It May Sound Bonkers (but the Best Stories Often Do)

my adventures in everyday faith.

Some moments — graduations, weddings, elections — are major by design.

Others appear tiny, but create a seismic shift. When you stumble across a note you weren’t meant to see. When you arrive at a decision. When you finally close the door. When a fleeting thought stands out among the 60,000-ish that circle our minds each day — a flicker, a glimmer, a spark.

This is about one of those.

*

I hesitate to type, “I heard a voice and it changed everything” for fear these words suggest the need for psychiatric attention. But that’s what happened.

It was a Sunday in mid-October, so early in the morning as to still be dressed as night. I jolted awake, fresh from a dream in which my dog, Mia, had passed. The realism coursed through my bones.

As I glanced around the room, taking in the familiar shapes — including Mia’s sleeping form — a message landed somewhere within me. It wasn’t a voice, per se, but a quote that unfolded in my awareness.

Why don’t you just let me lead you?

As I write it out, it sounds super creepy.

For one thing, the word “lead” suggests following, easily among my least favorite activities. (I can still hear the Phys. Ed. teacher shouting, “Let him lead! Let him lead!” during our ill-fated partner dance class.) And who, exactly, is this “me” that wants to help? Yet as a word nerd, the term I’ve pondered most is “just.” Why don’t you just let me lead you? Is my higher power passive-aggressive?

And yet.

The words immediately put me at ease. I didn’t question who or what had offered guidance because in that moment, it seemed beside the point. The message felt like it was equal parts warning and comfort. “Buckle up…but know I’ve got you.”

There was only one response. Okay, I thought. And with that, I fell back asleep.

*

I woke a few hours later to discover Mia had taken a turn for the worse. In the weeks leading up to this moment, as her health began to decline, everyone had offered up the same five words: “You’ll know when it’s time.” It had seemed unfathomable. Now, I understood.

Why don’t you just let me lead you?

Throughout that awful day, the voice continued. It reverberated over the days that followed, through a ten-week period that saw getting married, the death of a friend, the death of an aunt, and the death of my mother. I’ve often mused on the timing of that message, how it arrived just as the shit was hurtling toward the fan.

Why don’t you just let me lead you?

And so, I did.

*

For as long as I can remember, I’ve been what they call a seeker.

When I experienced a crushing heartbreak at twenty (and He’s Just Not That Into You failed to deliver what I sought), I found solace in philosophy and scripture. I became enthralled by the Dhammapada and the Bhagavad Gita and the Gospel of Mary, and pretty much any book I could get my hands on. My own holy text would surely include Emerson’s “Self-Reliance” and the canon of bell hooks and The Thunder: Perfect Mind. I add to it often and edit it always, with the knowledge that everything — everything — changes, and there is always more to uncover.

A Buddhist teacher once shared that in the wake of losing his mother, he started attending Catholic Mass. He found comfort there, surrounded by the words and rituals that had meant so much to her. And while he didn’t expect any part of the liturgy to mirror his own beliefs, he was pleasantly surprised to discover common threads.

The more I read and learn and experience, the more I cannot help but notice similarities. In texts and traditions, sure, but mostly in people.

*

There are many possible explanations for what I heard that night.

Perhaps it was my imagination. Or my intuition. Or my higher self. Maybe it was a spirit, an angel, a saint, a guide. I was stressed and dehydrated, and possibly hearing things. Or in the grand tradition of every story I penned as a child, perhaps “it was all a dream.”

The answer would depend on who you ask and what they believe. It would depend on what they’ve been taught, what they’ve internalized, how they see the world. But at the end of the day, if it helped me — if it got me through — does it really matter?

Or as Shakespeare so eloquently put it, “What’s in a name?”

*

In The Artist’s Way, Julia Cameron makes frequent mention of God, but invites readers to use any term or concept that resonates with them. “It simply means Good Orderly Direction,” she explains. (To me, this sounds like an organizational system or a curious branch of government, but to each their own.) Liz Gilbert writes letters from Love. Others talk about Spirit, Energy, or the Universe.

I am always grateful when friends of all backgrounds and traditions share glimpses into their personal beliefs, which feel like an intimate gift. I have my own relationship with Big G — a limitless source of Grace and Gumption — and a tapestry of beliefs woven over the years. I rarely write about them for the simple reason that they’re mine, and I won’t proselytize for any faith but faith itself. Per the dictionary — “faith: complete trust or confidence in someone or something.” Words that, to my ears, sound at once elusive yet also like coming home.

*

Why don’t you just let me lead you?

Since that night, I have been led. I’ve been led by my curiosity and my intuition. I’ve been led by awe and wonder, love and friendship, weather and chance. I’ve been led by the unwavering sense that I am not alone.

As anyone familiar with a twelve-step program knows, there is wisdom to be found in submitting to a higher power — any power that resonates with you. There is a profound gift in acknowledging that as human beings, we are both powerful and powerless. And that sometimes, they are one and the same.

The gift of the voice, and all the days since, is the realization that there is no such thing as forward or backward. There is simply onward. Moment by moment. Big and small.

*

Yesterday, I attempted to dash across a busy street but couldn’t make it before the light changed, so I waited on the median, cars whirring past in either direction. I glanced to my side, at the little landscaped patch surrounded by concrete, where a purple flower as big and round as a dodge ball stood bobbing its head in the breeze.

“Allium,” I said, out loud, knowledge I was unaware I carried until that moment. My mother liked to garden.

I am here. The voice again. I am always with you.

As I write this, the sound of a gospel choir echoes from the church down the block, glorious noise that often underscores my typing. It reminds me that harmony can only be made when our voices join together, that our actions may inspire those we cannot see, and that faith can find us everywhere — inside our homes, within our hearts, even in the middle of the street.

The very ones.

---

Card of the Week

Here is this week’s card for the collective, as well as some thoughts to carry into the days ahead. As most modern readers will tell you, the tarot is not about fortunetelling, nor is it about neat, definitive answers. The cards are simply one path to reflection, a way of better knowing ourselves and others through universal themes. If this reading resonates with you, great! And if not, no worries. Take whatever may be helpful and leave the rest.

Serpentfire Tarot by Devany Amber Wolfe

You know those people who decide they want to do something and then, like some Nike ad, they just do it?  “I’d like to move to Italy,” they say, or “I have this idea for a business,” or “I’m going to move to New Zealand to learn about organic farming.”

Then you blink, and suddenly there they are — tilling land or raising funds or posting photos from la campagna, while you’re still struggling to cross off a to-do list item that’s been haunting you since last year.

(Or perhaps you are among the Just Do It people, in which case, please tell us your secrets.)

The King of Wands is one of those folks who’s adept at channeling energy into action. They love to get shit done — to-do lists, projects, scaling mountains — there’s nothing they won’t attempt. What’s more, they’re exceptionally (annoyingly) good at it.

For regular mortals, this approach can seem exhausting, never mind impossible. (Like when you’re staring down a task so overwhelming your only reaction is to erupt in nervous laughter and then take a nap.) If the King of Wands has a superpower, it isn’t a matter of talent. They don’t get bogged down by minutiae — not that much, anyway. They simply put one foot in front of the other and trust that when they look up, they’ll discover they’re on their way. They trust in the process. They trust in themselves.

How do they do it? And how can we? No matter how many bestselling books one devours about habits and follow-through, results may vary.

So instead of offering up a tutorial, the King of Wands has drawn up a list of things they have never, ever said:

“I have no idea how to begin!”
“I don’t have the right experience.”
“I don’t have what it takes.”
“What if I fail?”
“But I’m too old!”
“It will never work.”
“What if I put all this effort in and find it was for nothing?”

“So?” says the king, when faced with any of these questions. (The king pays no mind to excuses.)

The iconic Smith-Waite deck, with art by Pamela Colman Smith

Wands are the suit of drive, passion, and growth — the stuff that gets us out of bed in the morning. This card reminds us that oftentimes, what we seek is already within us. But tapping into our power is often a matter of clarity.

The King asks: What is our why, our driving force, the change we would like to bring to the world? What is the deeper drive behind our goals and dreams?

When it comes to getting stuff done, particularly the things that both exhilarate and frighten us, the king has just one thing to share:

The doing is the reward.

The outcome — whether it “works,” whether it’s well-received, whether it’s met with a thank you — isn’t up to you. Yes, there are times when you need to pay some mind to the results. But your mission, should you wish to accept it, is simply to attempt. To go forth. To endeavor.

As an exercise, The King of Wands invites you to sit down and fill one page writing about a dream of yours — the first thing that comes to mind that makes you feel curious or excited. It should be stream-of-consciousness — don’t worry about what comes out, or how it sounds — and ideally written by hand.

Once you’ve done it, ask yourself: Did you know you had this interest? Is it a surprise in any way? Is it something you’d like to pursue?

And before you let yourself entertain any excuses, try to find a way to incorporate some element of this dream into your life, however small.

And as you do, remember: This — this doing, this living — is the reward.