Sometimes I get afraid to write. I’m afraid I won’t write the correct message, won’t express myself in the right light, won’t use my words adequately to express the deeper meaning. That I will get prideful, that I will depend on others’ input too much, that I will weep at criticism, that I will offend or scare some away. Such fears keep me from shining. Such fears stop me from trusting.I know innately there is no right or correct way to communicate. I know ultimately there is no failure, and that my words’ power and energy are not dependent upon others’ opinions or reaction. What matters is being honest and true to myself. What matters is trusting who I am. What matters is moving forward with beneficial light and kindness.
I want to begin sharing another part of my journey, experiences that long to be shared to such a degree that an essence knocks at my inner door calling over and over to be opened.
Today I open the door.
The first experience I will share with you is what I would deem remarkable. It was a long time ago, but begs to be shared. Why now, at this exact moment and on this day, I do not know.
Angel and Mary
Written by Samantha Craft on March 27, 2012
Long ago, in the fall of 1990, during a time in my life when I was still training to be a teacher and trapped within the vice of a romantic relationship that left me tormented and lonely, I questioned my place in this world.
I remember vividly sitting up in bed, under my father’s roof, in my bedclothes. I remember staring at my own reflection in the mirrored-closet doors and wailing to God. I was begging, asking for forgiveness, demanding to see a sign, so I would know, without a doubt, that everything would be all right.
It was then, as I was screaming at the top of my lungs for mercy, I heard a voice. A small voice from somewhere, possibly from within, possibly from beyond. A still voice that was so very light and freeing. This would be the first night in my life that I would sleep soundly and free of nightmares. This would be the first night that before drifting into a deep slumber, I would be filled with a soothing energy, a wordless lullaby that moved my entire being in the shape of a figure eight, shifting my neck and back in a peaceful swaying motion.
The voice I heard before I drifted to sleep, whispered only one word—the word Colfax.
During this time, my last years in college, I’d found a friend in Angela, an open-minded, spirited gal who sat beside me in my teaching preparation classes. When I awoke the next morning after hearing the voice, I contacted Angela and explained to her the events of the night.
Trusting my experience, she said, that like me, she believed that something was going to happen with this word Colfax, something powerful. Angela anxiously set about researching the word Colfax in the library. I remember her telling me in class, the next day, that she’d found several places named Colfax in America, and that one such place was located about fifty miles north of us.
I began doodling the word Colfax on my notebook. Colfax was all I could think about. The lady sitting next to me in class, a fellow student named Maryanne, upon seeing my doodles, asked me quietly, “Is that where you are from? Because that’s where I live.”
I soon found out that Maryanne had lived in Colfax for quite some time. I explained to her that I had never heard of the town of Colfax before a few days ago, and that I had a distinct feeling that there was something having to do with Colfax that I was supposed to discover. Maryanne kindly invited me to drive up over the weekend and visit her.
On Saturday, Maryanne, as promised, drove me about the small country town of Colfax. We stopped at a restaurant, a park, and a few other places. All the while Maryanne asked: “Do you sense something?”
I left in the evening discouraged and saddened. I’d sensed nothing, felt foolish, and worried for my sanity and reputation.
These unsettling feelings stayed with me, until a few days later in class, the day Angela came bursting through the door of our classroom.
That day, Angela sat down at my side, caught her breath, and said to me: “I have something to tell you. Something you’re not going to believe!”
She continued: “You know about Colfax? Well, it is all over the news this morning! People from all over, as far as Texas, are traveling to Colfax, near where Maryanne lives, to see a vision in St. Dominic’s Catholic Church, some reflection through the stained glass window which looks like the outline of the Virgin Mary.”
Angela scooted in closer. Streaks of her black hair reflected beneath the fluorescent lights. “You were right,” she whispered. “You were right.”
I shook my head and tried to smile, still processing all that Angela had reported.
“What are you going to do?” Angela asked. “Are you going to go back? You knew something important was going to happen there, and it did. It really did. Remember at first, you thought that Colfax was a person or a far away place? And here it is, right up the hill from us!” Angela shook her head. “Isn’t it strange that you’ve already been there, before all of these people? Are you going to go?”
“No,” was all I could think to answer. “I’ve already been.”
It wasn’t until some twenty years later, I realized a profound truth, the fact that the two people involved in my search of the meaning of Colfax, the only two people I confided in and trusted, were named Angela (Angel) and Maryanne (Mary).
Small Article relating to event.