This is a continuation of my ‘series’ if you will, on answering the question: In what ways have I been aware of the ‘movement (or Presence) of God’ in my life? This post follows on from a previous one about my childhood. I’m keeping this one short although there is more to come.
I feel a bit silly writing this one, but I’m sure people have had stranger experiences. Perhaps, as you read this, a memory of something happening to you as a child, or even recently, which you can’t quite explain or remember well will come to you. Is there something which left an impression on you of ‘other-worldly-ness’?
As you read, you might like to consider: have you felt something of God growing up even if you had no ‘religion’ or maybe even despite it? I’d love to hear your ruminations and recollections!
The Mysterious Young Stranger
Could he have been an angel? There was an ‘older boy’, perhaps as old as 12, who used to walk me through the narrow path which led from the school yard to the street near mine. I say ‘used to’ like it happened many times. The truth is I don’t remember clearly. It may only have been once though I seems to me to have been a ‘season of visits’. Or it may have been a season of vivid dreams for that matter!
He didn’t walk me all the way to my house from school, and it wasn’t my older brother even though he would have been at the same school then. I imagine that he had fair hair and wore the typical clothes and shoes of a 1963-ish Northern Californian boy. That is, a horizontally stripped blue and white t-shirt tucked into jeans rolled up over high top tennis shoes. With some clarity I do remember sitting on the curb with him and just chatting. I have no idea what we chatted about – perhaps about God. The main thing I recall is that I felt quite safe and protected with him. I felt better about myself because of him. I do wish I could remember more. I was telling a wise friend about this strange memory once and she suggested that perhaps he was an angel! It is wonderful to think that God may have manifested nearness to me in this way.
Whatever else he was, he was a friend. A friend who shared goodness and a touch of God’s nearness with me.
“What draws friends together does not conform to the laws of nature.” – Rumi
Perigrinatia Express 
I got my 1st wheelchair when I was 2. I have never crawled or walked. When I was somewhere between 4 and 5 I had a pair of shiny red leather shoes. I wore them every day. My shoes never wear out or get dirty because I don’t walk. My father was very sick with leukemia and would die soon. We knew we would meet him in Heaven later, unless I went first (we were both considered terminal). On several occasions my mom put me to bed, taking off my little shoes and putting them neatly beside the bed. When she would come to get me up in the morning my shoes would be covered in thick rich mud from the freshly plowed fields on our farm. The thing was I couldn’t get out of bed or dress myself and even if I could, the fields were not close to the house. Apparently this happened on several occasions. My mother swore my shoes were clean when she took them off. My faith filled grandparents came to the conclusion that I took walks with the Angels. Sadly I have no memory of it except my red shoes.
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Thanks so much for sharing this beautiful and amazing story Kerrill! Seems like you’ve had your own angel too. I suppose many of yours have been furry. 😄🐶. I so appreciate your participation on this blog. You have a gift of writing you know. I can imagine what you wrote vividly. And I think lots of people would enjoy your writing. Oxox
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Nice! I’d like to think he was an angel!
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Thanks Lorraine. I hope to find out one day! 😉 Thanks again for your participation. Oxox
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I was delivering papers on my paper route when I was about 12 or 13 and for some reason I started thinking about my name which I had never liked and took some teasing for. Suddenly I had a strange feeling, almost like a voice, telling me that Bruce was not my real name — It was a kind of “out of body” experience that both frightened me yet re-assured me at the same time. It probably only lasted seconds (because I did not crash my bike) but it seemed to last forever, like time had lost its meaning. I have not thought about that for a long time –but reading this post brought it back — I didn’t know what to make of it then, but I think that I have come to believe that God has his own name for each of us which is not related to our birth name…
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Thanks for sharing this story, Bruce. Did you feel better about your name because of this experience? It does say somewhere, I think in Revelations, that we will each get a new name. I’ve never liked my name either, but I like the meaning. Have you ever looked it up? You know there was a famous Scottish King, Robert the Bruce? Anyway, I like your story and I enjoy your participation. Another old friend of mine, Kerrill, shared a story too which is well worth a read. Blessings
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I think it helped me “get used to my name” which I don’t mind anymore now that it has become a more “unusual name” –when I was young it was a more common name—I’ve been called many things and Bruce isn’t so bad–LOL–Yes, I know about Robert the Bruce — a great story of never giving up in spite of the odds and how can we forget the Black Douglas?—Yes, I do know about the Persian meaning of Roxanne—I think it means something like “princess of the dawn” –am I right? Did you know that Alexander the Great married a Roxanne?–I did read Kerrill’s story and was moved by it–Blessings — you are in my prayers
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Thank you for once again stirring the memory of my 7th grade teacher, Charles Chittuck, at Gregory Heights school, Portland, Oregon, circa 1962. When l moved on from his class to the eighth grade, I am sure he had not only his eyes but also his heart trained on me. He knew I was destined for the “experimental” 8th grade class where all of the “bad apples” were joined together so that the more promising students might flourish in other trouble free classes. Petty theft, destruction of property, an occasional fire and a near sexual assault were unannounced features of the curriculum that year. Instead of throwing up his hands in a gesture of giving up, he gave me a job, taking care of his lawn and deaf and blind dog. One day he discovered that I had pilfered some of his Salem menthol cigarettes and a can of Country Club malt liquor. I thought he would fire me for sure and probably tell my parents, but instead, he talked to me at length in ways I could undrstand. Then, we had a root beer float. He gave me a second chance, and there was never a need for a third. I guess I wanted to be just like him back then and still commend his ways to this day. Justice fused with mercy bound tightly together with love.
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Thanks for sharing this story Dale! It’s good to be reminded how God works directly through people oftentimes. The compassion and patience your teacher showed you turned the tide of your life beautifully. Thanks for reminding me of the many teachers that made positive impacts on my life too. I guess that’s one of the reasons I became one.
“Justice fused with mercy bound tightly together with love.” Great thought not just for today! 😄 Blessings and thanks again for your participation. Oxox
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Bruce, I’m glad you’ve gotten accustomed to your name and I like what you said about Robert The Bruce. You’re close about my name. It means ‘Dawn of Day’ or ‘Coming with Light’. Also could mean Brilliant! I like that. My dad was in to history and his name was Alexander so that’s how I got named after a historical figure’s wife. I’m looking forward to finding out what my new name will be though!
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