace and salvation. He will fight against these whenever and wherever he can. He knows he will be defeated and cast out in the end, but he is determined to take down with him as many others as he possibly can.”<br />
<br />
I am humbled to have been entrusted with such incredible experiences. They have helped to develop and define me and have given me a deep yearning to search for truth, a firm testimony that the spirit world exists, and a strong desire to share what I’ve experienced in the best way that I know how—through speaking and writing. <br />
<br />
To learn more about Theresa Sneed visit <a href="http://www.theresasneed.com/">www.theresasneed.com</a>.</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-38567568264210115042011-02-06T18:27:00.000-08:002011-02-06T18:27:50.280-08:00Observations of a Heart YearningSo busily, I walk through life<br />
Ne'er looking sideways left, nor right<br />
If I but stopped and took the time<br />
I'd see great wonders rich and fine<br />
<br />
I'd see autumn leaves, crimson gold<br />
The smiles on children laughing bold<br />
Dew hung on webs woven silver<br />
A breeze carries light sounds of laughter<br />
<br />
Aged lovers walking hand in hand<br />
Foamy tide washing up on sand<br />
Full moon lighting the night as day<br />
Young mother wipes child's tears away<br />
<br />
Purple crocus slips up through snow<br />
But ne'er I wonder why it's so<br />
If I take not the time to stop<br />
All wonder ne'er will be a thoughtUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-62086809485749733382011-02-06T18:19:00.000-08:002011-02-06T18:19:55.169-08:00YesteryearI long for a time before television crime<br />
When children's playtime was outside in the sun<br />
Before game shows, and talk shows, reality shows, and freaks<br />
Moved into our homes and our lives<br />
<br />
When dinner was made from scratch, not a box<br />
And families gathered for reading and talk<br />
When games were on boards, or out on sidewalks<br />
I yearn for that time, long ago<br />
<br />
Walking home late at night, alone, but quite safe<br />
Catching rides up the road to the lake<br />
Buying chips and a soda for twenty-five cents<br />
And two Mallo bars for less than a quarter<br />
<br />
When police were as friends, like Griffith and Fife<br />
And justice didn't hang in a court<br />
A man's word was his honor, in that you could trust<br />
And the town drunk wasn't scorned for disorder<br />
<br />
I long for a time, before television slime<br />
Seeped into our homes and our hearts<br />
I yearn for a time, before media grime<br />
Soiled clear perspectives, and mucked up good choiceUnknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-63024730860939876582010-12-05T18:05:00.000-08:002010-12-05T18:19:36.640-08:00Message From Beyond the VeilThis happened to my eldest daughter on November 6, 1990. This is my journal entry twenty years ago—<br />
<br />
Last night something really special happened to Mandee. She was chosen to experience a spiritual manifestation. We were taking turns reading chapter 8 in, <i>A Witness and Warning</i>. We were on the last page, and Mandee was reading a quote from Moroni 9:25-26 (Mormon to his beloved son, Moroni.)<br />
<br />
<i>“My son, be faithful in Christ, and may not the things which I have written grieve thee, to weigh thee down unto death; but may Christ lift thee up, and may his sufferings and death, and the showing his body unto our fathers, and his mercy and long suffering, and the hope of his glory and of eternal life, rest in your mind forever.<br />
And may the grace of God the Father, whose throne is high in the heavens, and our Lord Jesus Christ, who sitteth on the right hand of his power, until all things shall become subject unto him, be, and abide with you forever.”</i><br />
<br />
Part way through these scriptures, she looked up at me and smiled sweetly and said, “Oh, you know this scripture.” I can’t remember what my response was. She read a few more lines and said, “You have this memorized.” I was a little bewildered as to why she said something like that <i>twice</i> to me, so I asked her what she meant. She said, “You’re reciting this, so you must have it memorized.”<br />
<br />
I wasn’t saying a thing while she was reading, and I told her so. So, she asked if Jason had been (Bill was not home yet, and not expected home until after their bedtime.) Jason had not either, and then she said, “I thought you were whispering what I was reading—the same scripture.”<br />
<br />
I <i>wasn’t.</i><br />
<br />
I believe that she was privileged to bridge the veil for a brief moment and have a wonderful, faith-promoting spiritual experience. She began reading again, and kept looking up in bewilderment because she could still hear someone reciting that scripture to her.<br />
<br />
<br />
The veil between heaven and earth is very thin, and we have but to <i>listen</i> to discover some of its hidden messages.<br />
<br />
Don’t forget this, my sweet daughter!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-64405974313439699592010-11-28T14:07:00.001-08:002010-11-28T18:46:46.878-08:00Making a DifferenceA while ago, I stood in a friend’s front yard and we chatted. My friend wanted to save the world. “It’s a good idea,” I said to her, but my simple affirmation was not enough—she <i>really</i> wanted to save the world—to make a difference in a big way. <br />
<br />
“Is that wrong of me—I mean isn’t it rather pretentious?” <br />
<br />
I paused as I reflected on her question, and answered, “No—if you seek to save the world for the world’s sake—and not your own.”<br />
<br />
She heartily agreed, and I saw in her eyes that she meant it. But she was in despair that sunny morning because circumstances beyond her control prevented her from attaining her desire. Her health might be in serious jeopardy, and she wondered why the Lord would do that—the timing appeared to be off. Hadn’t she prepared herself sufficiently?—studied the right books?—took the right classes? And hadn’t she felt the whisperings of the Holy Spirit telling her that she was on the right track?—doing exactly what she was meant to do? Her eyes filled with tears and her face reflected intense anguish.<br />
<br />
“Of course you are on the right track,” I said, “—but maybe the Lord wants you to take a longer route—learn more in order to be the <i>best</i> instrument in his hand when the time comes.”<br />
<br />
She agreed, but her eyes said she was not completely convinced.<br />
<br />
He wants all of us to take the longer route. We have the opportunity to grow in mortality in ways that no other place under the heavens can offer. With a veil placed over our memory of our former existence in heaven, where else but <i>earth</i>—‘the greatest reality game ever contrived, by the greatest mind that exists’—can we prove ourselves through <i>experience</i>? <br />
<br />
God wants us to have the full effect of our trials, and he will stretch them out to their bitter end in order for us to receive the <i>maximum benefit</i> that only enduring and striving to overcome a trial can afford. <br />
<br />
Fortunately, our sojourn on earth is short, so why not look at it that way. Eventually, we will all stand before our Maker, and account for our earthly choices, and either be the wiser from them, and blissfully overjoyed to be back in His presence; or miserably cower and grovel at His feet.<br />
<br />
My friend sighed, “But I don’t want to be common—I want to be special!”<br />
<br />
I looked up and down her street and asked, “Who on your street is common?”<br />
<br />
She stared blankly at me, “No one—no one is common.”<br />
<br />
“Oh,” I said back to her, “So, <i>how many </i>have saved the world?”<br />
<br />
Her eyebrows furrowed, and then she broke into a smile.<br />
<br />
I hugged her and whispered, “God doesn’t have any common children, does he?”<br />
<br />
Whatever our purpose is, God will lead us to it—and nothing that we are supposed to do is ‘common’ or unimportant. We all make a difference in more than one way … find your purpose …Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-35284722884875938972010-11-21T15:24:00.000-08:002010-11-21T15:37:52.476-08:00UnexplainedA little less than 1 ½ years ago, around May 2009, Bill and I were heading west on Brown, when he jumped and pointed forward. He had just seen the tail end of a collision at Brown and Val Vista. We were among the first at the intersection, and were the first in line in the far right lane. The cars involved in the accident came to a stop on the other side of Val Vista—across from us, but in the east bound lanes. Bill hopped out of our car and ran over to help, along with two or three other people. I stayed in the car and watched. <br />
<br />
It didn’t seem like a very bad wreck from where I was sitting, and though I was concerned for the young girl behind the wheel, and her friend in the back, I wasn’t too worried. I watched as Bill stuck his head in the driver’s side window to check on her and the other girl, and then I just played the waiting game for him to return to our car. He was over there quite awhile. <br />
<br />
Finally, he came back, and I had lots of questions. I wish I had recorded this when it happened, because too much time has elapsed for me to accurately recall all the details, but I <i>think</i> Bill told me that she had lost consciousness, but I’m not sure now. However, the one thing that I <i>do</i> remember clearly, as if it just happened yesterday—was his response when I asked how the girl was in the back seat. <br />
<br />
He looked at me strange and said, “There wasn’t anyone in the back seat—there wasn’t anyone else in the car.” <br />
<br />
He was adamant about it, but I so was I. I disagreed with him for a short while, but he would <i>not</i> relent, and <i>neither</i> would I. <br />
<br />
<i>He</i> was over there—<i>he</i> stuck his head in the car, and <i>he</i> was there for a long while trying to help out, and I was simply sitting across the intersection, observing. <br />
<br />
But,I truly had seen <i>both</i> a girl behind the wheel <i>and</i> a girl looking straight ahead from the back seat. <br />
<br />
So, who did I see? <br />
<br />
I’ve often wondered about that—wondered if she had left her own body—and wondered why <i>I</i> could see her, and not Bill.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-70140688358560893332010-11-14T13:16:00.000-08:002010-11-14T19:36:33.036-08:00Fear is a ChoiceLocations: Maine, California, Ohio, Arizona<br />
Age: High School (and older)<br />
<br />
I truly wish not to record these, but I know I must, for they are as much a part of my life experiences as the pleasant, peaceful, and joyous ones are. <br />
<br />
I don’t recall how or when they began, but I think I know where. My parents bought a large two-story house and moved us from the dairy farm into town. I do not have bad feelings about that house, even though very scary things happened within its walls. I will not elaborate, or embellish with lofty words, I would much rather simply record the events and get on with it. So, it suffices to say, I saw, felt, heard, and experienced the unimaginable. Steven King hasn’t written anything close to what I went through. Fourteen nights in a row, gripped by some unseen force, jaw locked in place, visual, even actual electricity pulsating from my head to frayed electrical cords hanging from my bedroom ceiling, quarter-sized indentations in my leg, horrifying sounds. Imagining the hand of God protecting me, and sleeping with a Bible by my side were my only reprieve. <br />
<br />
Later as a freshman at USC, while waiting for friends to come back to the car, I heard the frightful wail of wild dogs growling and gnashing their teeth, first off in the distance, and then surrounding the car that I sat in. I could see nothing outside the vehicle, but could only hear the terrible sounds just outside the car window. I prayed, and the sound went away, but came back twice. <br />
<br />
In Ohio, when I went downstairs into Bill’s parent’s family room, I saw a plant rocking rhythmically back and forth. And one evening, I saw just the head of a very frightening apparition—with wild, wicked eyes, in full horrific color, floating above me in my bed. <br />
<br />
I’ve seen other spirits, as well. Two of the spirits were alarming, one was not, with her long gray hair, and quiet demeanor. And one was a young girl of about 10 or 12. I’ve seen her at least three times in different locations, once with a young boy, dark hair, slightly older and taller than she. <br />
<br />
Why me? Why not everyone? Maybe I needed to experience the evil to appreciate and choose the good. Maybe I’m chosen to stand as a witness that these things do exist. Maybe I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or, maybe I can help someone understand that they <i>need not fear the unknown,</i> for that is what I have learned. <br />
<br />
Fear is a choice. <br />
<br />
In the premortal existence, those who chose to follow Lucifer were cast out of heaven with him, and became forever damned. Doomed to roam the earth as wicked spirits, never to receive their own body. They love nothing more than to torment us, <i>if</i> we give them that power, for the <i>only</i> way they have power is through our consent. So don't give it to them.<br />
<br />
I am not afraid, now that I understand. They were my brothers and sisters in the premortal existence. It was their choice to follow Lucifer. I have more power than they do, because I chose to follow God.<br />
<br />
All things have purpose.<br />
<br />
Nothing is without a cause, and all things can be explained and understood. There is sweet and comforting peace in knowledge and faith.<br />
<br />
For more information see http://lds.org/-ensign article- Things As They Really Are - Elder David A. Bednar of the Quorum of the Twelve ApostlesUnknownnoreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-89737448706024680962010-11-07T18:35:00.000-08:002010-11-07T18:39:15.982-08:00Message from BeyondLocations: <br />
Dover-Foxcroft, Maine <br />
Batavia, Ohio<br />
Chicago Temple<br />
Date: 1990-91<br />
<br />
My brother Donnie and I were “Irish Twins”, which means that we shared the same birth age for a few days every year. When I was born, he hadn’t had his first birthday yet, and when he turned one, I was only thirty-eight days old. When I turned one, he still had thirty-eight days left until he turned two. It was fun being the same age with him for a few days each year. <br />
<br />
I sure do miss him. He died in 1988 as a result of driving under the influence. <br />
<br />
About a year after he died, I had an incredible experience. We were living in Maine. I had fallen asleep and in my “dream”, I opened a door and entered a pristine waiting room. Donnie entered a door from the other side of the room. He was radiant. The colors of his face; his blue eyes, and white teeth were unlike any colors that I had ever seen before—far greater augmented, and more brilliant than any earthly hues. He called me by my name, and we embraced. I can’t remember anything else, and don’t believe that I was meant to, but when I awoke I had a smile on my face that was so intense that it hurt. <br />
<br />
Was it a dream? I don’t think so. The colors were <i>nothing</i> like anything I had ever experienced here in mortality, and the exquisite joy I had upon awakening needs no confirmation, nor explanation.<br />
<br />
About a year later, we moved to Ohio. Bill’s parent’s ward was sending several of their youth ahead of the adults to the Chicago Temple to do baptisms for the dead. Jason and Mandee went with them. After they left, and had already arrived at the temple, I realized that Jason could do Donnie’s baptism, so I called the temple and requested that he be allowed to do my brother’s work. Proper protocol was to send a family group sheet along, and I hadn’t. Someone in the Chicago Temple decided to call Salt Lake—which surprised and delighted me as Jason got special permission from Salt Lake to perform Donnie’s baptism. <br />
<br />
One of the sisters in my ward that witnessed it told me that Jason had already performed his fifteen baptisms and had redressed, but they had him change back into baptismal clothing again to participate in Donnie’s baptism. She said it was very spiritual. Jason had known Donnie all of his young life. <br />
<br />
The next day, we arrived to do the rest of the temple ordinances, and in a special part of the temple, my brother spoke to me, just like in my dream, calling me by name. I recognized his voice instantly, and turned to see him, but could not, as I’m sure I would not have maintained the quiet reverence one ought to in a holy temple.<br />
<br />
We are meant to live by faith, and I do, but in some things in my life, I have knowledge. I know, without a doubt for I <i>witnessed</i> it, that my brother Donnie was there in the temple that day, and continues to work hard on the other side of the veil in behalf of his loved ones—<i>every one of them.</i> <br />
<br />
How can I question the reality of things not seen? The Lord has blessed me above measure with many peculiar experiences that testify to me of life beyond this life.<br />
<br />
For those of you unfamiliar with the purpose for baptisms for the dead see http://lds.org/ Ensign Article, A Temple-Motivated PeopleUnknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-53450477350102506052010-10-31T15:19:00.000-07:002010-10-31T20:19:55.052-07:00Young SpiritsLocations: Maine; Arizona<br />
<br />
The first time I saw her was in Dover-Foxcroft, Maine. She was wearing a knee length dress, and had long hair. She looked directly at me, and then turned back and passed through the upstairs hallway in front of me—not up or down the hallway, but <i>through<i></i></i> the walls on either side.<br />
<br />
The second time I saw this young spirit was in Phoenix, AZ, on 29th Ave and Union Hills. It was the same thing—only the hallway was downstairs, and I stepped into the hallway, and saw her pass through the walls again. <br />
<br />
The third time was rather interesting. Four of our closest friends, the Loves, and the Gentrys, and Bill and I, performed forty temple sealings in the Mesa Temple of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It happened to fall on Valentine’s Day—which was kind of sweet. We were in a small sealing room that had a narrow stairwell leading up to it. It was hot that day. I can’t recall if there had been a problem with the air conditioning or not, but the room was stuffy. They told us they were going to leave the door open a bit to let the air circulate, as they had had a patron faint earlier. <br />
<br />
We took turns in the various sealings, and when it wasn’t my turn, I sat and occasional found my gaze wandering to the partially opened door. I saw a group of women walk past the door, and only saw the hems of their long white dresses, and then I saw a young girl, of about 10 or so, pass by. The curious thing is that she later passed by going back the way she came, and then passed by the door again. There was a young boy—a little taller than she was, with her one of those times. I also saw temple workers talking to each other at the foot of the stairs, and noted that I could only see the top half of them, because I was sitting down. <br />
<br />
After the sealings, I lingered for a while, pondering the eternal nature of a temple sealing, and when I went to leave the room, I was absolutely surprised to find that there was <i>no hallway </i>on the top of the stairwell where I had seen the hems of the group of women pass by, and the young girl and boy. I totally expected to see a hallway cross the outside of the door where I had seen them pass, but <i>there wasn't any</i>, only the enclosed stairwell going down to the lower floor. <br />
<br />
I immediately went to see the person in charge of sealings and inquired if there had been any children sealed to their parents that afternoon (live sealings.) He said no, but earlier that morning they had a Hispanic couple with children sealed. Because I could compare the women's hems, and the full length view of the two children passing by the room with the temple workers at the <i>bottom</i> of the stairs that I could only view from the waist or so up, I concluded that these indeed had been spirits who had witnessed their own sealings, and were most definitely, family members of mine. <br />
<br />
Still, we sealed no children to their parents that day. <br />
<br />
Who were those two children, and what message were they trying to send to me? <br />
<br />
I haven't seen her since, perhaps someone else has heeded her call, but I suspect that one day, she's going to ask me why I didn't jump on it right away and search for her, so I guess, I'd better do it, just in case she's still waiting.<br />
<br />
For those of you who are not familiar with temples and their divine purpose, visit lds.org/temples/purposeUnknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-90059462684576604522010-10-24T16:10:00.000-07:002010-10-24T16:10:40.767-07:00Death DreamsDeath Dreams-Part II<br />
Location Gilbert, Arizona<br />
Date: June or July 2000<br />
<br />
It was shortly after we moved back to Arizona, that I had my second death dream. The dream lasted the entire night. I dreamt that a small group of spirits were trying to reach me. They were American Indians. I purposely evaded them from dream to dream. They came to <i>each dream</i> I had that evening, all night long. I wasn’t afraid of them, even though I knew that they were spirits. It was as if I knew what they wanted—but didn’t want to comply. Towards the morning, I could evade them no longer, and finally allowed them to speak to me. They wanted me to return with them to the spirit world. They wanted me to sing with them in some kind of a concert. I chose not to go. <br />
<br />
Interesting, huh? And yet, the very next night, I had an even more fascinating death dream. ...<br />
<br />
<br />
Death Dreams-Part III<br />
Location: Gilbert, Arizona<br />
Date: June or July 2000<br />
<br />
In the middle of the night I awoke and found my deceased father standing across from me, at the foot of my bed. Bill was sleeping in between us. My dad called me by my nickname, Terri. It was wonderful to hear his voice! The voices of the deceased ones that I love are the hardest part for me to recall, but I recognize them immediately. Daddy didn’t say anything else, but I knew what he wanted. He wanted me to return with him.<br />
<br />
I said, “I will be obedient,” but then began to cry as my eyes rested on Bill. I said, “I love you,” to Bill three times, and then lay back down. I heard a soft rumbling sound, and felt a gentle swirling sensation growing in intensity surrounding my body. I knew that if I did nothing, my spirit would leave my body, so, I stopped it. <br />
<br />
Instantly, Daddy was gone, and I was not asleep. I had nothing to wake up from, no pulling out of any sort of dream state, or dreamy awakening … I was <i>not</i> sleeping, so <i>did not need to awake</i>. I was simply there, alone with Bill sleeping by my side. <br />
<br />
What does one do, when in an instant a pretty incredible experience ends, and you are left to ponder its meaning? Does one simply go back to sleep? <i>Oh, no</i>, no, no, no. <br />
<br />
I immediately got out of bed and got on my knees. I told God that I would be obedient, if indeed he wanted me to come home that evening, then I would go, but, if I <i>could</i> <i>choose</i>, then I wanted to stay with Bill.<br />
<br />
Then I sat down and wrote the whole experience out, and a message to each one of my children (just in case … ) It is hand-written on a piece of yellow cardstock, and filed in a white cabinet under my desk in my bedroom.<br />
<br />
I am not afraid of death. It holds little mystery, but all wonder to me. I imagine when I do leave this existence, it will be quite like the dreams I’ve had, but only <i>better</i>. <br />
<br />
However, if Bill should ever leave mortality before me, and then come for me—there is nothing on this earth that would keep me from leaping into his arms. Until then, I’d like to stay just a little longer, and try a little harder to be a little better, and I’ll keep on asking, as long as it doesn’t interfere with the Lord’s will for me.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-90997560324143426282010-10-17T19:41:00.000-07:002010-10-17T19:41:40.750-07:00Death Dreams Part ILocation: Batavia Ohio<br />
Date: 1999<br />
<br />
Have you ever had a dream that you died? I had three of them within six months, two of them back-to-back, two nights in a row. My first death dream happened the last year that we lived in Ohio.<br />
<br />
I dreamt that I had died. I could not remember how, but knew that it had just happened. In my dream, my deceased family came to see me. There was a large group of them. My brother Donnie was not there, but I was told that he was busily engaged and would come to see me as soon as he was finished with what he was doing. <br />
<br />
In the next part of my dream, I was in a dormitory-like room with a woman named Linda, who was also recently dead. She was tall and had short blond hair, but was not anyone familiar to me. We gathered our stuff together and began to walk towards a large building along with other spirits.<br />
. <br />
I remember seeing the building off in the distance. I remember green grass to the right of the sidewalk that we walked on. We got about half way there when we remembered we had left something in the dormitory. It was an iron of sorts. I can’t explain it, because I don’t understand it. It was very unusual in a futuristic sort of way. How difficult it is for any time-trapped mortal to explain an object of eternity. <br />
<br />
We paused for a moment as we discussed going back to get the iron. I did not want to go, but Linda did. I watched her walk back towards the dormitory, and even turned from her and took a few steps towards the building. I began to feel a little guilty for not going with her, so I turned around and started to follow her. After a few steps, I stopped, and this thought came to me, “Wait! I’m dead! Why am I walking?” So, I simply thought about where I wanted to go, and instantly was there. <br />
<br />
It must have been a dream, because here I am today, but what a fascinating dream it was! To dream—so clearly of the moments following death, greeting my family, anticipating seeing my brother Donnie as soon as he was able, having a recently dead roommate, preparing to go to some important meeting, and transporting myself back to the dormitory rather than using any snail-pace mortal means, what great fun!<br />
<br />
What a grand adventure this mortal life has been. For a short moment in time, I am limited in my eternal, god-like abilities in order to glean as much as possible from this human-like experience. We are all gods in embryo, not unlike our creator, but created in His literal image. Young gods yet in infancy…Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-49682258774468721742010-10-10T20:23:00.000-07:002010-10-12T08:59:01.670-07:00Facing MortalityA couple years ago, while I lay in a hospital bed, near death from a string of blood clots that passed through my heart and into my lungs, this is the song that came to me when I thought to write about what I was feeling. It's one of my favorites ...<br />
<br />
Somewhere over the rainbow <br />
Way up high <br />
There’s a dream that you dream of <br />
Once in a lullaby<br />
<br />
Somewhere over the rainbow <br />
Bluebirds fly <br />
And the dreams that you dream of <br />
Do, really do come true<br />
<br />
<i>Somewhere Over the Rainbow</i> by E.Y. Harburg <br />
<br />
After I typed those words on my laptop, my all-time favorite song came to me ...<br />
<br />
I believe in Christ; <br />
He stands supreme!<br />
From him I’ll gain my fondest dream;<br />
And while I strive through grief and pain <br />
His voice is heard: “ye shall obtain.”<br />
<br />
I believe in Christ <br />
So come what may,<br />
With him I’ll stand in that great day<br />
When on the earth he comes again<br />
To rule among the sons of men.<br />
<br />
<i>I Believe in Christ </i> by Elder Bruce R. McConkie<br />
<br />
I believe in Christ! He is not some mystic being that exists to rule over me … but a <i>loving</i> brother, who personally knows me, and loves me.<br />
<br />
My mortality<br />
What a journey it is<br />
<br />
A kaleidoscope of beauty and love <br />
Mingled with a myriad of trials<br />
All carefully orchestrated for my incredulous growth<br />
<br />
My heart is filled with gratitude for my life experiences,<br />
More particularly the ones that have caused me<br />
To reflect on the purpose of life<br />
And the tender mercies of the Lord<br />
<br />
As I passed through that new trial, I reflected on some of those experiences …<br />
<br />
Near Death, A Choice of Life<br />
Age: 19<br />
Location: BYU Provo, Utah<br />
Date: 1977<br />
<br />
I was in the winter semester at BYU, after transferring from USC following the fall semester there, and had for many reasons concluded that life was everlastingly too hard. I was deeply saddened by the events in the world around me, and by the choices of friends, and loved ones. As a freshman 3,000 miles from home, who hadn’t been home for 5 months, I was terribly homesick, too. <br />
<br />
Along with that, I was also depressed due to feeling so alone at BYU. I had joined the church at USC, transferred to BYU, and knew very few people. Because I worked the night-shift full-time, I didn’t get to socialize at all. The two students Martha, and Mary, who transferred from USC to BYU with me, had become great friends with each other, and I felt more like a bother to them, not a friend. Martha had a car, and a bank account her father kept up for her, and Martha really liked Mary, and took her everywhere. They never asked me to go with them. I didn’t have a car, and from January to April walked two to three miles each winter night to work, and then walked home in the morning. I barely made enough money to pay for my rent at the Riviera Apartments, and for my own food. I had classes at 10:00 in the morning and sometimes concerts in the early evening (I played in the BYU Symphony Orchestra). I remember a couple of times not going to bed at all, but going from work to school to concert to work …<br />
<br />
I guess I had had enough, and one evening deep in thought, I unwittingly willed myself to go home. It wasn’t anything I was attempting to do, it just happened. I lay on my bed at the apartment, and simply asked to come home, back to my Father in heaven, exercising the faith that I had. The faith and the will I had was in conjunction with the spirit. I felt very close to the Lord. I felt a swirling sensation that started from my feet and moved up through my body. I felt like my spirit was leaving my body, and it frightened me, so I stopped it. <br />
<br />
I write about it, because it is such a fascinating experience. The faith, the answer, the reprieve … the story of my mortal life continues as such, always being saved from myself.<br />
<br />
<br />
Unexpected Visitors<br />
Batavia Ohio - Sneed’s Residence<br />
Late 1978 or early 1979<br />
Age: 21<br />
<br />
I was about three months pregnant with our oldest son, Jason, when I pulled a string of muscles in my back lifting a small TV. The doctor told me to stay in bed for two weeks while it healed. We left our small apartment in Batavia, and stayed at Bill’s parent’s home on the other side of town. I tenderly remember the loving way Bill’s mother, Shirley, took care of me. One day she peeled a pink grapefruit, broke it into wedges, and sprinkled it with sugar. She brought it in to me. I had never had pink grapefruit prepared like that before, but more especially had not been pampered since I was a child, years ago, by my own mother.<br />
<br />
We stayed in Bill’s brother’s room. It was a small bedroom, but we managed to put a TV in the corner, and our three year old daughter Mandee’s sleeping bag on the floor beside us. There was a window across from the bed, and a dresser against the same wall the headboard was against. The bed was alongside the wall opposite the window. I slept on the outside of the bed for easier access both in and out of bed.<br />
<br />
I awoke one night to find two men dressed in white standing by my bed. They were not frightening in the least, in fact, it seemed quite <i>natural</i> and not out of the ordinary at all to see them. The one on the left reached his hand out to me, and said, “It’s time to go.” I began to sit up and reach my hand to his, but looked back at Bill, and said, “No. I want to stay with Bill.” I do not remember anything past that. I must have simply cuddled next to Bill, and gone back to sleep.<br />
<br />
Was it a dream? If anything had been out of place in that room, I may have wondered so, but there wasn’t. The room was exactly the way it was when I went to sleep that night. I noted that the TV was in the corner, the dresser to my right, Bill on the other side of me, and Mandee sleeping soundly on the floor. There just happened to be two men, dressed in white, standing there, too. <br />
<br />
Was it my time to go? Apparently not, but maybe so. Did I have a choice? Perhaps. Was it the same choice that I had at BYU? I think so. And yet, a greater message is woven into the fibers of this experience … I turned to Bill, and <i>chose him</i>.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-15456584550377302112010-10-03T16:17:00.000-07:002010-10-03T16:17:27.614-07:00Dreams and Other Significant Things3. The Bear Truth <br />
<br />
I grew up on a dairy farm in the woodlands of Maine, where daisy-pocked meadows were my playground, and dense forests—my sanctuary. Every day was an adventure for me, from climbing oaks and maples high above the roof of our farmhouse—to searching for green, slithery snakes under rocks. I lived outdoors—and fondly remember my mother lining her freshly cleaned floors with paths of newspapers to keep our grubby feet from soiling her hard work. Cold weather didn’t keep us indoors—old socks replaced soaked, woolen mittens. The sweet, musty smell of wet wool drying on an open oven door is forever locked in the memory of my youth. Late summer nights and daunting porch lights shadowing tall stalks of goldenrod created an alluring world for twilight hide and seek, which was interrupted only by the incessant buzz of pesky mosquitoes, or the distraction of mystifying fireflies. <br />
<br />
Our farm bordered several acres of meadows to the north and south, with a long stretch of corn to the east. A well-worn path made first by grazing cows, and then by the patter of our tiny feet, weaved through the tall meadows. Old forests—untouched for hundreds of years, surrounded the whole, like a green blanket wrapped tight about its child. It was not unusual for me to look to the meadows and see a fox scurrying along, or to the large patch of red and black raspberries that grew near a grove of trees close to our house and see other wild animals like skunks, porcupines, raccoons, and even moose. If I awoke early enough, I could see herds of deer from my bedroom window. Later in the day, we’d find deep impressions in the soft grass made from their night of peaceful sleep. <br />
<br />
A single row of trees growing sporadically alongside a rock wall split the meadows south of the farm. As children, we named each tree and rock according to their particular size, shape or function. Slide Rock, Bed Rock, Picnic Rock, and Gum Tree all embraced childhood play and wonder. Picnic Rock is where this story took place. <br />
<br />
<br />
“Aunt Anna’s here! Aunt Anna’s here!” We jumped up and down with excitement when her car pulled into our long driveway. Aunt Anna always brought candy. But this particular time, she brought a new doll, too. I saw the doll first, and grabbed for it, but so did my older sister and a fight ensued. Aunt Anna put a quick stop to it, informing me that it was indeed for JoAnn. For the first time in my young life, a rather colorful word popped out of my mouth. <br />
<br />
Who knows why one flees during times like that?—Embarrassment? Fear of having my skinny legs stung with a thin, homemade switch?—or my mouth washed out with a nasty bar of soap? Alas, I ran down through the meadow all the way to Picnic Rock, climbed up on it, and pouted. <br />
<br />
My mind was a jumble of emotions—embarrassment, shame, self-pity—I did feel a bit justified, too, after all, I <i>had</i> seen it first. When all of the sudden, I caught a glimpse of something brown lumbering over a small knoll, and then meandering its way down the path through the tall goldenrod towards me—separating me from my house.<br />
<br />
A big, brown bear weaved through the tall grass towards me. Fear gripped my tiny heart. What could I do? How could I get safely back to my house? I wanted to pray for help, but how does one ask God for help directly after doing something wrong? I had learned about repentance in the Baptist church my family attended, but how does one sincerely ask for forgiveness <i>while in </i>the wake of danger? I didn’t know how to do it any other way, so I just asked, took a deep breath, and climbed down off the rock. I walked slowly up the path, the only way I knew to get to safety, having faith that I would be protected, even though I could see the bear coming straight towards me. <br />
<br />
The bear got about ten feet away from me and then stopped. It rose up on its hind legs and let out a bellowing grunt of disgust, as Mom’s old, brown, fur coat fell off my brother, Donnie’s shoulders. I was temporarily in shock, but then broke out in giggles, trying to hide my enormous relief. Donnie was quite disappointed, and grumbled, “Why weren’t you scared?” <br />
<br />
You would think that perhaps I would have told him of my deep faith in God, and that I had been indeed, terribly frightened. What a tale of truth that would have been, but instead my young, clever mouth blurted out, “Oh Donnie! I knew it was you all the time!” And I, alas, began a life of constant repentance…Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-14758777294071277522010-10-03T12:09:00.000-07:002010-10-03T12:09:30.558-07:00Dreams and Other Significant Things2. Angelic Choruses<br />
Age: 10 or 11 (approximate)<br />
Location: Dairy Farm, Dover-Foxcroft, Maine<br />
<br />
I don’t remember much about this, but I do remember it happening. I share this experience with my older sister, JoAnn. I don’t remember the day or year, or whether it was spring or summer, morning or evening, but I do remember the music we heard in our upstairs bedroom. Music that came from nowhere—for we searched <i>everywhere</i> for its source—beautiful, peaceful, angelic choruses floating gently through our room…Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-28771350648572501852010-09-26T21:44:00.000-07:002010-09-26T21:44:10.498-07:00Dreams and Other Significant ThingsWhat are dreams? Are they the imaginations of the heart, or the soul at play without imposed limitations to restrict it? Do they have meaning—messages from beyond? And what of unexplained phenomenon—has it a purpose? I think, yes. These are some of my life experiences...<br />
<br />
1. Being in White<br />
Age: 10 (approximate)<br />
Location: Dairy Farm, Dover-Foxcroft, Maine<br />
<br />
Though it was many years ago, I vividly remember the bedroom I shared with my older sister, JoAnn. It was big enough for our twin beds, which straddled the only heat source in our room, a small register in the floor. The square-shaped register had an iron grid top and bottom. At some point we discovered that the top could be removed, and that we could easily fit one of our sneaky heads down into it, and though upside down, could watch whatever T.V. program our parents had sent us to bed early not to see. I often wonder what fear would have gripped my heart if Daddy had looked up and seen my conniving eyes looking down. <br />
<br />
Our bedroom had one window that looked out over the meadows, and on to the woods. The room had three doors, one that led down an enclosed stairwell to the kitchen, a short door that opened to a small cubby, and a door to the attic. The attic held a secret of mine as it became the burial place of a small litter of unfortunate kittens, which my tiny hands lovingly laid to rest amongst the soft, pink fiberglass under its worn boards. JoAnn slept in the bed closest to the window, mine was by the attic door. The door that led downstairs to the kitchen was at the foot of both our beds. <br />
<br />
JoAnn had stayed late at a friends house and upon returning, decided to sleep downstairs on one of the two couches in the living room. I awoke during the night and went downstairs for a drink of water. I left the door upstairs open. As I ascended the stairs, my eyes beheld a being, all arrayed in white, sitting on JoAnn’s bed, facing mine. I did not turn and run, but quickly surmised the situation. I looked to the register to see if any light from it could be causing the image I saw. I checked the window and the attic door for any signs of light. There wasn’t any, and yet the being remained, eyes fixed on me. He did not do, or say anything. I suppose he waited for my reaction to him. He presented no danger to me—no reason to fear him, but I did. I’m convinced that a staunch Baptist upbringing entrenched in unnatural fear gripped my young heart, of which I sorely regret. I inched my way over to my bed, snatched a pillow, and then hurried downstairs to the second couch with our family dog, Duchess, by my side. I remember no sleep, but prayed for protection for the rest of the night.<br />
<br />
Who was that being, and what was his purpose? Why was he entirely white, from the top of his head, to the bottom of his feet? Did he have a message for me, or perhaps a request? Dare I imagine I hold some importance to him somehow? Or was he merely resting, before continuing his journey? <br />
<br />
I do know, as anyone would, that he was not of this world—at that moment at least. Perhaps he was an ancestor returning to stir my heart towards spiritual matters, or an angel of God, whose purpose remains unknown for a while longer? <br />
<br />
Whatever the purpose, this undeniable fact remains—there is more to life than meets the mortal eye. I bear firm witness of that.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-75650291531107997832010-09-21T04:38:00.000-07:002010-09-21T04:43:06.967-07:00Walking on WaterDon’t you hate it when you have a dream that shocks you awake? The other night I dreamt that Bill and I were on a narrow, well-traveled road. There were other vehicles on the road with us traveling in the same direction, but I don’t remember any coming the opposite way. We all seemed to be moving forward. We were in a terrible storm—heavy rain and wind. I didn’t notice that the road we were on didn’t have any side rails until the wind and rain caused our vehicle to hydroplane off the road and onto the surface of an ocean—pocked with thousands of uniform waves—much like the surface of any water when rained upon. We skimmed the surface of the ocean for about four seconds before I assessed the situation and said, “We’re going to die.” I was shocked awake, and immediately planned our escape from our impending dome (the writer/survivor in me.)<br />
<br />
So, I was thinking. <br />
<br />
I remember being taught in my youth about the story of Peter. He looked out of his ship and saw Jesus walking on the surface of the water and desired to be with him. Christ told him to come out of the safety of the ship and walk upon the water with him, and with knowledge of the Savior right there in front of him, he took that first step, and then the second, and then the third. I remember as a child being excited to hear that story, I mean, who wouldn’t like to be able to walk on top of water with the Savior? Peter did it, and was doing just fine with his eyes and heart focused on the mark, even Jesus Christ himself, but as he felt the storm around him and looked down, he feared, and slipped into the icy water. I was not disappointed as a child with Peter’s failure, when the rest of the story told of how Christ stretched forth his hand and saved him. As an adult, I see a lot of similarities in my own life.<br />
<br />
Faith.<br />
<br />
Faith is to hope for things that you can’t see. <br />
<br />
I believe in Christ, but even though through faith, I clearly see the mark before me, how easy it is to “look down” and slip into doubt and fear. <br />
<br />
How much this life is like walking on water while the storm rages around us, but if our focus is on the mark, even Christ, we can pass through any trial. We can overcome any obstacle, we can brave any storm, but if we do begin to sink, or even get completely submerged in the icy depths of the ocean, Christ is ever there, stretching forth his hand...<br />
<br />
I’m walking on water, and I won’t look down.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-38376160109170802682010-09-06T07:13:00.000-07:002010-09-06T07:41:23.445-07:00We Are Not AloneWould God create us, dump us in a dying, corruptible world, and then forget us? No! He created our spirits, lovingly placed us in magnificent bodies on a glorious, yet mortal earth, knowing that it, like us, would eventually need to be cleansed and purified before being allowed to return to abide in His presence. He gave us all the tools we need to survive, including a loving Savior, and the promptings of an ever watchful friend and companion, the Holy Ghost. <br />
<br />
About six months ago, while sitting at my computer, a clear, intense prompting came to me. I heard a thought, not of mine own, that said, <i>"Cleanse the inner vessel." </i>It's hard to explain. It wasn't like thinking about something because a particular stimulus was placed before me causing me to reflect upon it. It was much deeper, like spirit speaking to spirit. That makes sense to me, because the inner part of us is pure, eternal spirit, and the Holy Spirit is, well, a spirit—spirit, speaking to spirit. For the most part, I have continued to follow that prompting, though I still struggle.<br />
<br />
Several years ago in Ohio, I had a similar spirit-to-spirit prompting. I was driving home at about 55 mph on a twisting, tree-lined road, when I heard a "thought", not of mine own, say, <i>"Slow down." </i>I immediately listened. Now, if I had taken the time to question the thought, I wouldn't have followed it, because it made no sense. Slow down? I wasn't speeding, and there wasn't any traffic. But I didn't question, I obeyed, and slowed down to about 20-25 mph for no apparent reason. As I rounded the bend, I came upon two disabled vehicles blocking both sides of the road. I would have been seriously injured, <i>or worse,</i> if I hadn’t been protected by that prompting.<br />
<br />
<i>It wasn’t my thought.</i> <br />
<br />
So, whose was it? It is experiences like that that cause me to testify that <i>there is a greater existence </i><i>than that which we see</i> before us. We have great purpose in life—and greater purpose in the eternities. We are not alone—<i>we never have been. <br />
</i>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-29352325224032820562010-03-24T13:17:00.000-07:002010-03-25T22:43:45.921-07:00Musings on C.S. Lewis' Screwtape LettersTime vs. Eternity, or Then You Woke <br />
by Theresa M. Sneed<br />
<br />
"For a thousand years in thy sight are but as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night." -Psalm 90:4<br />
<br />
Screwtape says, "The humans live in time but our Enemy destines them to eternity. He therefore, I believe, wants them to attend chiefly to two things, to eternity itself, and to that point of time which they call the Present. For the Present is the point at which time touches eternity." p. 75<br />
<br />
"Humans live in time..." <br />
I have often wondered about the concept of time. What if time is separate from eternity, and actually exists within it? Screwtape writes, "Present is the point in which time touches eternity." Perhaps the Past is also a point that touches eternity, so that eternity exists on either side.<br />
<br />
It seems to me that earthly time of mortal lives is one of the grandest creations. In my fantastical imagination, I perceive this life to be the greatest reality game ever contrived, by the greatest, most advanced intellect that exists. We first lived in eternity with our Creator, and then we were born into time, and at death, we will return to that same eternity.<br />
<br />
In 2 Peter 3:8-9, it states: <br />
"But, beloved, be not ignorant of this one thing, that one day is as a thousand years, and a thousand years as one day."<br />
<br />
I did the math on that:<br />
<br />
GOD’S TIME.........MAN’S TIME <br />
1 day..............1000 years <br />
1 hr...............41.66 years <br />
30 min.............20.83 years <br />
15 min.............10.415 years <br />
7.5 min............5.2075 years <br />
3.75 min...........2.60375 years <br />
1.875 min..........1.301875 years, or about 1 1/3 year<br />
56.25 sec..........7.81135 months, or 234.337 days <br />
28.125 sec.........3.905625 months, or 117.1688 days <br />
14.0625 sec........1.952813 months or 58.584338 days <br />
7 sec..............29.29210 days <br />
3.5 sec............14.6461 days <br />
1.75 sec...........7.32 days <br />
.875 of a sec. .....3.66 days <br />
.4375 of a sec.....1.83 days, or 43.92 hours<br />
<br />
SO, about 1/2 second of God's time is equal to about 2 days, or 44 hours of man's; and about 1 second of God's time is equal to almost 4 days, or 88 hours of man's.<br />
<br />
Imagine a plan so intricate to encompass thousands of years of mankind, and billions of lives, and yet be intimately involved at all times, and in all places, with all lives ... such is our God.<br />
<br />
Screwtape writes; "The man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift." p. 112<br />
<br />
How long the days seemed to drag on when I was a young girl attending Dover Elementary school. Each day seemed as a week. I distinctly remember how much faster the days went by when I entered the 6th grade, separated in our own building from the elementary school. And why in my sleep doth time speed past, while it ebbs slowly by for those yet awake? Wasn't the same amount of time expended? Was not the minute 60 seconds, and the hour still 60 more?<br />
<br />
Screwtape recognizes times' merits when he says, "How valuable time is to us may be gauged by the fact that our Enemy allows us so little of it." p. 157<br />
<br />
Lewis alludes to the time limitations imposed on Screwtape and his nephew Wormtongue for seeking out and taking individual "patients". Gratefully, that is true, as the time is quickly approaching that the power of the adversary will cease, and his time upon this earth, and those who followed him, will come to an abrupt end.<br />
<br />
Here is truly one of Screwtapes greatest deceptions:<br />
"They of course, do tend to regard death as the prime evil and survival as the greatest good. But that is because we have taught them to do so." p. 154<br />
<br />
The greatest fear of man, often unspoken, is death, but why? Consider that if a man lives an average life span of 80 years, he will be away from God for less than two hours! That's not even the length of a good movie!<br />
<br />
Why is death so welcomed to the sick in hospitals who many times see deceased loved ones as if they were alive? Maybe, it's because they do. It's like going back to them, the ones they love, and to the great place they just left a few moments earlier.<br />
<br />
Screwtape: "...human birth is important chiefly as the qualification for human death, and death soley as the gate to that other kind of life." p. 157<br />
<br />
So eloquently written ... man must be born, and must be deathed back into eternity from whence he came, but to another kind of life.<br />
<br />
Screwtape: "Did you mark how naturally, as if he had born for it, the earth born vermin entered the new life? How all his doubts became, in the twinkling of an eye, ridiculous?" p. 172<br />
<br />
Wonderfully and insightfully put! "How naturally..." as if it, his death, were santioned to be.<br />
<br />
My very favorite Screwtapian philosophy: <br />
<br />
"The extraction hurt more and more and then the tooth was out. The dream became a nightmare and then you woke. You die and die and then you are beyond death. How could I ever have doubted it? As he saw you, he also saw Them." p. 173<br />
<br />
I have imagined this, and quite expect it will be so.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-4156788033333566672009-12-28T20:40:00.000-08:002009-12-29T13:51:49.329-08:00My Sister-in-Law<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=img023.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/img023.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a> <br />
<br />
Vicki Lynne Williamson(nee Sneed)was born on February 12, 1954, the second child of Garfield Sneed Jr. and Shirley Alma Krebs. She leaves behind her husband John L. Williamson, three of her four children and their spouses; Chad and Megan Earls, Jeremy and Shannon Neal, and Candi Neal; and the absolute, without a doubt joy of her life, her five beautiful grandchildren, Will Earls, Cara Earls, Genesis Neal, Kaitlyn Neal and Kaylie Neal, two younger brothers and their wives; Bill and Theresa Sneed, and Jimmy and Terri Sneed; and three younger sisters and their husbands; Gail and Randy Newberry, Lois Sneed, and Wendy and Mike Mitchell, and her father, Garfield Sneed Jr. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=img021.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/img021.jpg" border="0" alt="Vicki"></a><br />
<br />
She married Jody Earls and gave birth to her oldest son, Chad. Her second marriage to David Neal gave her three more children, Jeremy, Christopher (who died shortly after birth), and Candi. Her third marriage was with John L. Williamson.<br />
<br />
Vicki was a cute, howbeit, mischievous toddler. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=Vicki005-1.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/Vicki005-1.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br />
<br />
It didn't take her long to discover the joys of flinging food ... at her <i>father</i>. That was her first mistake. One fateful meal Garfield turned the cards on her, literally. He dumped the whole bowl on top of her head, and she never threw food at him again. <br />
<br />
She was a difficult child when it came to potty training, so in a final act of desperation, her father tied the potty chair to her, which worked, but would probably be illegal today. <br />
<br />
Her dad also remembers a time when he was her hero, and “saved her life.” She had become very frightened of a particular toy and was screaming in fear, until he threw it down on the floor and stomped on it. She stopped crying.<br />
<br />
Vicki was tough little girl. Her father got his first assignment to Long Island New York, and left Shirley alone with the kids, and without a car. Because she didn't have a car, and had three young children, Shirley ordered groceries, and had them delivered to her home. When the man who delivered the groceries began “hitting” on Shirley, Vicki came over to the door and said, “You better get out of here. My mommy’s going to go get a shot gun.” He left quickly and never bothered Shirley again.<br />
<br />
Garfield and Shirley took their children down the river to gather rocks for their patio. Four year old Vicki stood on a rock to watch, until the rock started to move. What she thought was a rock turned out to be a snapping turtle. They killed the turtle, and her mom made turtle soup. <br />
<br />
Garfield had the basement floor poured on a Saturday morning in their new house in Goshen, and when they went back to check on it that next evening after church, a thin layer of water covered the entire floor. Vicki walked the perimeter of the damp basement splashing her feet in the water until she came to the area where they had set up a sump pump. It looked just like the rest of the floor. She stepped into it, and plummeted 30 inches down, up to her chin. She bobbed up and down, like a cork in water, bawling her eyes out. <br />
<br />
It was at that same sump hole, where Bill grasped a hold of a metal lamp, and while the electricity was coursing through his veins, Vicki tried to rescue him. She grabbed a hold of Bill, but now the two of them were getting the shock of their lives, until Gail quickly accessed the situation, and unplugged the lamp, saving them both.<br />
<br />
Gail admits that she always kind of jealous of her older sister, because Vicki got everything, <i>and</i> got away with everything. She even got tap dancing lessons, but that was because Vicki used to put plastic cups over her feet and dance in them, and that’s why her mom was convinced that she’d be a dancer. <br />
<br />
About his sister Bill says, “She had those stupid horses.” The horses were such a hassle. But when Vicki was on a horse, she was in her element. She was horse crazy. She was great, and pranced around like a pro. She was good with the horses, and took excellent care of them. She was even hired by someone in the area to board and care for their three horses.<br />
<br />
Vicki fell while swinging from grape vines at Camp Turner (girl's camp) and broke something, but her dad doesn't remember what. But, she did break her wrist hitting Lorin on top of the head once, after his relentless teasing. She ended up with a cast, and Lorin ended up with … well, nothing, except a really good story.<br />
<br />
Here are some random thoughts about Vicki, from those who knew her best:<br />
<br />
She crocheted blanket, quilts, Afghans and dollies for her home, and as gifts for others.<br />
<br />
She loved her soaps; All My Children, One Life to Live, General Hospital, and watched them faithfully from 1-4. <br />
<br />
She was a pretty good softball player and slid into first base when she was 6 or 7 months pregnant with Jeremy. <br />
<br />
She was always athletic.<br />
<br />
She had the most beautiful, sweet smile.<br />
<br />
She loved the Dollar General….<br />
<br />
She made the best homemade cookies and the best homemade pizza. <br />
<br />
Vicki liked to wear leather and ride on the back of John’s Full Dresser Touring Bike.<br />
<br />
She loved playing Euchre every Friday night.<br />
<br />
Vicki’s comeback to Jeremy about her being short?—“Good things come in small packages.”<br />
<br />
She hated daddy long legs, so Gail used to chase her with them. Bill says, “We all did.”<br />
<br />
She loved walking the creeks…<br />
<br />
Vicki always dressed nice. She was stylish. John L.'s mother, Phyllis was one of her best friends. They did everything together.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=fam078.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/fam078.jpg" border="0" alt="Vicki 2"></a><br />
<br />
Vicki loved all of her grandbabies, and has two granddaughters named after her; Kaylie Lynne, and Kaitlyn.<br />
<br />
Vicki didn’t have a favorite heirloom, piece of jewelry, or any material object. She wasn’t like that. She loved everything. She loved life, and didn’t want to leave…<br />
<br />
Jeremy’s wife, Shannon, got along superbly with Vicki. Shannon says that Vicki never looked at her as an in-law, but as a daughter. She once overheard Vicki say to Jeremy, “You better keep this one.” <br />
<br />
She was undeniably beautiful, and never left her house looking anything but fantastic. But that took a lot of time. She meticulously wrapped her long hair around her head and pinned it… she even ironed her hair, before hair irons for hair were invented. She kept a great tan, and her fingernails were always perfectly manicured. She did her own nails and spent hours trimming, applying several coats of nail polish, and adding decals. <br />
<br />
She was around the age of 12 when she had her appendix taken out. Later in life, the doctors found out that Vicki had a nonfunctioning kidney, and the kidney along with a seven pound tumor was safely removed. It was found to be noncancerous.<br />
<br />
John L. tells the story of how one morning they awoke to find three year old Jeremy standing on a chair in the kitchen pouring flour into the coffee maker. She couldn’t get mad at him, but she wouldn’t drink the coffee either.<br />
<br />
Her house was impeccable, always clean and orderly, nothing out of place. John L. says, “The kids would get toys out and go into another room, and she’d pick up after them. She had to have things picked up…” and Jeremy’s wife, Shannon says, “Is that why you think I’m going to do that?” <br />
<br />
Candy talked to mom almost every single night, even when she was a teenager. Her mom was her best friend. Candi remembers that any time Vicki went to the grocery store, or the laundry mat, she tagged along. She also remembers brushing Vicki’s hair and French braiding it too. Vicki loved that.<br />
<br />
When Vicki and John L were dating, John L turned the music up loud, stopped the traffic on Main St. in front of the Stage Coach Inn, and they slow danced to Islands in the Stream, while he proposed to her. After their marriage, they decided they wanted to have a baby together, and on the way home from somewhere, she grabbed her birth control pills out of her purse and threw them out the car window on Rt. 68, where Lorin used to live. A month later she became pregnant and unfortunately had a miscarriage. She would have a second miscarriage before having to have a hysterectomy. <br />
<br />
Vicki was a stay-at-home mom for many years, until Candi was 14, when she took her first job at Diesel Eagle. She was a packer, and really enjoyed shipping. She worked there about ten years before it sold out, and then she went to work at the Golden Chorral in Eastgate. She had faithful customers who came just to see her, like Marlene (who came to see her in hospice.) She loved her customers, and they loved her. Vicki gave such good service, that her customers would ask which section she was working in. She worked there for about 10 years, up until the time that she got sick. The obituary picture online is one of her working at the Chorral. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=fam086.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/fam086.jpg" border="0" alt="Vicki 2"></a><br />
<br />
It was taken a little over a year ago.<br />
<br />
She loved their chow, Rocky, and Buddy, their Siamese cat. There was something about Vicki and animals. Shirley’s cat Tigress isn’t too partial to people, but would jump right up on Vicki’s lap when she came over.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=img014-1-1.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/img014-1-1.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=img015-1.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/img015-1.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br />
<br />
Vicki always went all out at Thanksgiving with ten or twelve pies—every one of them made from scratch. Each Thanksgiving, they had one whole table with nothing but pies, and they’d try to find the largest turkey that they could to feed all of their family and friends. She did everything in her power to make sure that her children had a good Thanksgiving, and a great Christmas – that was really important to her. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=img016-1.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/img016-1.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=img017.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/img017.jpg" border="0" alt="Vicki's Life"></a><br />
<br />
Vicki always made sure that Candi’s hair was perfect for school. <br />
<br />
Once when Vicki attended a parent-teacher conference for Jeremy, she questioned the teacher on some point and the teacher replied, “Oh, but you signed your name that you received it.” Well, evidently, she did not, but what they discovered was that Jeremy was signing her name so convincing that it fooled even his teacher. Vicki wasn’t too happy about that. Funny how brothers can be so alike—Chad tried pulling the same prank with signing his dad’s name to a report card! He got caught too. <br />
<br />
Vicki loved the outdoors, camping, and fishing. Once she caught a 38 pound cat fish at Sherry’s Pay Lake…a stocked lake, and won big money $1,200 dollars for the 38 pounder. She actually won the daily, weekly, and monthly jackpot with that 38 pounder. One of her and John L.’s favorite thing to do was to go from pond to pond, and ask if they could fish there. At a mud hole that didn’t look like it’d have anything, she caught her biggest bass…<br />
<br />
Because of a frightening experience when she was a little girl with a bear attacking the family car at Yellowstone National Park, Vicki had a natural fear of bears. Fortunately, there aren't any bears in Batavia Ohio. Well, there never <i>used</i> to be. John L. waited for her in the tall grass between the farm house and the market house with a fur coat draped over his shoulders. He jumped up and down and made growling sounds, and she screamed loud, ironically calling out for him. That kind of put him in a bad spot, and he jumped up and dropped the coat and apologized to her.<br />
<br />
Vicki loved boating and tubing, but did not like to go fast. John L. gunned it and took her around in a wide circle. The tube flipped over and she tumbled out, but when she resurfaced, her bathing suit top did not. She probably laughed about it, <i>after</i> she wrapped herself in a towel, and got redressed.<br />
<br />
She was a phenomenal pool player and got into a tournament in Beechmont at Billiards with over 130 people, mostly guys. She came in third. She got to the point that she was as good as John, and they built themselves up quite a pool reputation playing for money. They were known as, Jack and Jill. Yes, they were that good.<br />
<br />
Once, back in 1988, Vicki and John L. were walking around in a used car lot and her eye caught a red Trans Am Firebird. She kept looking at it, and wished there was some way that she could get it. So, later on, John L. made a deal with the car salesman and the kids put a big ‘ol white bow on it, and on that mother’s day gave Vicki one of her sweetest surprises ever. <br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=img018.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/img018.jpg" border="0" alt="Vicki's Life"></a><br />
<br />
A few years later, they traded it for her Blue Baby, a Buick Regal. They gave it a new paint job, and custom wheels. She loved it, and washing it daily.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=img019.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/img019.jpg" border="0" alt="Vicki's Life"></a><br />
<br />
<a href="http://s961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/?action=view¤t=img020.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i961.photobucket.com/albums/ae94/tmsneed/img020.jpg" border="0" alt="Vicki's Life"></a><br />
<br />
Jeremy and Shannon had three miscarriages, and Shannon says, “Every time we lost a baby, she lost a baby.” Shannon’s doctor told her that she could never have a baby, but Vicki said, “Unh uh,” and refused to let them give up. So when Jeremy and Shannon went to visit her after their three month doctor appointment, Vicki said, “We pregnant?” and was ecstatic that they were. Vicki was able to watch Genesis’ birth, and was the first grandparent to hold her. <br />
<br />
When Genesis was a little baby, all she had to do was hear Vicki and her bouncy seat would go crazy. She had Vicki wrapped around her finger. She knew that Vicki had a snack for her, and would get in her purse for crackers. She’s dump them out everywhere, but Vicki didn’t care, she’d just pick them up again. Genesis was not allowed to dump crackers out, and when she was corrected by her parents, Genesis said, “Dama lets me.”<br />
<br />
Shannon told Vicki that she needed help getting to a doctor’s appointment, but what she didn’t tell her, was that Candi was on her way to surprise her with her 4 week old granddaughter that she had not yet seen. So, when she answered Shannon’s front door, and found Candi and Kaylie standing there she said, “Shannon, Candi’s here,” and then burst into tears. <br />
<br />
Vicki loved surprises. Good thing, because apparently this family likes to give them. Once when Candi was on her way up from Tennessee, Vicki called asking if Candi had arrived yet, and they said “No,” right at the very moment they were entering the Golden Chorral with Candi to surprise their mom.<br />
<br />
Chad remembers spending time with his mother at Grandma’s house, when he was younger. He remembers her sending a few cards, and an occasional phone call. He’s grateful for his birth, and for what she unintentionally taught him. <br />
<br />
He remembers that his mother showed up at his doorstep when her first grandchild and only grandson was born and that she held Will, but all he has is a picture of it, because he wasn’t there. He believes that she always had good intentions, and that she did love him. Chad is thankful that he got to see his mom while she was still conscious. Vicki told him she was sorry for some of the choices she made. The best thing he ever got from his mom was his dad, grandparents and family. Chad doesn’t have much of a memory of his mother, but he never stopped loving her or hoping that she would one day is a part of his life. <br />
<br />
During the last week of her life, whenever she woke up she’d say, “Where’s my babies?” and they’d wake her grandbabies up, and bring them in to her. It would take every ounce of her strength to hug and kiss them.<br />
<br />
Gail says that John L gave her the most loving compassion and tenderness that she’d ever seen a man give a woman. Vicki reached up and grabbed him around the neck and kissed him over and over on the cheek and said, “I’d be lost without you.” <br />
<br />
John L adds; “Just like I am now."<br />
<br />
John L. gave her all of her baths, and dried her hair, not just in hospice, but at home too.<br />
<br />
With every breath, she would tell her children and grandchildren that she loved them. She could hardly speak and gave all her strength to hug them. <br />
<br />
John L was sitting with her when Gail arrived. She said, “Oh there’s Gail!” She reached her arms up to her. <br />
<br />
John L and Gail both say that there was something special about Jimmy. Vicki would call out, “Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy.” John L says the hospital bed made sounds, and one night at 2 in the morning, the bed made a sound. He woke up to see Vicki trying to stand. She was sinking to the floor, because she was so weak, and fell into his arms, and said, “Jimmy’s going to be mad.” John L asked why, and she said, “Because I got out of bed.” <br />
<br />
Vicki always responded to John L’s soothing voice. She’d calm right down when he spoke. Hospice told him to relax, and they’d take care of her, and he said, “No, that’s my job. Keep her pain down, keep her comfortable, and I will do everything else. It was my job to do everything else.”<br />
<br />
Even when she was asleep they’d all talk to her, and John L loved to rub her back.<br />
<br />
In the last few days of her life, Vicki said over and over, “I’m so blessed.” It was because of all of the love she saw around her. <br />
<br />
We’re all kind of blessed like that. No matter what happens to our family, we still love each other. Vicki felt blessed and validated by our love, and now it’s our job to continue that legacy. We’re all we've got, and we’re <i>family.</i><br />
<br />
It’s so hard to let Vicki go, especially those of the family that were with her those past few weeks. But can you imagine Vicki's joy in being with her mother? and Lorin and Dennis, and Karen, and her son Christopher? We weep at our loss, while they <i>rejoice</i> in her return. One bright and glorious day, just like them, we'll be looking into Vicki's sparkling eyes and seeing her beautiful smile again.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-59019085750056204432009-10-03T15:51:00.000-07:002009-10-03T17:40:00.650-07:00My Mother-in-Law<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfaoPi1tXI/AAAAAAAAADg/x1HPuwOTngo/s1600-h/Shirley.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 228px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfaoPi1tXI/AAAAAAAAADg/x1HPuwOTngo/s320/Shirley.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388515864074368370" /></a><br /><br />Shirley Alma Sneed (nee Krebs) was born at 4:10 pm on April 3, 1931 in the Cincinnati General Hospital, Cincinnati, Hamilton County, Ohio. She was the second child of four born to Albert Krebs and Stella Nash. Her sister Betty Jean was 4 ½ years older, Alberta was exactly 2 years to the day younger, and Robert James (Bobby) was 11 years younger. Shirley had a great love for her parents and siblings and was very close with them. They often packed a picnic lunch and took site-seeing trips on Sunday afternoons. One of her favorite places to visit was Hoppi’s Island, where they would play, and swim. <br /><br />Both Shirley and Garfield grew up in the Over the Rhine area of Cincinnati, which was a nice area back then. Garfield moved into the apartment next door from Shirley, and one floor up. Garfield says that the first time he saw Shirley, was the very next day. He was talking to a friend across the street from the apartments when she came bounding down the steps. His mouth dropped open and he said, “Wow! Who’s that?” His friend told him, “That’s Shirley Krebs, but forget about her—she’s going out with a red-haired boy.” Garfield said, “Well I can’t help that”. It didn’t matter to him that she was going out with someone else, he was smitten on the spot, and the challenge was on. He followed her everywhere.<br /> <br />They became friends and along with Shirley’s best friend Jeanie Traurig, and the other neighborhood kids, they’d scour the neighborhood for empty pop bottles and newspapers and take them down to the junk yard to cash them in for money to ride the rides at Coney Island. They played baseball, stickball, kick the can, mummbly peg, and road their bikes. But Garfield’s favorite game, but not Shirley’s, was spin-the-bottle. He remembers how every time he’d win, he’d pick Shirley to kiss. Once she said, “For crying out loud Garfield, why don’t you pick someone else!”<br /> <br />Because of the close proximity of their apartment buildings, one day Garfield looked out his window and saw Shirley looking out of her window just below him, and he began to sing, “The more I see you, the more I want you and somehow this feeling just grows and grows, with every sigh I become more mad about you—more lost without you.” Shirley slammed the window shut. He got a big kick out of it. <br /><br />Once in metal shop at school, Garfield took a piece of aluminum and cut and polished and shaped it into a bracelet with Shirley’s name on it. Well, she gave it to another guy, and when Garfield saw him wearing it he made him give it back, and she looked at Garfield and said, “I hate you.” And Garfield said, “I love you,” and she said, “I hate you,” and Garfield said, “Well, I love you,” and then got back on his bicycle and road away. After two years of Garfield’s relentless pursuit, (okay, stalking), she finally gave up and sent a letter to him through her younger sister, Alberta that said, “Okay, I’ll go steady with you.” <br /> <br />Shirley attended Rothenburg Jr. High and William Howard Taft High School. Her favorite classes were swim class and gym. Shirley was very athletic minded. She withdrew from high school in the tenth grade to earn money for her family and went to work at the Gruen Watch Company, and then later the Palm Brothers Decal Company where she worked as a silk-screen operator. She stayed there until Garfield got out of the Marines. It was while she was employed at Palm Brothers that she consented to be his wife. They were married in the Lawrenceburg Methodist Church by the Rev. O.K. Malone—the only minister in the area that could officially okay a marriage license. They were married on July 29, 1950 in Lawrenceburg, Dearborn County Indiana and moved onto Mulberry Street not far down the road from where they both had grown up together. They lived there from July until January, when Garfield enlisted in the Marines, quit his job, and sold the car. Shirley moved back in with her parents on Seitz St., and stayed there until Garfield got out of the Marines on May 30, 1952. They moved across the hallway from her parents. <br /><br />A few short months later, Shirley and Garfield would pass through a very difficult time, the stillborn birth of their first child; Garfield Dennis Sneed on August 20, 1952. Dennis’ death changed their lives forever and brought them to their knees in search for answers. Garfield had been raised in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, but had stepped away from his upbringing. In mourning the loss of his first-born child, he turned back to Christ. He told Shirley he was going to start back to church, and asked her if she would take the missionary discussions. She said yes. Garfield had never read the book of Mormon before that time, and together they began to read a couple chapters each night. On Nov 9, 1952 Garfield was ordained a priest, (he held the office of Teacher in the Aaronic Priesthood while inactive), and right after he was ordained a priest, on the same day, he baptized Shirley.<br /> <br />Two and a half years later, on February 12, 1954, they were blessed with a baby girl, Vicki Lynne. On June 28, 1955, 16 months after Vicki was born, another baby girl entered their lives, Gail Susan. But that small apartment on Seitz Street, would welcome yet another child with the birth of Garfield William (Bill) on July 11, 1956. <br /><br />In November, Garfield and Shirley, along with Vicki, Gail and Bill moved into their first home in Goshen. They had started to build the house in Goshen just before Bill was born, on July 3. Garfield tells the story of how Shirley shoveled every bit of the 40 tons of p-gravel through the basement window onto the dirt floor that November, only 4 months after Bill was born. He remembers how very tired she was, but how she never gave up, until the job was finished. <br /><br />While they lived in that small house in Goshen, Shirley gave birth to Lorin David on Oct 3, 1958. Lorin was eight months old when the Sneed family packed their 1959 Ford station wagon, no air, and drove close to 2100 miles (no freeways) to Loa Angeles California, and Garfield and Shirley were sealed in the Los Angeles Temple for time and for all eternity on May 29, 1959. Three days later, on June 2, after driving from Los Angeles to Salt Lake City, Utah, they had their children sealed to them in the Salt Lake Temple. Garfield says of that blessed occasion, “The kids came into the sealing room with white gowns and beach-blonde hair and suntans and they glowed like angels, and then the matron came in the sealing room with eight month old Lorin and laid him on the alter and Vicki, Gail, Bill, and Lorin were sealed to Garfield and Shirley for time and for all eternity. It is a seal that will never be broken. <br /><br />Nine months later, on March 9, 1960, James Arthur was born. A little over two years passed, and Shirley and Garfield suffered the painful loss of another child, Karen, on August 10, 1962. She only lived 20 minutes. A year later, Lois Diane was born on September 8, 1963, and a little more than a year after Lois was born, on November 17, 1964, Wendy Robin completed the Sneed family. Gail says that her mom was “always pregnant”, and that Aunt Vera said that if Shirley came up pregnant one more time, she was going to have a little talk with Gar. She had nine pregnancies in thirteen years.<br /><br />Shirley had a taste of becoming a country girl while they lived in Goshen with pigs, chickens, ducks, rabbits, and a big garden, but it was after they moved out of their small house in September 1968, and into an even smaller house at Old St. Rt. 32, that the transition from city girl to country girl became complete with the addition of cows and horses to their 17 acre farm. But farm life was not always fun for the kids. Some of the animals were raised for a purpose and Jim and Bill say that there’s nothing like coming home from church and finding your pet pig gutted and hanging from the swing set. They remember their mother saying to Garfield, “You murdered it, you clean it.”<br /><br />It was while they lived at the farm that Shirley was called to be the Young Women’s Girl’s Camp Director and then later the Stake Girl’s Camp Director. Gail Says, “Mom always had girl’s camp training at our home, and our house was full of kids from church, and the neighborhood.” We found this story written in Shirley’s own handwriting. <br /><br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfnI70aB-I/AAAAAAAAADo/POAaEuiI_N8/s1600-h/Eulogy+002.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 229px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfnI70aB-I/AAAAAAAAADo/POAaEuiI_N8/s320/Eulogy+002.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388529619854559202" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfnJbgsErI/AAAAAAAAADw/ymte15aqQrs/s1600-h/Eulogy+003.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 223px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfnJbgsErI/AAAAAAAAADw/ymte15aqQrs/s320/Eulogy+003.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388529628361790130" /></a><br /><br />Shirley absolutely loved working with the young women and they loved her. About Girl’s camp, and Shirley, Jim’s wife Terri says, “At girl’s camp everybody was, ‘there’s them and there’s us, but Shirley wasn’t one of them, she was one of us’”. Shirley was known throughout the stake, and throughout the years as, “Mom Sneed”. In fact one of the messages left on the online obituary for her refers to her still, as “Mom Sneed”. She was a mom to many at different times in different ways. Everyone came to Mom.<br /><br />Chicky says that just recently Shirley overheard her tell Garfield that she and Tom used to call her “Shirley Mom” and Shirley perked right up and said, “Yeah, how come that stopped!” Calling her Shirley Mom may have stopped, but the feelings of love that Chicky and Tom and Shirley had between them will never stop, and will go on forever. <br /><br />After living and loving in the old farm for 25 years, Shirley and Garfield finally sold it, and built a lovely, smaller home on the six of the acres that they kept. All of Shirley’s homes were always clean and orderly. Dishes never stayed in the sink, laundry never piled up on the laundry room floor, table tops and counter tops were never cluttered. She bought wax in a can and got down on her hands and knees and waxed the floors, and then had her children put on their socks and slide up and down the hallways. But once, at their Goshen home, Garfield remembers her pointing at the boys and then down at her clean floors and yelling with an exasperated look on her face, “Look! Just look at them!” She pointed to the mud covered steps going downstairs, and then at her mud-covered sons. Apparently, the land next to them had several trees that a landscape company came in and dug out and Jimmy says that they left large empty holes that naturally filled up with water. They made great “swim holes”. And Bill remembers that a part of his mother’s vocabulary was, “Get outside and play!” so it really wasn’t their fault. What’s a boy to do?—especially if he’s a Sneed. Needless to say, Shirley’s washing machine was always going, and it seemed like seeing fresh laundry draped over long clotheslines stretching clear across her yard was pretty much a given at her house. <br /><br />Shirley never owned a dish washer. She never liked them and didn’t want one. Bill remembers that his mother cleaned their rooms, and that would explain a lot of things. Here are two meassages to Shirley from two her children. <br /><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfoe-BmtkI/AAAAAAAAAEI/2MewyS3Lrfo/s1600-h/Eulogy+010.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 205px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfoe-BmtkI/AAAAAAAAAEI/2MewyS3Lrfo/s320/Eulogy+010.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388531097915536962" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfoeQvUDSI/AAAAAAAAAEA/6PeOSevH9J4/s1600-h/Eulogy+009.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 300px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfoeQvUDSI/AAAAAAAAAEA/6PeOSevH9J4/s320/Eulogy+009.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388531085759221026" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfod_aDRbI/AAAAAAAAAD4/N6ronE65AOw/s1600-h/Eulogy+001.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfod_aDRbI/AAAAAAAAAD4/N6ronE65AOw/s320/Eulogy+001.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388531081106638258" /></a><br /><br /><br />She was a hard worker, and right to the very end, you’d see her bent over picking up small pieces of paper, or pulling weeds in her beautiful flower gardens.<br />She knew how to do everything, from working alongside of Garfield on top of high scaffolding, to sewing frilly Easter dresses. She enjoyed stripping paint off antique furniture and restoring them to the original grandeur. She loved to be outside hiking, camping, having BBQ’s, and picnics. She enjoyed water skiing, and Garfield and she would leave the kids on the beach to watch them ski. She loved to swim, and liked to skip rocks across the surface of the river. She was great at softball and had a mean pitch and Wendy and her team went undefeated. She was an incredibly fast reader, and could finish a novel in one day. She had a natural knack for compassionate service and if she felt like you needed help she was there. She enjoyed quilting, and sewing and making all sorts of crafty things from painted porcelain dolls to cross-stitch. She didn’t care that her boys had long hair, although Garfield did. And there were few, if any, that could rival her cooking. She could make a delicious meal out of next to nothing. She enjoyed canning her own home-grown garden vegetables, and they never went without food. One year she canned nearly 100 quarts of green beans, carrots, tomatoes, tomato paste, and tomato juice. Once she canned sassafras root beer in glass bottles and one by one the bottles exploded in the cellar—probably a good thing they did before any one drank them. Shirley and the girls milked the family cows, Gail says the boys slacked on that one, but, in defense of the boys, Bill says, and I quote, “Weeellll, Dad and us boys were always out laying bricks on the stinking house laying up the last brick at 3 in the morning.” Though I could be wrong, I’m betting that Shirley was too. <br /><br />Here are some more messages from one of Shirley's children and two of her grandchildren:<br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp13-vBHI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/FGfYmFReSC0/s1600-h/Eulogy+004.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 212px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp13-vBHI/AAAAAAAAAEQ/FGfYmFReSC0/s320/Eulogy+004.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388532590941504626" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp2tJ4_lI/AAAAAAAAAEg/CALOOWz_cuk/s1600-h/Eulogy+006.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 218px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp2tJ4_lI/AAAAAAAAAEg/CALOOWz_cuk/s320/Eulogy+006.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388532605215374930" /></a><br /><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp3G7B2vI/AAAAAAAAAEo/86XMlLrjOyE/s1600-h/Eulogy+007.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 245px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp3G7B2vI/AAAAAAAAAEo/86XMlLrjOyE/s320/Eulogy+007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388532612132362994" /></a><br /><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp2BjKSXI/AAAAAAAAAEY/A-b_eqCQyxw/s1600-h/Eulogy+005.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 253px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp2BjKSXI/AAAAAAAAAEY/A-b_eqCQyxw/s320/Eulogy+005.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388532593510205810" /></a><br /><br />She never sat down and was either organizing a bake sale or an ice cream social or some kind of a project. There was always something happening at the Sneed’s home. From morning until night the radio was on, or music played, and she was singing and bopping to the tunes. Chicky tells a story that happened recently; Shirley did not want to resort to the inevitable and refused to use the bathroom anywhere but in a real bathroom. Gail was on one side of her, and Chicky was on the other, and as they led her slowly to the bathroom, she stopped and became very still and Chicky thought, Oh no! What’s wrong?—when all of a sudden, Shirley got a goofy look on her face and started be-bopping to the music playing on the television. She had a great sense of humor.<br /><br />Lois asked me to add this to her mother's eulogy from Lorin's funeral a few years ago-<br /><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp3n3p3rI/AAAAAAAAAEw/zfNAQ36Vv20/s1600-h/Eulogy+008.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 102px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/Ssfp3n3p3rI/AAAAAAAAAEw/zfNAQ36Vv20/s320/Eulogy+008.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388532620976578226" /></a><br /><br />She wanted more than anything to keep the family together. Things had to get pretty bad for her to complain, but every complaint that she had was softened by her great love for them. She was the core of the family and like all great mothers many times went without, in order to meet the needs of her children. Sometimes Garfield would come home from work and find Shirley arguing with her children, and try to step in, but like a lioness she would turn on him and defend her kids. She could argue with them, but heaven help anyone else that tried to. She was fiercely protective of her children and her grand children and her great grand children. These are Shirley’s words and not mine. We found them after praying to find something that she had written—something that she would want her family and friends to know. <br /><br /><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfsPkeetbI/AAAAAAAAAE4/_J1i9xygu-w/s1600-h/Eulogy.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_VOQIuo4-tU4/SsfsPkeetbI/AAAAAAAAAE4/_J1i9xygu-w/s320/Eulogy.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388535231405798834" /></a><br /><br />Shirley’s smile and laugh could light up the room. She loved hugs, and loved people, and always comforted them. She was positive and lifted them up when they were down. Many times Wendy called her mother because she was having a bad day, and her mom would cheer her up telling her tomorrow would be a better day. <br /><br />For all of us who loved Shirley, these are her words; tomorrow will be a better day. The sun will come up and go down, and come up and go down again, and eventually the better day will come, and IT WILL COME. Until that day, the memory of her smile and her laugh will light up our lives and hearts every time we think of her, as we continue on life’s journey towards becoming an eternal family.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-15357786947119659892009-10-01T17:32:00.000-07:002009-11-05T14:50:55.143-08:00"I Hate Mirrors" (or, it's best to put your make-up on the dark)I hate mirrors!<br />
Don't call me old<br />
If I hadn't looked<br />
I'd never have known<br />
Years of smiling<br />
Etched in deep lines<br />
Reflections of a life<br />
Well lived<br />
~sigh~<br />
I love mirrors ...Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1786240544563529620.post-19181026728306630592009-08-23T12:41:00.000-07:002009-08-23T17:04:43.988-07:00A Step AwayWhen I was a little girl growing up in the woodlands of Maine, my mom would squirt a small amount of Joy dish soap and water into a cup and give me a plastic straw and I’d take it outside our apartment in Charleston and dump a good part of it on the grass, as the ground needed a fair amount of preparation for the pointy ends of the grass not to pierce my intended creation. I’d sprawl out and rest my straw in the soap, forming an amazing array of rainbow hues atop a lush carpet of deep green.<br /> <br />But, as moments of joy do end, I vividly remember my dismay in discovering that all bubbles die, after what appeared to me a very short life. I remember watching each iridescent bubble, with the forever-hope of a young child, that this one would not follow the same course as all the others. But alas, the empty black holes always emerged as if tiny cancers in my bubbles—ever growing, always consuming—as is the fate of all bubbles amongst the demands of time and circumstance. Would that I might find the secret to eternal bubbles—never dying—always remaining, but then, what would I do with them all? And who am I do assume such a lofty position? Did not each bubble fulfill their intended purpose in existing that I might have wonder and delight in their creation? And finally, would the thrill of the bubble be dimmed, if bubbles never burst—popping into frothy mists and dissipating back into the earth?<br /><br />What do I take for granted now that if it were suddenly gone, I’d mourn the loss of?<br /> <br />What is life, if not iridescent, fragile bubbles of life and love, forever dissipating into the annals of time?<br /><br />Ah-but herein I know the secret! Life and love in all its wonder is and always will be eternal in nature and substance. It might appear to “die” as mortal does, but what waits on the other side has existed from before the beginning of time. We return back, from whence we came—this place called heaven—is home, but a step away. <br /><br />Per chance might I find my bubbles there?Unknownnoreply@blogger.com3