There are angels among us. I know, I know. It's one of the most cliche things to say. But it is true. Some of us think of them as literal angels with wings and halos. Some of us know them as gurus and teachers. Whatever form it takes for you, it is undeniable that there are people around us whose flame burns a little brighter, whose wisdom is a little more profound, whose impact is felt so incredibly strongly. In my darkest days, I had the good fortune of knowing one of these angels.
I was 18 and had just moved into my own tiny trailer with Dylan. I was living on my own, not relying on the kindness of others, for the first time in my life. I'd barely had a chance to get the place furnished and food in the fridge when my in-laws filed for emergency custody of Dylan. It was a terrible, scary time. They hurled accusations of neglect and fabricated stories about my treacherous parenting. I was alone, and lonely. I was alone in my grief when I learned they had been granted emergency temporary custody because of the lies they had told the court. I was panicked. I knew that my fate and Dylan's were inextricably linked. There was no way that I could go on with my life if I was not being Dylan's mother. And there was no way that he could turn out to be a happy, healthy, productive member of society if I was removed from his life and he was left to be raised by his father's family. I was grief stricken. I was alone in my hatred and contempt. Even after regaining a shared custody arrangement while we continued our protracted court battle, they seemed to make it their life's mission to plot the ways they could make my life more difficult, more miserable, more desperate. And my hate burned bright. I could feel my loathing taking root in my belly and beginning to grow, to consume me. I wished them misfortune. I tried to think of the ways I could seek retribution, make them feel as badly as they had made me feel. I cried. And when I finally found myself at the bottom of my emotional pit, at what I knew was the darkest place I could ever allow myself to go, I called my minister.
I had grown up attending Chad O'Shea's Unity Center services. I had the good fortune of being raised in his church. I never cared much for the Sunday School classes. I preferred to be upstairs with the grown-ups, listening to Chad. And one of the things I had absorbed in my many Sundays spent listening to this enlightened messenger of God was the lesson that we are each responsible for choosing our reactions, for controlling our emotions, for being the master of our own heart and mind. "No one makes you mad, glad, bad or sad. That's an inside job," he would say. Or another of our favorites, "Misery is Optional." But in those darkest of days I was taking serious objection with Rev. Chad's teachings. How was I choosing to be miserable? I most certainly wasn't making that choice! That choice was being made for me. Look at what they were doing to me! How could anyone say that I was choosing this pain and torment? And, even in the midst of that despair, I knew that I couldn't go on hating them the way I was. I didn't want to. I knew it would destroy me. It would leave me bitter and sad. It would dampen my light. But I couldn't see my way out of it. I couldn't talk myself out of that loathing. So, I called up the minister I hadn't seen in years and sobbed.
Chad counseled me through my darkest hours. He talked with me, lovingly and patiently helping me to see that I had no enemies; that no one was trying to deliberately cause me pain. He helped me to see Kathy & Tim as people trying to make their way down their own path in life using only the tools they had available to them. He reminded me that every being on this earth has a spark of divinity in them, a Christ light that flickers and burns within and it is our task to find that Christ light and nurture it, listen to it, talk to it, coax it out. He encouraged me to visualize that spark of divinity in my encounters, to ignore the outer shell that I felt was causing me so much pain, and instead talk to the divine. That lesson is what got me through the next several years as we continued to battle over custody and argue about parenting techniques and routines. I found patience by talking to the divine. I discovered that I had the capacity to love my enemies, to bless those who would curse me, to do good to those who hated me, and pray for those who would despitefully use me and persecute me. I am so glad that we were able to work through that period in our lives and come out on the other side of it as family. Kathy and Tim have helped me over the years in more ways than anyone and I will forever be grateful to them for their help and love. It is easy for me now, looking back, to see how they must have been so scared for Dylan, terrified that this 18 year old kid didn't know what she was doing and would never be able to care for him. And, in truth, without their help I probably wouldn't have been able to. I'm so grateful to Chad for helping me ensure that I left the door open for that relationship to blossom into what it is now, that I didn't irreparably burn those bridges, that I chose light over dark.
That is a lesson that not only saved my 18 year old self, but has saved me again and again and again. I have no room in my heart for hatred. It consumes far too much energy, energy that could be better spent doing good in the world, helping others, making someone smile. It was the most difficult lesson of my life, to learn to forgive and to love those who had caused me great harm. And I will be forever grateful to God for sending me an angel when I needed it most, in my darkest days.
We celebrated the life of Chad O'Shea this past Saturdeay. His church was packed to capacity, with people overflowing into the lobby. The impact he had on my life is by no means unique or out of the ordinary. He touched the lives of everyone he encountered in deep and profound ways. He was truly an angel, a guru, an enlightened teacher and I am so grateful to have known him. He absolutely and without a doubt saved my life in my darkest days.
