The Book
Before I was
born, there was a woman on my Dad’s side of the family. I didn’t hear her name
until one day, when I overheard my parents talking in a room nearby. I was
eight at the time. This woman was Aunt Grace. So, the story I heard goes. This brought
me to the thoughts I had when I awoke this morning. The thing that disturbed my
parents about me at age eight was my faith. It wasn’t like theirs. And the only person that they could compare
it to, was this woman in my Dad’s life till 1962, Aunt Grace.
My Dad’s
Aunt Grace was a Christian Science Practitioner. I was born after she’d died
that same year. No one I knew fifty years ago ever read the Bible. Nor spoke
about doing so on any regular basis. People went to church, and that was that. My maternal grandmother said one day about
church to me, “…When mass was in Latin. He could’ve been selling us a basket of
bread. And I wouldn’t have known the difference…”
Meanwhile, I
was praying and imagining miracles, hopes and dreams long before I was age
eight. I started reading the Bible privately, long before then too. It was the
only thing I was interested in reading. As well, it appeared the right
structure and font for my dyslexia and reading comprehension issues as well.
Issues I still struggle with to this day.
What had prompted
this, was I realized before age eight that humans couldn’t control most things.
It was alright with me, for a few reasons. One being, I knew God and well, he
knew me. That has been the one thing I was sure of. The other thing was that human
beings erred more than we want to admit. And that included people with tons of letters
after their names. No matter the career that they had embedded themselves in.
So, on this
particular day, now nearly fifty years ago. I did something that blew my parent’s
minds. I had faith. Like real out there, outer space faith. Kind of sort of, unheard
of faith. I’d seen enough people panic
when others they knew were dying. Then they’d pray, light a candle, go to
church, talk to their pastor, and well you know. However, the rest of their daily
lives, they went about their business as if death didn’t or wasn’t supposed to
exist. That to die was the most tragic thing. I decided it might not be. It all depended on a lot of things. Mainly
what people and things meant to you. I can admit I’ve felt sad when someone
died. Yet. I’ve felt even more devastated
when people are cruel to one another.
When people lie to one another. When people bully others. Or arrogantly
belittle other people’s experiences. Those
aforementioned circumstances are the MOST devastating things that can and do happen
in our sphere of being human.
So, here I
was at age eight, when my parents discovered that I believed I could pray, perhaps
read the Bible and get well from illness. It was one day at age eight, I’d come
home for lunch from elementary school. I felt ill. It was my stomach. Before I’d arrived home, my mother had made me
a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and poured me a glass of milk. It was on our
kitchen table when I entered our home.
I looked at it and
said, “Mom, I don’t feel good.”
She replied, “How
about some Pepto-Bismal?”
I replied, “Mom, I’ll
be fine in twenty minutes.
I’m going to go upstairs
and talk to God.”
She didn’t know what
to say. I added, “I’ll be fine.”
I went up
the flight of thirteen steps, then towards my bedroom. I went in closing my
bedroom door behind me. I then grabbed my children’s Bible and laid on my back
in my bed. Praying as I did to find the right pages to read to get myself all
better. I found three stories. Two of them rang true to my soul in its current
position. Twenty minutes later I was all better. I came downstairs, had half of
my lunch. Said ‘good-bye’ to my mother and back to school I went.
That evening
I overheard my parents talking. I heard my name.
“Where did she come up with stuff?” I
heard my Dad’s voice
query my mother.
Mom answered him, “I don’t know.” She
sounded a bit
bewildered.
Then my Dad came back with, “Well, we
had my Aunt Grace.
But Jody never met her.”
My Mom responded, “Oh she was a
Christian Science practitioner…”
I had no
clue what all that was. But I didn’t forget it. About a year or two later, Aunt
Grace’s name came up at our dinner table with our family of four at the time sitting
there, having dinner together. I found out then who Aunt Grace was. I found out
that when my Dad’s finger as a child was to be amputated the next morning, Aunt
Grace came over the evening before, prayed with the family. And the next
morning the finger was healed. Then he had polio and was not expected to walk
again. Again, Aunt Grace showed up, prayed, and he was healed again. My Dad’s
father had bouts of boils that wouldn’t relent. No one and nothing could soothe
him, nor get rid of his boils. Doctors
were baffled by it. Aunt Grace found out about Gramp’s boils and well…came over
to their home, and prayed with them. The next morning not only were the boils
and their effects gone. Yet, as well Gramp never had an episode of boils ever
again.
So, fast
forward I’m working in my office its about 2005. An elderly couple arrive, sent in by a doctor
for me to treat the wife. The couple was
eighty-five years old. The husband looked twenty years younger than he actually
was. But he was worried about his wife of over sixty years. I treated her. She had many maladies and was in pain. Her
and I hit it off. I found out that she was an Orthodox Jew. Next what I found
out was she had studied Christian Science. She was the only person in my life
that I’d ever met who’d discussed it with me. And before her last session with
me, she gave me The Book.---Jody-Lynn Reicher
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