The breeze was bone-chilling. I was holding the collar of my topcoat with my gloved hand. It was a typical morning in Wichita, November 1983, within months of the healer blessing the saplings. I had parked my car and was walking the short distance to my office. I was midway across the bridge over the Arkansas River when I heard someone say:
“If not now, when? If not you, who?”
The crisp, firm voice stopped me in my tracks. Immediately, I turned and looked in the direction of the voice. There was only the river flowing under my feet. I could see a long distance. There were no boats, no people on the river banks. Had I really heard the river speaking? The statement was familiar, but I did not remember ever using that statement before. I stood there in disbelief. However it had been spoken, the statement was clearly directed at me. I was stunned.
It seemed as if my brain scanned my entire life in a split second. I became aware of myself and my body. I was standing there without any movement, as still and steady as the nearby pillar. There was a warm glow coming from inside my body. I was no longer holding my collar with my hand. The cool breeze felt good. I was awake and fully aware of everything around me. I could feel and see a smile on my face. My mind was clear. Everything seemed fresh.
I stood there for perhaps ten minutes, enjoying the feeling. Reluctantly, I started to move toward my office because now I had to make a phone call. The moment I sat down, I called Treva. In one quick sentence, I told her I was quitting my business. There was stunned silence on the other end. I had kissed her goodbye at home just a few minutes ago. Stammering, she sputtered a few words, as if in slow motion, “WHAT? . . . WHY? . . . DID ANYTHING HAPPEN TO YOU? . . . ARE YOU OK? . . . WHY ARE YOU CALLING ME AT THIS TIME?”
She was as confused as I was clear. Her intuition told her that her life had just turned on a dime and that this would have a big impact on the lives of our children. I told her I would explain when I came home that evening. I could almost feel the oppressive cloud of apprehension that would hover over her all day, waiting for my arrival, while hoping everything would return to normal before I came back.
I didn’t know what I was going to tell her. I was much more aware of the pain it would cause all of us. The very thought of such a moment had frightened me for a long time. The dichotomy had split me, causing a prolonged illness.
At that moment, I felt an inner glow. This provided strength as I was called to jump into the dark abyss of the unknown.
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