NEW YORK STATE OF MIND

I was in a frustrated state of mind and feeling despondent because, after studying various healing modalities for several years, I felt like a failure because I hadn’t affected any healing in the people that I deeply wanted to help. This was the depressed mentality that consumed me as my husband, and I journeyed to New York to visit our son for a week. What ensued was fodder for my “Evidence Journal,” and it became a living laboratory of how God/Spirit/Energy speaks to us.
Day One:
We barely arrived at our son’s shared apartment off Madison Ave., and we jumped in a cab to go with Matt to a follow-up appointment with his orthopedic doctor to remove a cast from a broken ankle. Also, I had promised to go with my son on a train the next day to see if I could effect some healing in a childhood friend who had AIDS.

We got to the appointment on Park Ave, and my husband and I waited while our son went into the patient area to do his do. While we were in the waiting room, a beautiful, large, grandmotherly lady in colorful, tropical-type clothing came in and sat by us and began chatting about her early life in Jamaica, where she had always been psychic and foretold many things for her family. About this time, the receptionist came out from around her desk to stand in front of this woman and asked, in a haughty voice, “Do you have an appointment here?” This woman pulled up all of her regal posture and said, “No, I am here to speak specifically to these people.” This was said with that musical Jamaican lilt. The girl huffed back to her desk.
Then, our woman turned to me and said, “Tomorrow, when you go, there will be opposition. Just go in the bathroom, wash your hands, say your prayers, and come out and do what you do discreetly.” And, she left. I never saw her before and never since. I was stunned.
The next day came, and we took the train to a suburb where this young man lived with his partner. One of the things that he wanted was a particular sandwich I made for the kids when they came over. I walked in with my son and was devastated to see J. He could not have eaten this crunchy sandwich because his mouth was covered in Karposi sarcoma. His father was there, a devout evangelical minister, orating that this was the kid’s punishment for his evil life. J’s mother chose not to come to her dying son because of his sins. After squashing the desire to punch this man in the face, I just wanted to fall to the floor and weep. I couldn’t help J***…he had already chosen death, and I failed at being a miracle worker. (Do you see my pomposity in this story?)
Day Two:
We were meeting some of Matt’s friends from the cast of Sister Act for an after-show dinner.
I noticed two women at an adjacent table and the prosperity book on top. I told the pair, “I have read that book, and it is great.” We chatted, and one of them said, “Are you going to hear Eric Butterworth tomorrow?” I indicated I didn’t know he was speaking, and they told me where and when the church service would occur.
Day Three:
We were so excited to be at Unity Services back when they were at Lincoln Center. The congregation was abuzz when Eric Butterworth was being helped to the podium where his wife was waiting. He was very old at this time and needed assistance with walking and with his wife helping him with the sermon. The place went silent when he spoke, so every valued word he spoke with his weakened voice could be
heard. The two things he said that will stick with me always were: “There are no incurable diseases; there are incurable people.”
“Whether someone is healed or not is none of your business.”
The rest of my life as a person that desires to help others was changed. I think back on my attitude of failing to be the miracle worker as being so friggin pompous. I let that responsibility go. All I ever needed to do was be a willing vehicle for the healing energy and let Spirit do
what Spirit does.