The Gift My Dad Gave Me When He Wasn't Looking

When I was a kid, I used to wonder what it would have been like if my dad had remained part of our family. He left when I was around 6, I believe. All I remember was coming home from school, and having my mom tell me that he was gone.

For years I thought I had been cheated from being all that I could be because I didn't have that male role-model to help mold me. Meanwhile, my dad was off doing everything for himself that he had ever wanted. He went to Australia to build boats, spent a fortune on model planes, trains and automobiles, and moved all around the country; all the while, my mother walked to multiple jobs because we had no car, and gave plasma two days a week, just to support four children.

For the longest time, mostly through my teen years, I hated my dad for going off and living, what I thought was the good life as a solo bachelor with no responsibilities. Yet, when we would talk to him occasionally, he would act as if we were one big happy family, telling us he loved us and all of such crap. I wanted nothing to do with him.

But then, when I was in my thirties, I reconnected with him, and was able to take him and his ideas in more fully. Watching him, I was slowly able to see just how he thought - how his life views really were, and I was suddenly clear on why it was Divine planning that made him exit our lives.

I could see that he never loved us as much as he loved himself; but I was beginning to be okay with that. I could see that if he had stayed with us, I would have grown up just like him; absorbing his one-sided, narcissistic, hateful, dishonest and sometimes racist views, since children often imitate the parents.

My dad was unemployed more than not, causing us to move a lot, and hide from the utility companies when they came to disconnect the power. This was in the 70's so he would just go back outside and easily re-hook it illegally.

He was very dishonest, but always excused his dishonesty by making it look like he had no choice in the matter. He was stingy and thoughtless. These are the things I couldn't see as a child. His actions seemed totally normal to me then because I had no basis for comparison.

(This is the same point I make about teaching children religious ideologies when they have no basis for comparison. They have no choice but to believe in the parents and their views. Children should be allowed and taught to find their own truth, not repeat the parent's truth.)

Do you see the problem brewing for me and my siblings?

By the time I had reconnected with him, I had two kids of my own, and I was suddenly not regretting that I had no father to show me the way. Because my dad left at a crucial time in my conscious development, I got to skip the destruction of my psyche that surely would have occurred. I realized that my mother played both the father and mother roles better than he ever could have, giving me a balanced view of things.

However, the reason I have told you some things about my life is this:

Things that happen in your life may seem out-of-whack, or devastating. You may feel like you've been cheated out of something somehow. You may feel like you were dealt a bad hand. But if you take a moment to step outside of your normal realm of thinking and re-analyze your life, like a film review, you may discover the many blessings that have befallen you without your conscious awareness of it.

Just like me - I thought I needed a father figure so I could become more than I thought I was. I blamed him for not being there for me when I needed him to be. But as it turns out, in reflection, he was there for me - by being absent. His being away from us was the greatest gift he could have given his kids. I know that must sound backwards, but had he stayed, life would have turned out a lot differently, but not for the better.

It was when I could see this about him that I was able to let him go, and not be angry anymore. I saw the gift that no one else could see, not even my dad. I call it, the gift my dad gave me when he wasn't looking. Each one of my dad's four kids took from him, the exact gift they needed for this journey, whether they can see it consciously or not. There is always a gift being given. Even in the midst of tragedy, there will be a gift. Being able to see, appreciate and utilize the gift will depend on your level of awareness, or your degree of consciousness.

-JB Lewis

(from Living In Consciousness)

Cars and Souls

I get the feeling there are still those out there that do not fully grasp their position within this mind consuming world. So, while driving today, I had these words come to me. I have talked along these lines before. But for those who may have missed it, consider this:

Today's cars appear intelligent because they've had intelligence programmed into them. Still, a car cannot decide to do anything outside of its programming; an outside source, like a driver, has to give the car, and its programming direction. The car cannot take itself for a drive to enjoy a sunny day; it has no desire to since the car does not serve itself - it serves the outside source that operates it. Even when cars can one day drive themselves, they will not do it out of desire - but from the program installed to make it so.

If you can accept this, then perhaps you can view your physical body in a similar way.

In comparison, the body has limited self-sustaining programming stemming from DNA that can make the body behave in a mildly intelligent manner. Then, as we grow from birth, additional data is implanted into the body by the people and world around us to further enhance the illusion of intellectual autonomy.
However, with reasonable likeness to the modern automobile, the body cannot competently operate outside of its internal information routines, unless directed to do so by an outside Source; that Source being the Soul.

Consider a body that has not been injured in any way; if the body was self-serving, it is reasonable to presume that the body would be able to carry on of its own accord long after a Soul departs it. But how do we know when a Soul leaves the body alone? We can usually figure this out when the body falls flat on its face and never gets up again. We consider the body, at that moment, to be dead. Even if we keep the body alive by artificial means, the body will only lie there, unable to get up, or have a conversation, or go to the bathroom. Why is this so? Because the Source that drives the body is no longer present.

But let's pretend the body could maneuver itself of its own volition after death. The body could only perform the functionality of the residual data that was left behind in the brain from all the Soul's experiences. Perhaps information within the brain would cause the body to head out and revisit a childhood town, or a grocery store, or some other location. But once there, the brain and body would just wander around aimlessly, without a purpose. That is because no new agenda has been given to the brain. The brain would only be repeating past actions. Without the Soul, the body would simply act in a catatonic state since the body has only existed as a slave to the Soul, and has no purpose of its own.

When the Soul leaves a body, Its identity goes with It. All the experiences, memories, feelings and love forever resonate as part of the Soul. Only a silhouette of those events are left behind in the brain; the brain could try to process what is left, but the results would be meaningless. The brain is simply a storehouse for the Soul to use while expressing physicality.

Who you are is not an empty storehouse or a shadow of a being. You are the Light of all beings. There is no darkness about you. And, as with cars, bodies come and go, but You remain constant. In the grand scheme of things, your body is insignificant, and in no way represents who you are any more than your BMW represents who you are.
Know this - out of all the decisions that have occurred in this lifetime, the body you see in the mirror, nor the brain between your ears, has made one single decision on its own; it only appears that way since the Soul processes Its Earthly experiences through the brain. After all, that is why the brain was created. Yes, the brain can regurgitate anything that it has encountered, but the final thought on any matter belongs solely to the Soul.

You ARE NOT a body. Exercise it, feed it right, and keep it clean - but no matter what you do to it - your flesh and bones will not be accompanying the Soul into any other part of Consciousness. This is the body's origin and ending, but the Soul will continue on - as it has always done - as it will always be.

JB Lewis

"From Daddy, with Love"

     The date was June 14th, 2010, around 6:30 p.m. In a small town out west.

     David was only 39 when his family was taken from him by a drunk driver. The drunk driver, Matthew Carnegie, was also in the midst of a text when he struck the family's 1969 VW Van from behind, at more than 75 miles an hour, while the VW waited at a red light. The drunk driver was thrown from his vehicle, through his own windshield and ended up in the VW on top of the two children. 

     The two children, Samantha, 13, and Abigail, 6, were buckled in and might have survived the crash; but the body of Matthew Carnegie hit the back of the bench-style seat at full force, causing it to fold forward, almost completely flat, breaking the two girls' spines in half. In the 1969 van, only lap belts were installed - and back then, even lap belts were an added feature to vehicles.

     Their mother, also named Abigail, 34, and only 5' 1" tall, was whip-lashed forward, hitting her forehead on the windshield of the van, cracking her skull and dislocating her jaw. Paramedics thought she may have lived if she hadn't had the seat pulled so far forward, due to her short stature.
     
     Mom and the two girls had gone out to pick up new swimsuits for an outdoor birthday and swim party at a neighbor's house the next day. Their dad, David, was on his way home from work and had just passed through the same intersection around 6:20 p.m., and was waiting at home, picking up the girls toys from the front lawn when the wreck occurred. Although the family lived a good half a mile from the intersection, David recalled actually hearing the crash. At the time he didn't know that it was his family that was being killed. He said the sound of the crash resembled exploding metal. He recalled coming to a pause on the front lawn, with Abigail's small bicycle still in his hand, thinking, "What in the name of red paint was that?"  That was a saying he came up with when his daughter's were born to curb his impulse for profanity.

     After 8 o'clock came and went, David began to wonder where his wife was, so he called her cell phone. The first attempted call resulted in nine rings and then a voice mail recording. He ended the call and tried to recall exactly what his wife said she and the girls were going to be doing that day. To the best of his recollection, he could not remember her saying she would be out that late. So he lifted his phone once again and called her number. This time, there were two rings and then an answer.

     "How can I help you?" a male voice said.
     David paused, but then replied, "I'm trying to reach my wife."
     There was a moment of silence on the other end with some muffled voices in the background, and then a response from the same male voice as before. "Yes, this is Abigail Turner's phone."
     "That's my wife's phone," David said, "Why do you have my wife's phone?"
     "Yes, Sir, this is officer Anson. I have your wife's phone because she and her two children have been in an accident."
     
     David later said, it was at that moment that he knew the bending metal he heard earlier came from his wife's crash. He said he could hear the cop explaining things, but it all sounded like he was talking through a pillow. He told me recently that he doesn't know how he made it to the hospital, but when he arrived to the E.R., it was like a ghost town. There wasn't a nurse in sight. He said he just stood there in the middle of the emergency room in a daze. His first thought was that he needed to find his family, but his legs wouldn't budge from that spot.

     That's when a nurse came out of nowhere and touched David on the shoulder. He looked at her, and she asked him softly, "Mr. Turner?"
     "Yeah," he answered softly back.
     "Come with me; I'll take you to see your family."

     A moment of euphoria came over David as they began walking. The nurse led him out of the E.R. and to an elevator that was surprisingly close to the emergency room. They stepped onto the elevator and David noticed some of the upper floor buttons were labeled. The 2nd floor was X-Ray, Laboratory and Pharmacy; the 3rd floor was Pediatrics; the 4th floor had a suite of surgical listings, and the 5th floor was Oncology. David reached out to push the 3rd floor button, but the nurse blocked him gently as she looked right into his eyes.
     The nurse reached over to the buttons, but she didn't push 3; she pushed B.

     "B?" David said without thinking.
     "Basement," she answered.
     "What's in the basement?"

     The nurse didn't answer, but David said that when the metal doors opened, the aroma was different. The lighting was different. It looked like the decor hadn't been updated in years. He didn't know why he noticed these things at the time, but he told me he must have been mentally avoiding the obvious. He said he knew what was in the basement. He said while in the elevator, his eyes never even noticed the basement button. 

     David said he stopped the nurse as they started to exit into the basement while he still had one foot in the elevator. He asked her, "What do they look like?" He wanted to see them, but at the same time, if they were in the morgue, he didn't know if he wanted his last memory to be of them lying on cold slabs, mangled or destroyed.
     The nurse took his hand and said softly, "You don't have to go in there if you don't want to."
     "Are they all in there?" David asked as his throat began to close.
     The nurse just nodded for that question, but then added, "I did my very best to make them look as beautiful as you remember."
     David said he suddenly had a glimmer of hope come over him because he asked, "How did you know my name is Turner? Maybe I'm the wrong guy."
     The nurse placed her hand into the pocket of her scrub shirt and pulled out a cell phone, giving it to David. David recognized it. He turned on the screen, and there in full color was a screen shot of him and his two daughters from a year previous, on Abigail's 5th birthday. That is when David softly cried, and whispered, "Oh no."
     
     "I don't think I can do it," he said. The nurse waited patiently and remained silent, looking him in the eyes compassionately. David said as he looked down a very long corridor, he felt a pull. The nurse held David's hand and they began walking towards an over-sized nickel-plated door at the very end of the hallway. Just above it was a single sign that read: Morgue. David told me he had never paid much attention to that word prior to that day. But ever since then, he has never wanted to see that word spelled out again. Looking at that word makes him remember that huge metal door that led to what he was going to see next.

      Inside the room, the temperature dropped at least ten degrees from the hallway. All the lights had been dimmed except for a small lamp that had been taken from a hospital room and placed by his family; probably to set a calmer atmosphere and to hide certain things on his wife and daughters that couldn't be covered up. 

     David surveyed the room from just inside the doorway. There was only one bed. It was a regular hospital bed with a mattress and blanket. The nursing staff had placed mom and her two daughters all together; mom in the middle with her two babies snuggled up under each arm. A blanket, not of the hospital, was covered over them, and tucked in a little higher than the middle of the chest. Their faces had been washed and their hair brushed. They were indeed beautiful, just as the nurse had said.This event had really affected this small town. There had never been such a tragedy within its borders.

     David never made it over to the bed. He told me a few nights later that they looked so perfect, that is how he wanted to remember them; his two girls with their mama, looking as if they were finishing up a bedtime story and falling asleep. David left the hospital and drove back home. His mind was numb. That 's when he passed the intersection of the crash site. Pieces of the VW were still on the pavement - but other than that, it was as if the wreck never even happened. It wasn't until he got home that the real horror set in. That's when the silence of the house began to scream at him. Abigail, his youngest, was always talking a mile a minute, making funny faces and coming up with stories about the world that only a 6 year-old can make-up. Samantha, who was constantly on her phone, making plans, laughing and watching her favorite shows on Netflix. And his beautiful wife, who was always calling him honey and daddy. All of that was gone

     After I had talked to him, I had an uneasy feeling. On the drive home, I couldn't seem to get the lifeless gaze in his eyes out of my head. I figured I would give him a call in the morning and check on him to let him know I am available if he wanted to chat. Then, the oddest thing happened. I pulled into my driveway around 9 p.m. and shut the ignition off; and my front porch light blinked twice. I thought I was just tired and hallucinating. That's when I remembered, I never turned on my light. I never turned on that light.

     I got out of the car and walked up to the porch, staring at the anomaly the entire time. I put my key in the lock, and turned the key. The lock was still in place. That was a good sign. I opened the door and looked around. Everything seemed to be in order so I laid my keys by the front door and went to my bedroom. I sat on the edge of my bed and thought of those girls and what it must have felt like to be demolished by complete surprise from behind. 

     The next morning, I got up around 5 a.m. I opened up my laptop and clicked on Facebook. There was a notification at the top of the screen. "Someone is up early," I said to myself. It was from David. It read: To All, Goodbye.

     I darted out of the door and over to David's house. There were three of his neighbors loitering on David's front lawn as I pulled into the drive. I got out of my car and asked, "What's going on? Are you here about David?"
     His neighbor, Julie, started talking. "I came over and knocked on his door after I heard some things breaking. I knew his family had just been killed so I wanted to check on him."
     "What time was this?" I asked. 
     "It was around 3:30 this morning. The ambulance just left. We were all just about to go to the hospital to be with him."
     
     Julie was a sweetheart. She absolutely cared about everyone she met. We all went to the hospital and waited while the same nurses that took care of his family a few days earlier were now taking care of him. That's when Julie told me what happened with David.

     She said she heard a crash in David's house as she was rolling her garbage can out to the curb for pickup the next morning. Julie is a night owl, so she goes to bed late. There was only one light on in David's house when she heard the breaking of glass. Julie said she ran back inside to ask her husband if she should knock on David's door to check on him. Her husband was asleep, but woke up enough to reply, "If you want to. But be careful - maybe he wants to be left alone." 

      Julie decided she should have a look. When she turned David's door handle, it was unlocked. She entered slowly, ready to make an announcement of her presence when the bottom of the door scraped across the broken glass of a vase that used to sit right next to the door. As she leaned her head inside, she saw David's bare foot on the floor. She pushed the door the rest of the way open and there he was, passed out in his own vomit in the foyer. He had cut his other foot on the glass as he fell.

     Julie said she stepped over the glass, vomit and blood to reach David's head. She didn't know what to do. She held the back of her hand in front of his mouth; after the longest moment, a breath came out. Then more followed. What a relief she said it was. But the smell of alcohol was overwhelming. She said she had never smelled breath that strong with alcohol before. 
     She lifted his head out of the bloody vomit and tried to clean the side of his head with one of his socks that was lying nearby. That's when she called 9-1-1.

     A full 3 years has passed from that night in June when Julie called paramedics to David's house. I recently talked to him about that night, and for the first time, he was remarkably candid. 
     
     He said, "I knew I wanted to drink that night. I knew I wanted to become numb beyond the numb I already felt. After one whole bottle of Captain Morgan, I felt really woozy. I thought to myself that I should call it quits right here because I could already feel my jaw tingle like it does when I'm close to throwing up.

     "I glided around the house, talking to myself; talking to my girls. Only they weren't there. I began to feel hungry so I went into the kitchen. I checked the cupboard, but nothing looked good. I checked the freezer to see what was in there. I decided on a frozen pizza, but when I pulled out the pizza box, another bottle of Captain Morgan was staring right at me. That's when I thought, what the hell. I poured another shot. But let me tell you, it was hard to get that one down. My body was telling me not to do it, but I forced it down anyway. I told myself I was going to go right to the edge of death.
     
     "I put the pizza in the oven, but I don't remember if I even turned it on. I was feeling pretty bad so I figured I need to shove some bread into my belly to absorb the alcohol. And that's when I found an old bottle of pain pills my wife had when she stepped on a nail last year. I froze. I just stood there staring at the bottle of pain pills, drunk as a skunk. I picked up the pills and gave 'em a shake. I remembered she had only taken one because they made her feel queasy. There were 14 pills remaining in the bottle. I gave it another shake, only it seemed to happen in slow motion that time.

     "I looked over at the liquor and then back at the pills. I made an instant decision. There was nothing keeping me here. There was no reason to stay. So I grabbed the good Captain along with the pills and coasted over to my computer. I logged onto Facebook and typed a goodbye message. I think it took me a good ten minutes to type three words. It was like the keys kept moving out from under my fingers. It made me laugh a kind of hysterical laugh. For the first time in days, I actually felt at peace. Knowing I was leaving made me feel great.

    "After I typed out the message, I went into the foyer and sat the pills and liquor on a little table my wife kept there for fresh flowers. I don't know why I decided that was the spot. But I opened the pills and dumped the entire contents into my hand. I funneled all of them into my mouth, and poured the rum right in after. Right before I swallowed, I thought, this is it. Gulp. Somewhere between that and the floor I must have broken the vase.

     "I slid down the wall and had a seat. I was going to let myself slip into oblivion. My vision became blurry in only a few minutes and my stomach was on fire. All of a sudden, I felt a pulling on my chest and a rumble in my gut. And without any other notice, I began throwing up everywhere. It took my breath away. Even in between throwing up, I couldn't catch a breath. I felt like my lungs were going to collapse from all of the air being forced out during the throw up. 
     
     "I remember slowly tilting to the side with my back against the wall. About half way to the floor, I blacked out. For a moment, I opened my eyes and could see that I was lying in my own stomach contents. My left eye wouldn't open and my right eye was flat against the floor and a bit blurry."

     David leaned into me and said something I won't soon forget. He said, "As I looked across an ocean of vomit, a small pair of legs sitting on the floor came into view just on the outskirts of my mess. The legs were crossed in a butterfly position. I couldn't seem to see any higher than the legs; my head just wouldn't turn. And although I couldn't see them, someone else was stroking my hair. I never tried to lift my head; I don't actually think I could have anyway. I was exhausted from throwing up. 

     "Out of nowhere, I felt an amazing peace come over me. My face felt paralyzed but I swear I felt myself smiling in bliss. I closed my eye and literally thought I was dying. I was so okay with dying that I kept waiting to wake up on the other side. That wooden floor I was lying on felt so comfortable; probably because I couldn't feel it. Then, I heard a voice in my head. It was a song that I used to sing to Abigail when she was born. It was the only kid song I knew. Now I was hearing it in my head - in my daughter's voice."

     I asked David for the words so I could write them here:

If you love love love me, plant a rose for me - 
And if you love love love me, plant an apple tree -
So whether I come, or whether I go - 
You'll have an apple, and you'll have a rose -
If you love love love me, plant a rose for me -

Then tears formed in David's eyes as he said, "I swear as sure as I'm sitting here, I could smell roses. And the voice sounded like an angel. I might sound crazy but I don't care. I think my daughters were there with me that night and made me throw up."

     I said, "That could be true." 
     Then he asked me what I thought about seeing his daughter and feeling the other one stroke his hair. I told him, "Perhaps your wife was stroking your hair." 
     He answered, "The hand that touched my scalp didn't have nails. My wife always had long, manicured nails. My 13 year-old always chewed her nails down to the nub. I could feel the fingertips, and there weren't any nails."

     I smiled and nodded. I told him it seems his daughters had come to be with him in his darkest hour. That they were with him in the morgue, and they are with him in every moment. He asked me why he hasn't seen his wife. And I assured him that she is always just a breath away. He saw exactly who he needed to see at that very moment. I told him to keep that moment in his heart. Your family is always with you, even until the end of time.

     David moved out of that house shortly after that and I haven't seen him since. I no longer live in that small town, and I don't know where he ended up. I have tried to find him a few times on Facebook, but have been unsuccessful. Just for fun once, I tried looking under each of his girls' names, and found one for Abby and Sam Turner. But when I opened the page, it was blank, except for one picture. The one from his wife's cell phone, with one small text that read:       From Daddy, with Love 

Eaten By Snowflakes

Even though I was only five years old at the time, I can still smell the brisk air blowing in from the snow that had already fallen just north of our little town. It’s one of my favorite memories. I knew I only had a few more hours to ride my cool, 70’s orange, banana-seat bike that I had gotten the previous Christmas before winter was officially blown in.

As I rode through the streets of our little neighborhood, the air was cold, the sky was gray, and the trees were all naked; but that didn’t stop them from dancing in the crispy breeze. Suddenly, my mom called out to me to bring my bike around back of our little house, and come inside for dinner. So I pedaled towards home and zipped through the open gate, and into the back.

I propped my bike against the side of the towering cement stairs that led upwards to our backdoor. You see, our house had a huge crawlspace underneath which elevated the door about three feet from the ground. It was a perfect resting spot for my ride.

I ran up the stairs and into the warm house where my mom had a hot dinner waiting for me. I tried to eat fast so I could get a little more riding time in before sunset. But before I could finish eating, the snow had begun to fall. Naturally, the sparkling white flakes were so exciting to me that I had forgotten all about my bike, and instead, plastered my nose to the window to gaze at the winter wonderland that was forming outside.

Not long after that, I jumped into my pajamas to get ready for bed. Back then, jammies for kids looked a lot like onesies for today’s babies; a complete body suit. Except mine had feet with slippery bottoms so I could get a running start, and then slide across the wooden kitchen floor, over and over again. That is, until my mother was ultra annoyed.

A few moments later, I was ushered into bed by my mom and was swiftly off to sleep. I was happy for the sleep time for one reason only – it made nighttime go by faster. At sunrise, I popped out of bed, put on my clothes (mismatched of course), and ran into the living room to look out of the window. Snow was everywhere! The snow had to be at least a foot deep. Outside of the living room window, and beyond my foggy breath on the glass, I saw other kids already outside. One of them was even trying to ride their bike in the snow. "What a nincompoop!" I mumbled to myself.

With an “Oh my gosh!” I had suddenly remembered my bicycle. I left it out in the snow around back. So I bolted to the back door and sprung it open. But all I could see was the very top step of the stairs, and white snow all over the backyard. I looked right into the spot where I parked my bike, but it wasn’t there. Surely my orange speed machine would show through the snow, right? But no way! It was gone.

I couldn’t believe it! My bicycle had been eaten by snowflakes. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything to my mom. I supposed it was something a man of five years should handle alone. So I moped to my bedroom and cried for my long lost orange, banana-seat bike. 

The week passed by and, slowly, the carnivorous snowflakes moved on to wherever snowflakes go after they’ve wreaked havoc on unsuspecting neighborhoods, breaking little kids’ hearts. I remember waking up on a Saturday morning with the sun shining, the birds chirping, and the smell of a fresh start in the air. I drug myself out of bed, gave my purple elephant sleeping buddy a pat, and made my way through the house to see who else was up.

My mom asked if I wanted to go outside and play for a bit, so I gave it the usual two-second consideration, and agreed. She helped me gear up in all my winter time clothing and sent me on my way. As I walked out of the front door, I couldn’t help but remember the good times me and my bike had. It was a good friend. No matter where I wanted to ride, it was willing to go. I remember seeing other kids riding their bikes through the leftover slush of melted snow and could feel my bottom lip begin to slowly poke out. Somehow, the extension of my lip made me feel just a little bit better.

Then, suddenly, a loud clanking noise caught my attention. My mom was opening the garage to carry out the garbage. The sun rays and all their brilliance shone into the garage like marvelous spotlights. The warm glow of the sun melted away the shadows inside of that mysterious cave so the delicious secrets inside could finally be relinquished.

My eyes widened as the garage door finished its climb to the top, for right there, inside of the garage, was my glorious orange bike, sitting upright on its perfect little kickstand.

That’s when my mom called over to me nonchalantly and said, “Your bike’s in the garage if you wanna ride it!”

As it turned out, my mom had put it away for me just as the snow began to fall one week earlier. I was relieved. I couldn’t believe my luck! I decided right then and there that moms were great to have around for the little things us five-year-old men were just too busy to keep up with. I thought to myself, “I think I’ll keep her.”

JB Lewis

*Just a note*
This week as you head out for your busy lives, and brilliant careers - try to remember how great things were when you were just a little bit younger, a little bit smaller, and a whole lot wiser. Life is better when we keep it simple. Just be yourself. 

Your Friend In The Light...

The Power of the Mind

Heather was gone to school the other day, leaving me in charge of lunch for our two girls. I searched the cabinets high and low looking for something good; "good" is guy code for "no cooking involved."
I decided on pizza delivery for a surprise. I called from my room so no one knew I had ordered it. A few minutes later, Mia, my 13-year-old said, "Why don't we have pizza for lunch?"
I thought I would have a little fun with that. I said, "Okay then, let's say the magic words and tell the Universe we want to have pizza delivered right to our door."
I thought they would be amazed if they thought pizza just showed up at the front door just from us announcing out loud that we wanted it.
I guess Mia is a non-believer because she totally ignored me. But Holly, my 5-year-old, held her hand up to the sky and said, "I would like pizza delivered right to my door."
I said, "Let's do it again to give it more power." So we both raised our hands and said, "I would like pizza delivered right to our door."
We watched the window in search of a car with a pizza sign mounted to the top. Holly was all into it, even pressing her face against the window for better vision. I built it up by saying, "I just know the Universe is going to manifest a pizza for us - I just know it."
Well, about 15 minutes went by, but there was no pizza car in sight; I was starting to get concerned considering the pizza joint is only 3 miles down the road; so we called out to the Universe again, chanting in sync, "I would like pizza delivered right to my door." But after 15 more minutes passed and still no pizza, my 5-year-old said, "Why don't we try the Real magic words?"
I answered, "What are the real magic words?"
She said, "You use your phone."
I started to laugh and replied, "And what do I do with my phone?"
Cleverly she said, "You call their number, and say, 'I would like pizza delivered right to my door.'"
I was stumped - she was onto me.
How is that for brain power. Out smarted once again by my 5-year-old.

JB Lewis