Greetings All ~
I had a great-aunt Mae. She was a Dominican Catholic nun named Sister Josita. We would drive to her convent to visit occasionally. Sometimes she'd visit my grandfather's house (her brother) or even have dinner at ours. I was fascinated by her and her habit and felt warm and loved in her unfailingly sweet, cheerful nature.
When I was about 5 years-old, Aunt Mae gifted my 8-year old sister Ann and me with three crucifixes. The largest was about 3 inches in height and made of wood. The middle-sized was a silver metal of some sort (though we pretended it was actually real silver). The smallest was a luminescent white with a silver Jesus. They were given to us with the message that God and Jesus loved us. We loved the crosses. We loved Mae. We loved God and Jesus. We hung them on the corkboard in our bedroom.
Shortly after, we were on a family long-distance call with my oldest sister who was in college out-of-state. We were all on phone extensions around the house. On the upstairs phone our next-oldest sister happened to see the crosses in our room and said, "What are THESE?" Ann and I replied they were a gift from Aunt Mae, to which the oldest sister replied derisively, "Those Catholics try to get 'em while they're young!" Everyone laughed. Oh the shame of that moment. I had no idea that loving God was a racket. God wasn't talked about in our house. If I wanted to fit in with my tribe, I'd have to deny a connection to a greater power. It was all very confusing. But for decades I tamped down that relationship and the feeling of well-being it brought me.
Fast forward... It's the 80's. I'm the door girl at the wonderful punk-rock club CBGB on the Bowery in NYC. It's a busy Saturday night. I have the guest list and some cash in my hand to make change for admissions. To my right stands Merv, the manager, my direct boss and the employees' liason between us and the owners. He's a legend. A giant Scotsman, intelligent, well-read and unusually astute at reading people.
This night our intuition is a little off. A guy walks in the door and tentatively holds a knife at Merv. He mutters, "Gimme the money." Merv replies, "It's five bucks to get in. Check the knife with me. I'll see you get it back on the way out." As this is going on, an accomplice shows up with a gun and demands the money from me. I give him what I have. Being trapped in a corner made by a cigarette machine and a phone booth, I have nowhere to run or hide. Meanwhile, Merv is slowly backing into the crowded nightclub. Knife-guy says to Gun-guy, "Shoot her." Gun-guy looks at me but decides to take a bead on Merv. He pulls the trigger. Nothing happens. The gun misfires. They run out into a rainy New York night.
It was a clue that God (what I call the Universe) had been looking out for me all along. I often hear people proclaiming that a gift-from-God has just dropped into their lap. I like to point out that the gift has probably been in the works for some time. Being aware of that is called Faith. Even when fear of rejection kept me from standing in my truth, the powers-that-be have been hanging around, holding a non-judgmental space for me to realize my Destiny and get on with it. And if I don't get it this time around, there's always another chance-of-a-lifetime to continue the cycle. Universal patience, compassion, unconditional love, and good humor—like Sister Josita, my dear Aunt Mae, God's gardener who planted that kernel of Grace.
It all works in mysterious ways.
All Good Things,
Vicky Jap Dharam Rose