INDIGO WISDOM

Balboa Press

Chapter One

Anonymous

Summer in Michigan is absolute bliss. The sunlight is intense, and the vegetation is green and profuse. There's an abundance of water: lakes, streams, ponds, and the Great Lakes. We live in an area that values open space, so the activities of the wildlife are joyous to watch. I'm thankful for every day.

One glorious afternoon in 2005, my dear friend Barb called to announce an opportunity for travel. She'd been on the Web site of Caroline Myss, the American mystic and intuitive medicine advocate, and learned of a "Celebrate Your Life" conference to be held in Arizona where Carolyn would be a keynote speaker.

When Barb checked the conference information, she was elated with the caliber of speakers attending. The list was impressive: The conference included Deepak Chopra, Wayne Dyer, Dr. Brian Weiss, Doreen Virtue, and Gregg Braden.

"Feel like a field trip?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do," I replied. "Let me check with Don, though. He has done more reading than I have, and I'm sure he'd like to attend this, too. Besides, I have family in Arizona, and it has been way too long since I've seen them."

My husband, Don, and I visited the Web site together. We had so many miracles happening in our lives that we truly believed there was something bigger going on in the world than just us. We were curious to see what others were experiencing. We decided it would be a wonderful vacation experience for us and quickly signed up, as did Barb and her husband, Mark.

The conference was wonderful. I half expected New Age goofies, but I was thunderstruck at how normal everyone was. They'd come from all over the world for this opportunity to learn and connect with like-minded people. The atmosphere was friendly, hopeful, and soothing. We loved every minute of our time.

I had signed up to hear a well-known angel therapist talk about angels. I had friends who were devotees, and I thought I would check this lady out for myself. I felt compelled to find a seat early and found myself in close proximity to the stage.

When the angel therapist took the stage, she walked the length of it and stopped and looked right at me. I wondered whether there was meaning in that, or whether I was imagining things. When she began her talk, I listened intently. I knew a few things about angels, but not much. She soon moved into sharing messages from the angels. We were all meditating and listening to her.

"Archangel Raphael is here," she said. "His message is for the woman who is in the audience today who has a book to publish and is procrastinating. She needs to finish the book, and detoxifying her body will establish a stronger connection to her guidance."

I quickly thought of the story I needed to write about my son Gib's illness and the lessons in faith that I learned. I had been told enough times that I needed to share that story, but I wasn't eager to share my private life with the public.

"This woman will know who she is by the gentle tap she will feel on her right shoulder at this time," she continued. I thought I felt three nudges on my right shoulder blade, and I looked sideways at the woman seated to my right. Her hands were resting on her lap. It's funny how a rational brain works. I assumed the nudges came from that woman. I immediately dismissed the sensation as my imagination at work. Afterward, I listened to another woman in the audience share her version of why she thought the message was for her. This led me to further dismiss my experience.

Further into the talk, the angel therapist asked whether anyone knew an Amber from the audience. Several people volunteered their Ambers, but she said no, her message was for my section of the audience. I reluctantly raised my hand. She asked how old my Amber was, and I told her.

"You're the one. Stand up, please. Someone bring this woman a microphone," she said. I was trembling, standing before hundreds of curious people. The message she gave me was from my deceased friend, Amber's mother. "Your friend knows you will always be there for her girl and thanks you for that." I was in tears.

"You have a special son," she continued.

"Yes I do," I offered. "He's a Blue Indigo Child, and he's been quite a gift."

"Yes he is. He has an important task ahead of him, and you are the perfect one to help him," she said. She looked at me as though she wanted to add something but decided this was too public a forum for the message. She moved on, and I was able to sink into my seat.

(Blue Indigo Children are youngsters believed to have distinctive psychological and spiritual attributes. More on that later.)

After the session Barb ran up to me, laughing. "I immediately thought of you when that angel therapist talked about the woman who was procrastinating about a book. You KNOW you're supposed to write that story. You're so busted."

"Not me! She was talking to that other lady," I insisted, although I did feel a bit shaken.

"What? She was talking to you, girlfriend. You know you've been told enough times to write it."

"Well, I've tried, and the words just won't come to me," I said. "Every time I try to go back to the illness years, I can't write. It's too painful to revisit."

"Yeah, I can relate to that," Barb said. "I've blocked it all, personally. There's no way I want to go back and relive that."

"Well, that's the problem with writing the book. I don't want to do it. It's done, it's over, and there's too much living going on right now to keep up with as it is. Besides, why do people need to know about us? We're not so interesting," I laughed.

I am publicly shy about being in front of people I don't know. We moved through the crowded lobby area of the conference center in search of our next session, but the book incident stayed with me.

After the conference ended, Don and I took a day and drove to Tuscon. As we drove, I kept having a random thought to visit the nearby San Xavier Mission. I dismissed the idea every time it occurred to me. I'd been there before, there wasn't much to see, and we didn't have much time. Still, the idea kept inserting itself whenever I was preoccupied.

Before returning to Phoenix, we had a few hours to sightsee and headed south to Tubac, an artist colony and rustic western town. I was driving because Don's driver's license was expired. As we tooled down the freeway, we talked about the conference and how much we experienced. When I saw the exit sign for San Xavier Mission, I impulsively exited.

"Where are we going?" Don asked.

"Well, apparently we're going to the mission church," I said in amazement as I took the exit.

"I thought there wasn't much there."

"There isn't."

"Do we have time for this?" Don inquired.

"I guess so. I just felt compelled to do this. We'll hurry. It shouldn't take long. It just felt right to stop here."

We parked in the dusty lot and walked toward the chapel located on the side of the church. The altar area was full of statuettes left by the faithful, and the cultural aspects intrigued me.

As I turned to leave, I noticed a niche with a simple stone statue of Mary. I thought, "Isn't that wonderful? They probably lacked the funds to have an elaborate statue carved." When the realization struck me that the statue...