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Point of my comment is that I also don't believe in gods and devils. I have not been blessed with the gift of being able to have that blind faith that so many have so my question is what do you all think your being saved for or is it just a religion sort of thing and by being faithful your just being saved from the normal everyday horrors of human life?
I put the rifle down, and strangely over the next several months a series of synchronicities followed that ended up leading me down a magical path -- a path which lead to a place where I found a burning desire to live and an overwhelming feeling to experience life, to its fullest.
It's good to hear that you're still with us, silo.
Wow...I am happy and a bit jealous of you...you are lucky to have had such an experience.
My mom told me my whole life that my Grandma "sent me her guardian angels" because she I thought I was going to need them.
Your reply - so far - is the hardest for me to respond to and I’m not going to get through it dry eyed.
If I have a Guardian Angel? He’s my Grandpa. My hero. Mentor. So much more. My ‘Granpa’ (no ‘d’) was everything to me.
Let me tell you a story of what it was like to ‘belong’ to him.
Every Saturday Granpa and I would take a walk for ice cream, hand in hand down the streets of Seattle.
He walked slow like me - the only adult who cared enough to walk slow like me. When someone asked how old I was I’d hold up 4 fingers. My legs weren't long.
Later I learned my Grandfather was crippled. Something called Polio ‘got him‘ when he was ‘my age‘.
He was a ‘cripple’ and that’s why he walked slow. That’s why Granma was always mad at him cause he was so sloooow. Nevertheless, I know he would have matched his strides to mine ‘worthless cripple’ or no. He was that kind of Man.
So, we’d take hand in hand past H. Salt Fish & Chips, look both ways and cross the street because one block later? 31 Flavors Ice Cream!
The Saturday I want to tell you about? Granpa and I were passing the modest one bench park where I saw this guy talking to himself while drinking something from a brown paper bag.
I tugged on Granpa’s arm asking why the man was drinking from a paper bag? And why was he talking to himself?
Granpa stopped, smiled his sloe smile and replied ‘He’s talking to himself because he doesn’t have a little Granddaughter to belong to.’
Think about that. A crippled old man with a moment in time to mold a child’s future. To shape my soul.
He could have been derisive, like: ‘He talks to himself because he’s a filthy bum drunk on whiskey and self pity’.
But he didn’t. Instead my Granpa dolled out a scoop of love for me - and a double scoop of love and compassion for humanity.
A once in a lifetime Man of Character, my Granpa.
So, if there’s anyone who’s watching over me? It’s him.
I just don’t know how to deal with it now that my faith in his watching over me - has become a reality.
edit on 12-11-2013 by silo13 because: *dusty in here*
I had a similar experience as a child. I was saved from drowing by an otherwise non-existent person.