Category Archives: Accidents 1-500

Accidental Dream 499, Part B; July 16, 2015

The vividness of this dream woke me up and I sat in the living-room in a daze for several hours.  After the sun came up and the daily alarms went off, my fiance finally awoke and looked over the banister to me in the living-room below.  He asked me what could possibly wake me and have me in the living-room when the tranquilizers I take to help sleep, push me well past my sixth snooze button on such occasions as I take them, like last night.

[For posterity sake, his name is Walter.]

“Walter, I had a dream.  Before you say anything, it was so real, I feel like I’m still in the dream, in some other room of it.”

“Tell me the dream sweetie.” As he leaned over the banister.

………

After telling him even more than I’ve already written on it in my previous post, we were both in tears.

“Sweetie, that was a dream about Jesus, do you know that?”

I could feel it, but I couldn’t see how they fit together.

“You know, I was bringing you up to see Jesus.  He’s your representation in Heaven for God, you can go visit him anytime and you’ve already been introduced.  There’s no bigger court, than the court of heaven and he’s your guy.  God is described by many things, one of them being ‘Ancient of Days’ so that’s what the old computer technology in the office represents.  The gifts, that’s the Holy Spirit and his gifts. He just has gifts for you.  He wants a relationship with you, more intimately, but you have so many things you’re holding onto you can’t get close to Him. You can’t even get your gifts, because your arms are so full of other, worldly junk, that just keeps you from really getting in the door easily to meet Him.”

My tears were streaming down my face.

“What’s so powerful, is that He not only gives you new gifts, he also buys the pain and items, good and bad, in your personal box that’s holding you back.  It’s gifts upon gifts.”

I start sniffing softly.  He leaned back from the banister, his cheeks also wet from tears, and Walter came down the stairs, meeting me on the couch to hold me.

“But you didn’t help me carry my box!  I was so angry at you!”

Walter held me tighter.  “Baby, if I carried your box, we’d be in a co-dependent relationship.  We’ve both divorced ourselves from that cycle.  I can’t carry your pain for you, I can just take you to Him that buys it back, and support you in the process.”

Harder sobs started shaking my body, noises escaping in-between the sobs like ‘ultimate suffering’ from a broken heart that Inigo Montoya heard when Rugen slaughtered his father.

“I know you know about Jesus, sweetie, you’ve been introduced to him so many times.  Let’s pray to help you remove some of the items in your box that get in the way of your relationship with Him.  You and me.  I have some things I want to ask Him to buy back from me too.”

So that morning, as the sun was just starting to get warm, Walter prayed for us both.  The box of regret, loss, pain, memories, failures, feelings, pride, and anger started to get lighter.

I prayed too, I prayed for the loss of marriages and relationships past, the books I had started to “write” that didn’t have fairy-tale endings.  I prayed for three unborn children that died before they were born.  I prayed for the intellectual property I was so proud of, the things I made that never went anywhere.  I prayed for the good things too, the things that are good because Dear God allowed me to find love again with Walter, but I wanted all the credit.

Most of all, I prayed to empty my box, so I could get a present – I really wanted a gift from Him, addressed to me.

gift box hands

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Accidental Dream 499, Part A; July 16, 2015


I (accidentally) had a dream.  

I wish my dream was a statement that started a revolutionary speech and changed culture through my humble blog, but it was a dream none-the-less, and one that certainly changed my culture on how I live my life.

In my dream (and I won’t be sharing the whole thing) my fiance grabbed me by the arm and said he wanted to introduce me to his lawyer, “he’s the best lawyer in the world”, Walter said between grabbing my arm and pushing the elevator button for up.

Now, imagine as I tell you this dream, that it’s so real, you can feel the floor squeak beneath your feet, the wall brush against your sleeve and whoosh of air tickle your hair as the elevator door opens.

I pick up the narrative after the elevator door opens with a strong whoosh, the wind of which makes me take a step back.  The button that lit up was the very last button in a sea of buttons along the side of the door.  Walter looked over at me, reassuringly.  

We made it to the top floor.  The speed we enjoyed on the elevator buckled my knees once, Walter helped me up before the doors opened.  There was only one door on the top floor, no writing on the door except a simple plaque and I could only read “J.Chris-” before the door was opened.  Walter turned the knob to the door, easily going through the doorway.  It was at this moment I noticed my arms were full of stuff.  I had a box with no lid, and it was overflowing.  I tried to get the door with my shoulder, that didn’t work, kicked my foot in the door before it shut, but that didn’t help much.  When I finally did get the door open, it wouldn’t open all the way because there was something behind the door.  Trying not to be frustrated, I pushed hard against the door with my back, navigating the big box through the entry.  

Walter didn’t help me with my box of stuff, either.  The frustration started to spill up my throat.  The nagging tone in my mind building an argument against Walter for when we get home.

I dropped some stuff out of my box on my way in, Walter was giving a man in jeans and a t-shirt a hug.  There were three desks in the room, only two had any room because they were piled high with wrapped gifts, and both of them had computers that were older than my original pre-Pentium with a dot matrix printer that screamed throughout the whole house once it started printing as a child.  

Odd, I thought.  Such old computers, how does anyone get anything done with such old technology!  

I turned around to pick up some of the items from my box that dropped to the floor while navigating the doorway, seeing that the door couldn’t open because there were wrapped gifts all stacked behind the door.  Picking the items I dropped up, I looked at them closely.  One of them was a t-shirt, purple with a green pattern in the center over the heart.  In the way odd dreams go, I knew I made this shirt.  I made this shirt and it was the most special shirt in the whole world.  This shirt was going to change the world.  Another was a book.  When I flipped the book over, I saw a handsome portrait of my ex-husband on the front cover.  I knew this book was special.  It was so special.  I helped write it.  I owned this book.  There were three items I picked up, each of them having a gravitating, greedy affect on me.  I walked over to where I put the box down, and placed them in the box, not looking up to meet the lawyer Walter was trying to introduce me to.

final junk box

When I did look up, the lawyer was just turning to go sit at the desk in the furthest corner of the room.  How he made it there over all the wrapped boxes, wrapped odd shaped doohickies and stacked gift wrapped cubes.  He sat at his desk, and without looking at me, stated, “[my name] I”ll be here still after you clean out your box.  I won’t go anywhere.  There’s a buy back downstairs.”  His arm reached out, and his hand pointed down, emphasizing his point. 

Walter looked at me, “Okay, you go do that, I’ll spend some time with him while you do that,” and he plunked himself right down on a leather loveseat, pulling a gift right out from under him.  I felt a little dejected. 

I stumbled with my box of items that kept spilling and took the elevator all the way to the bottom.  When the doors opened, there was a podium like a concierge stopping post in a pricey hotel. The sign in front stated “Buy Back”.  I got closer, balancing my box and I noticed there was a cash register there.  A grandmotherly woman squealed and started pulling things out of my box while he tallied on his register.  As she pulled out the shirt, I clung to it.  

“You don’t understand, this is very, very precious…” My words were useless as she plucked it right out of my hands.  Next she grabbed the book with my ex-husband’s picture on the front.”Hey! You can’t take that!” I practically yelled, I could see I was making a scene, but I didn’t care.  

“Don’t you get it, I helped write that book!  That’s my book.  I get to keep that book.  It’s all mine, I need to see that.  I need to keep that!  I opened it to the last page and read ‘Not happily ever after'”  Then she pulled it from me and I collapsed onto the floor.  My heart felt like it was beating outside of my chest.  

gift box colorful

That’s when the man who was behind the cash register podium, came around and lifted me up.  

“There, it’s all done.  Now, look what you all got!”

Into my hands, spilled gold coins.  I put them into my pockets.  

The older lady that took all of my stuff out of the box handed me my receipt.  

“Doesn’t that feel lighter?  Here’s your box, now there’s room for gifts.”

…………

Accident 478; July 21, 2015

When I was a child, being raised in a Dutch-Canadian home, I was well learned on Corrie ten Boom.

One of her stories laid dormant in me until just a few weeks ago.

Corrie Ten Boom was famous for writing of a time when her and her family were in concentration camps as a result of hiding Jews in their home during the holocaust.  Afterwards, she wrote of a soldier that was well known for his cruelty.  The details of this man, and his relationship specifically to her, I don’t remember exactly, however, the childhood impact of learning that she was standing there on a pulpit talking of forgiveness, when walking up the isle to meet her, was one of the most sadistic men in the camp, raising his hand to hold hers in forgiveness.  I can only imagine the feelings that would have been coursing through her as she held his hand and tested her own preachings of forgiveness; only something supernatural can attest to her ability to forgive.

The horror of forgiveness has hibernated in me since.

How can you ever, ever forgive a bad person?  When so commonly, I can’t even forgive the snotty little teenager the neighbor struggles to control and stomps my flowers, let alone someone who’s been at the very least, reckless with my heart?

Through complete submission of all feelings to Dear God.  It’s the only explanation that I can think of that makes sense.  And it’s not a process that comes easily – I haven’t been in a holocaust, but I have had a man treat me worse than he did his dealer.  He tilted the rules of relationship to fit his gross agenda and lied extravagantly until at one point it nearly cost me my life.  Forgive him?  Worse, forgive me for participating in the relationship with him?  I thought it was impossible.

That keyhole and the camel story has some merit to it, because until you can truly allow your heart to break, you can never truly mend and it’s a [expletive adjective] tight emotional hole to go through.  But when you get to the other side, there’s a whole kingdom in there.

That keyhole is the horror of forgiveness; the willingness to be so broken by the pain that you’re willing to be healed by something that can only be supernatural.

I accidentally forgave my ex-husband.  I also forgave myself.

The healing is supernatural.

Accident 38, Part C; June 15, 2014

Diary,

I accidental allowed my heart to open up to love again.

Just a week before I met this man, a dear friend of mine and mentor since I was 11 years old flew into town.

Her and I prayed extensively as we hiked, I had a panic attack, she prayed over me, as we talked and I cried, she prayed again.  In her prayers, she asked Dear God to bring love into my life and not just any love, but The Love of my life.

I was openly sarcastic and not without my doubts.  I mean, I only just started inviting Dear God back into my life, how in the heck does he plan on getting this stone of a heart to ever open up again?

So far, it opened and it can only be Dear God because I was on my own, hoping I’d transform into a Lesbian rather than ever trust in a man.

Mysterious ways, absolutely.  Knows my heart’s desires more than I know my own?  Absolutely.

Accident 500; August 27, 2015

Diary,

I am accidently learning that emotions need calibration.

As I’m growing in faith, love and patience … a dear friend had the most unfortunate incident of both saying and looking at me at wrong time this week.  Dare I say, a nuclear attack or Jesus returning would have been less surprising for both of us.

The incident occurred over nose hair clippers and my emotional assurance that not only were the nail clippers a sign of a long-term undercurrent of anger on his behalf towards me, but also his absolute disdain for everything that I look like, stand for and my existence in general.  That being said, my reaction seemed only logical to verbally obliterate him from his birth to his future, imminent death.

Looking back, it’s embarrassing how I behaved and what I said.  It took two days in bed, extra sleep, movies, some wine and a good hug to realize that emotions are a powerful tool.  And with all power tools, sometimes they need to be calibrated.

The last few years have offered up quite a dose of stress, pain and fear and an even greater dose of love, forgiveness and blessings.  But that doesn’t mean that I haven’t been stretched as a person in every way possible.  I need to remember as I am going forward that faith is an everyday act and on days where I fail, it’s not a failure on me as a person, but a failure to re-calibrate in this new life.

So, with that.  I’m going to grab a glass of my favorite wine, ask some friends to pray (since I am so worn I can’t) and turn my computer off.

I’m going to take a few days to re-calibrate.

Troublemakergood

Accident 38, Part D; March 23, 2015

Diary,

Over the last two years, my abusive, actor/model husband forced me out of the house.  A marriage I knew was a mistake. I had been trapped in my marriage since 21 days in when I discovered he preferred men to me.  I had too much shame to go through another divorce, or humble myself to seek help with what also grew into seeing him consumed in drug, sex and alcohol dependencies.  It was especially hard to be humble or justify a divorce in our church and friends group when he was “so cool, soo sweet and soooo handsome”.  We would walk into church, or a party where men and women would fall over themselves to shake his hand – the very same hand that was raised against me the night before with a baseball bat and chased down the street.  Dear God literally ripped our lives apart, put in a restraining order for 5 years to ensure we could never go back to each other and re-enter the abusive cycle together.

My former CFO, a church-going man, was paying my key employees out of his bank account so he could create doubt in front of a judge that the corporate intellectual property was actually a part of my company, since the property in question is usually owned by the company that pays the employees and I, apparently, wasn’t paying them?  Dear God gave me the strength and a business partner, mid-takeover to fire every single person on my team, stare bankruptcy in the face, and then God blessed me with three times the amount of employees and ten times the profits.

If my friends hadn’t decided to stay clear of me through the divorce process because they preferred to keep my former husband in the division of assets, they surely didn’t stick around when I had no income to take them out and buy everyone a round of drinks with, and certainly not when I needed a couch to crash on.  Dear God took every shallow, two faced person I used to title “friend” and made them completely inaccessible to me.  Even when everything was done, the calls for apology from half of the “friends” that reached out, fell on ears that had been filled with Dear God’s voice and their tone became as a fool’s clang; I could no longer tolerate their presence in my now grace-filled life.

My family died to co-dependency and guilt, died to traditions instilled for generations that only enslaved us in “what would the church think, what would my parent’s think, what would my grandma think” and started listening to the only conscience that matters, the conscience of Dear God.  The more we listened, the more love and sanctuary became resurrected in our lives.  If Dear God had not ripped away my real estate in the divorce, and my financials hasn’t been destroyed in the take over, there would have been no patience or grace to move in the small corners of a 3 bedroom condo, and dwindling family business.  In our struggle, Dear God wrapped us up so close in proximity, we had no way to escape the hardships of relationship and forgiveness.  Dear God took away all of the escapes used in this first world country to become filled with his blessed gifts we had only been too arrogant, self-important and self-righteous to use for the first three decades of my life.

I accidentally lost everything, and simultaneously gained everything.

Accident 38, Part B; May 21, 2014

Diary,

Remember when I accidentally decided to live in faith?

Well, living in faith has been harder than living in self-reliance, at least to the naked eye.

In the last year, I have plummeted into a violent divorce, my company has suffered a hostile-nearly successful take over.  I have not a single friend left from my previous life I can call to talk with. My family looks at me like a dead pariah.  I went from making six figures to no figures.  My real estate properties are auctioned off to what must have been the lowest bidder.  I have became alone in the desert, figuratively and literally; I am trapped somewhere between Las Vegas and San Bernardino with nothing but a water bottle, one Facebook friend and stale, budget motel room.

And, Dear God, I have never been so blessed.

Accident 38; March 23, 2013

Diary,

I accidentally decided to live in faith. 

What is faith?  I’m not entirely sure, actually, but I’ve decided it has to be better than what I’ve been doing.

I’ve been living where everything is in existence because I’m so amazing; why wouldn’t I think that?  I’m well-educated, well-traveled, dated or married prestigious people (“prestigious” voice in your head should mimic an exhaustive, posh British accent), I’ve held impressive titles at companies and even tried my own hand at being self-employed.  What’s the point of living in faith, because I’m so prestigious?

Oh right, the point where I’ve become so important, I’ve alienated all people around me.  I’ve become so important on my resume, that unless I’m at a corporate social, no one wants a stupid thing to do with me.  When I fly into a town, I go out as the life of the party and I’m heralded as the friend from somewhere other than there.  A toast is made, I’ve likely hooked up with a local (assuming I’m single at the time, of course) and then I fly away.

On Facebook, I get to window-shop these friends, build little towns and send them Candy Charms.  But when they have a baby, I don’t get an invite to the baby shower, I get a group message, when their baby gets christened, I’m squinting at the screen, not able to participate in the inside joke that has the priest in pinch.  When someone needs a shoulder to cry on, I don’t get tagged in the photo, because there is none.  The most important things that happen in life, there are no photos; leaving a blank screen on the timeline of my life.

So, Dear Jesus, I will live in faith.  I don’t know what it means, but let’s get started on this process, because I need to believe in something bigger than myself.

Accident 173; July 17, 2014

If you’re reading this, it’s completely by accident and recently, the accidents appear to be more deliberate.

Diary,

[absolutely no salutations for “dear diary”, at this point we’ve known each other for some time, no reason to be formal and just because this is the first time I’ve typed to you, rather than scribbled notes in a leather book, bound to be lost, or discovered anyway, doesn’t mean we start being formal.  Besides, no one’s going to see this, unless it’s by happenstance.]

Anyway, Diary, today I accidentally healed my mom’s dog.

I know, right?  

This is not just any dog, Diary, this is my mom’s favorite wiener dog.  She has three wiener dogs. In fact, it’s not that I don’t love the dogs, I mean they are so stupidly adorable it makes my Head of Sales visit my parent’s home, lay on the floor and be licked to death. It just became difficult to relate to my mom outside of the dogs.  The dogs and I started to engage in a love-hate relationship especially as two dogs was double the fun of one, but three became crazy!

Number three, also named Maximum, or Max for short, wound up stealing triple the room in my mom’s heart, leaving the other two to bark incessantly and generally get under the feet of the entire family.  What room there was left for people after the dogs, became unevenly shared.  At least that’s how I felt and on some level Max became a small burr of resentment aimed towards my mom that I took out on the dogs.

Three little foothorns all in a row.  From Left to Right; Andre, Abby and Max (ie. Maximum)
Three little foothorns all in a row. From Left to Right; Andre, Abby and Max (ie. Maximum)

Friday my mom didn’t come into the office; she’s one of my bookkeepers at our family business.  At first her absence didn’t  trigger me to think it all uncommon because often mom has errands to run, or my disabled sister to care for if she wants a “sleep in day”.

It was unusual for my mom though, despite us having trouble in our relationship, for her to not call or text her whereabouts if she was going to miss time in the office.

“Mom, where are you?”

Heavy breathing and a nose blow.

“Mom, you there?”

Weak, “Ya.”

“What’s up?” half annoyed.  Mom being emotional again.

“Max is dying.” Sob.

Didn’t I feel like a heel!  I promised I’d be over in a bit, despite her reluctance to un-invite me.  It’s hard to say no in a moment of pain, no matter how much she didn’t like me much either right now.

When I arrived at the house, my mom looked like she was the one on her deathbed, not the dog.  Even the stone in my heart started to melt into lava as she walked up the stairs, taking me to Max.

“See, he’s …. not moving anymore.”

I saw, “Since when?  I didn’t know …”

“Since last week, he’s just been getting worse and worse.  At first he wouldn’t go down the stairs, so I had to carry him.  Then he couldn’t walk to the door.  The last two days, he won’t eat or drink and he can’t get out of his kennel.” Sob.

I could see the dog was all but dead.  Mom sat right there in front of the door of his crate, petting his unresponsive head.  The tears and sobs became too much, my mom got up, put her hand on my shoulder and walked towards the door, “I am going to get your sister from school [her day program], she’s really been bothered by Max dying too.  I mean, I went to the vet, but there’s nothing they can do, you know doxies and their backs … that’s how we lost Simon too.  And the money, we just don’t have the money right now to fix it anyway, we can just make him comfortable.” And with that, she was out the door and I heard the muffled thump of her feet dragging from stair to stair, until the front door opened and shut behind her.

I looked down at the lifeless animal in the cage. He wasn’t even wrapped up like he always was.  The other two dogs were listless and skittish, like they were tiptoeing past the angel of death, staying out from under his feet as Max so clearly was unable to do.  Something came over me, that had never come over me before … It was like my hands belonged to someone else as they moved into the cage, closer to Max, into the cage and rested on Max’s crooked back and head.

“Dear God, [I like to do a “dear” since it didn’t feel like we were that close, not like you and me, Diary] I don’t know what I’m doing.  I’m not even a big fan of this dog.  Actually, I don’t even know if I’m a big fan of You.  I know that I’ve never read in the Bible when I was a kid that an animal was ever healed, it seems to be only for people.  I don’t think you even do healings anymore, either.  But, God, this dog is my …., ” The tears started to roll down my cheek, “Mom’s favorite dog.  I don’t even really like my mom right now, but I do know, that if this dog dies, everything we are trying to rebuild may never happen because she could just break.  And the company is in a tough spot, I need her at the office.  Zoe, my handicapped sister won’t understand death easily with all the other tensions around right now.  Lord, please, I don’t have faith it will happen, but if you can heal the dog, I can muster up enough faith to try and heal things with my mom and maybe even You.”

I’m not sure what I was expecting, but Max didn’t look any different when I removed my hands from the kennel.  I didn’t hear any miraculous living dog running after me when I left and closed the door behind me.  I didn’t think much more of it when I left, except a pang of sadness that felt exacerbated by everything else that was going on in the world around me.  I certainly didn’t feel some “God experience” like I’d seen on T.V. or heard about in those charismatic churches.  It felt like nothing was hopeful when I closed the front door behind me, heading home.

Monday

Mom came into the office on Monday, on time and cheery.  Cheery.  I gave a false smile and a wave when she came in, which she returned and appeared to prance all the way to her desk.

Odd.

“Mom, how was your weekend?” I asked, half unexpecting a response.

“Great!  How was yours?”

Is she being snide?  Over-medicated, maybe? “Okay, didn’t do much, worked or stayed in bed.”

“Okay, sounds good.”  She barely looked up, while she hummed, pulling out her files and setting up her desk for the morning.

“Uh … how’s Max?” My face winced.

“Oh Max is wonderful!  It’s the most amazing thing, Chantelle, you won’t believe it!”

She was right.  

“Maxie Pad, when I got home Friday night, perked his head up and whined at me.  So I carried him downstairs and he drank a bunch of water, ate his food. After he finished his bowl, I carried him back up the stairs and put him in the kennel.  In the middle of the night, he whined again!  So I opened the kennel, and he walked out!  His back was broken, and he walked out of the kennel!  So I picked him up, carried him down the stairs, he made his poopy and then he hopped up all the stairs so I couldn’t even grab him!!  By Sunday, he’s his old self, running with the other two!  It’s a complete miracle!  Now what do you need done today, I’m ready to get to work …”

Turns out, I was the one that needed to get ready to work … because I accidentally, healed my mom’s dog, so I accidentally became a Jesus fan.