I read somewhere if you can’t find the sort of book you’re searching for, write it yourself. I suppose that’s what I’ve done. Twenty-five years ago The Healing Light by Agnes Sanford changed my life. As a Christian wife and mother, Mrs. Sanford explored healing prayer in a manner that broke through the conventions of the middle of the twentieth century, yet she remained true to her faith.
Ever-Flowing Streams uses my experiences to illustrate the lessons I’ve learned about healing through the years. The term Ever-Flowing Streams popped out at me as I thumbed through the Bible trying to come up with an image for the healing energies that pour through the cosmos. The modern connotation of “streaming” in cyberspace seemed a fitting metaphor for unseen frequencies of energy. It ties in the ancient image of life-giving streams of water with today’s life-giving vibrations of Reiki and other energy-healing modalities.
Supernal is defined as “from on high: heavenly.” Supernal Living refers to incorporating spiritual awareness into the physical realm.
Many Christians may question the “purity” of my faith as they read about the avenues I’ve explored and some of the startling events that have unfolded. I hope people will read it with an open mind and heart. My greatest desire for Ever-Flowing Streams is that it will serve as an inspiration for others to discover their own healing capabilities. Ever-Flowing Streams is one woman’s story, but everybody’s possibility.
The Adventure Begins…
I sat down for lunch that summer day of 2005 feeling perfectly fine. Gazing out my dining room window, I enjoyed watching a pair of squirrels frolic along the fence between the giant oaks in my Oklahoma backyard. In the living room, the television hummed a Sunday afternoon football game. My husband would soon be snoring. I read a book and munched a few potato chips with my sandwich.
With no warning, pain shot up my neck and into my jaw. Ignore it. I took another bite. More pain, instant swelling below my ear.
Great, just what I need, I thought. Another attack.
Though I hadn’t experienced a full blown attack in several years, I recognized the familiar symptoms. Swollen glands and shooting pain that made eating impossible. I puzzled over what had set it off. Some might say “food allergy.” But after forty years experience, I knew the physical symptoms were merely a manifestation of a spiritual mystery.
As I sat cradling my sore neck, staring at my uneaten lunch, I heard a command in my head. Go see that woman. This has something to do with a past life. Go see that woman.
Oh, for heaven’s sake. I flipped the book I’d been reading over and gazed at the cover—One Soul, Many Lives by Roy Stemman. The book chronicled case studies of reincarnation. Brother, was I prone to the power of suggestion, or what?
My spiritual and intellectual curiosity had led me to many subjects, including reincarnation. It wasn’t a new concept to me. I’d read quite a few of the popular books during the 1970’s. There’s a certain fundamental sense of order and justice about karma.
Didn’t Jesus say “As you sow, so shall you reap”? Isn’t Dr. Laura always popping off about accepting the consequences of our actions? Reincarnation turns life into one big game of “Truth or Consequences” through time and space.
Still, wondering about reincarnation was sort of like pondering alien abductions. Maybe they were real, but I hadn’t personally been picked up by a UFO in a corn field.
As my neck throbbed, I wasn’t in the mood to ponder either ET’s or Eastern philosophy. Another attack was upon me and it hurt like hell. Going to a regular doctor wouldn’t help. I’d been down that road many times before.
The thought commanded me again. GO SEE THAT WOMAN!
“That Woman” was an English New Agey therapist named Helen. My friend, Kathy, had been seeing Helen for Reiki energy therapy. During treatments Helen had told Kathy of past life experiences causing trouble today. According to this Helen person, my friend’s swallowing problems originated from being hanged in a previous incarnation. Her sore feet supposedly echoed the lifetime in China when her feet were bound.
Now, I really like Kathy, but I thought she was gullible. The therapist sounded a little too wacky for me.
GO SEE THAT WOMAN was not a command I wanted to obey.
I decided to handle the situation as I had done in the past–ask for some prayer and take anti-inflammatory medicine. Going to some dubious “therapist” was not going to happen.
So, that night I went to bed for a fitful sleep with my aching neck and the determination to tough it out. Somewhere around dawn I stirred, groggy and grumpy. My face felt oddly stiff. I sensed a matted eye.
Oh, great, add pink eye to the mix.
That was a new one. I stumbled into the bathroom, switched on the light and turned toward the mirror. I expected to see yellow, crusty matting.
Imagine my shock seeing blood. Caked blood surrounded my left eye. I peered closer. On the inside fresh blood welled up. I was tearing blood. Good grief. In forty years of attacks, that had never happened before.
Again I heard the command. GO SEE THAT WOMAN!
Okay, I knew how to take a hint.