Stay calm. Remember, this is all for a reason…I know I was supposed to stay here…it’s been in my mind
all week…okay God, you got me here…tell me what to do.

I took a deep breath trying to stimulate the blood necessary to keep me in an upright position as I made
my way back to the car. Outside the dingy motel door where I had checked in minutes before, I
reminded myself to breathe. Xenia was eight miles and ten minutes down the two lane country road and
surely had some decent mom and pop motels or Holiday Inns. At this point it didn’t matter if I had to
forfeit the money.

This trip had been intended for weeks, well thought-out and filed orderly in- between responsibilities of
single parenting and work schedules of self employment that held no solid boundaries or guaranteed pay.
To spend just one night alone in the quaint artistic town of Yellow Springs, to sort through all of the
papers and stories I had been writing for years was like a dream come true. In my organized mind neatly
arranged for the autumn weekend, it was time. My time.

The game plan was to spend Saturday day and night concentrating on getting the writing in some
semblance of order, pleasing the internal master organizer that pronounced dictates within my brain. On
Sunday I wanted to go to a favorite hiking spot, Glen Helen, a nature preserve that bordered the town
before I drove the hour and fifteen minutes back home to Cincinnati. The picture was in focus, ready to
shoot as I anticipated the two days away.

My life had changed dramatically in the summer of 1992 to include that of the spiritual unseen realm.
One year later I was becoming accustomed to living more spontaneously and intuitively which was the
opposite of the rational weekend I had arranged mentally. I was not apparently seeing the irony of my
thoughts at this time as everything about living spiritually is anything but organized and planned.

Although my logical mind had mapped out the trip down to the time of arrival, it was difficult to ignore
the fervent nudging within suggesting to bypass the interstate out of Cincinnati and take an alternate
route through a small antique town. My practical voice was always standing firm with reasons why I
should not listen to the intuitive calls. I surrendered though to the persistent urgings, stopping along the
way, enjoying an unexpected leisurely stroll in historic Lebanon.

I eventually arrived in Yellow Springs at five p.m. to be greeted by orange wooden barricades holding in
the festivities of an unexpected street sale and party. It felt serendipitous to join in the celebratory
energy of varied artists and vendors of the town before I checked into the motel I had passed and
getting seriously down to work.

Detouring off the street into a well known silversmith shop prompted conversation as I was feeling the
need for some camaraderie and confirmation about my motel choice. Surely the local storekeeper
decked out in the latest attire had some insight as to the reputation of the fifteen room motel that stood
back with looks of caution staring out to the traffic passing by.

“Do you happen to know about the motel just outside of town? The one that looks like the Bates Motel
from the movie Psycho?

“I believe it’s under new ownership. Families from the college are visiting all the time. I’m sure some
stay there. I’m sure it’s fine but Xenia is the next closest place to stay.”

Her casual recommendation surprised me as she didn’t look like someone who would have passed such
an unremarkable judgment on the one story structure donning green plastic window boxes of flashy fake
flowers. But I was doing my best to remember that appearances were often deceiving. There was the
faithful urge all week to stay at the Anthony Wayne not unlike the trusting hand of the theatre usher
leading me to my seat.

Upon leaving the street fair, I followed my intuition and the road back to the motel. A small Indian boy of
eight or nine came to the counter politely inquiring as to my needs. I only wanted a room for the
night. He called back in his native tongue to his mother, who emerged from a cramped room that
appeared to be part of their home. She looked comfortable yet detached in her housecoat and slippers
with very little English and her child as interpreter. In simple language she made it clear that this was
the last room available, it was $45.00 and to “Have a nice stay”.

My room was a short three doors left of the office where I had just paid with my credit card. In less
than five minutes, I had walked to the room, opened the door to the rancid smell of cigarettes and stale
beer and returned back to the office to demand a full refund. Had anyone been standing in the room to
greet me, surely they would have been concerned at the look of disgust on my face as I took in the dark
paneled walls bordering the shabby furnishings and tattered bed cover that occupied the room way past
its time.

“I can’t stay in that room! It smells like a bar and I can’t breathe. I have a breathing disorder. I want
my money back please!”

She didn’t hesitate nodding no, saying, “Sorry. Too late. No refunds.” Shocked by her indifference, I
reminded her that only minutes had passed from when I checked in. How could this be? This couldn’t be
legal!

A sizeable man who I supposed was her husband, mysteriously appeared immediately from behind me
and inquired as to the problem. He sternly quoted his wife adding, “You’re stuck with it. We have
people check in and out very quickly many times.” His intimidating stance surrounding his physique was
planted firmly in the concrete walkway that we both occupied holding the message loud and clear that
this discussion was over!

What kind of place had I checked into? People in and out quickly? Ooh! Without thinking, I got behind
the wheel of my car issuing prayers to the very God I felt had assured me a room at this dreadful hourly
motel. Nothing was going to spoil my weekend or deter me from completing what I came to do. Not
him, not anyone. There surely had to be one room in Xenia for me.

The drive to Xenia gave me nothing but more time to privately rant while deciding what to do. On the
unsuccessful drive back to Yellow Springs my words were more to myself than to the God I had
conversed with earlier. I can’t believe there’s not one room available. A motorcycle convention? This is
a joke. Maybe if I call the police I can get my money back and get out of here. Surely they would help
me. Someone has to. This isn’t right!

Pulling up again to room #3 with key in hand, I got out of the car and closed the door. Thoughts were
quickly spinning like an unconscious hamster running on a wheel through my head contemplating the
evening ahead as if I were somehow really in charge.

Could it be possible to air out the room if I opened both the window and the door? Could someone
coincidentally pull up that needed a room, hopefully with cash? The weather was the only friend I felt I
really had cooperating on my behalf. I could work out of my trunk if I wanted as there were at least four
hours of daylight left. And there was the green plastic chair on this newly rented perch that would
provide me with physical support avoiding the room.

Somewhere between my worry and words, a faint noise slipped in finally getting my attention. After
making a complete turn in search of the sound, apparently disconnected to my surroundings, I realized
that it was coming from the car. It was still running and I had just locked it! “Noooo!”

The key I was holding in my hand was not from my car but from the room!

Immediately my eyes were present and were drawn to a lanky man appearing thirty something digging
around a sign in the front lawn of the motel. “Excuse me…could you please help me?”

He said nothing as he turned my way. But why would he? His sad expression said it all as if carrying the
burdens of the world on his withering frame. I imagined his silent words wishing he could turn away. Oh
great, this is all I need!

Did my own face return the words that I too was thinking? Great! I’m here with people who won’t give
me my money back and now this guy who obviously doesn’t want to help either!

But I couldn‘t let either of our unspoken thoughts get in the way. I needed help and he was the only
visible source from what I could see. I explained my predicament, feeling overwhelmed and unaided and
I didn’t imagine that anyone at the front desk cared to be of any assistance. He agreed and set out to
search for a coat hanger only to return empty handed, not surprised as they had only plastic.

We agreed it was best to call the police and ask them to bring a jimmy stick. The police immediately
dismissed us insisting that we call the sheriff as we were outside city limits and their jurisdiction.
This was Yellow Springs for God’s sake, population maybe a couple thousand if you were lucky! We were
less than a mile from town. Were they that busy? We couldn’t believe that such a simple request would
take so much effort and time.

But apparently time is what was needed. And I had nothing now but time. While waiting for over an hour
for the sheriff, John’s life spilled out as if a damn had been unlocked releasing the recent journey of the
events that took him to living and working part time at the dreary motel.

John had recently moved from California to Yellow Springs with his wife, teenage son and stepson. A
simple act of blind faith, putting pin to paper, they surrendered to a map that held their future home
somewhere in the state of Ohio that had been John’s birthplace. Within months of moving, his world fell
quickly apart when relatives of his wife surfaced bringing along remnants of a violent past. She left him
and the high school boys emotionally and physically for a strange and sadistic lifestyle of abusive ritual
and took all she could financially leaving him penniless and homeless.

The details of the abuse was foreign to my ears having never heard of anything so frightening. Was my
own life so Pollyanna that his story could have been from the pages of a sordid novel and paralleling the
reality of someone’s true days and nights? Or had I hoped these were possible imaginings of a man
who’d truly lost his mind?

Regardless, I felt curiously called to be there for him as he had been for me. John had fallen into a
valley of fear and a world so dark just needing a hand to help him out. Could this be the real reason I
was called to the Anthony Wayne? Could this all be part of a master plan far above any I might have
planned? My curiosity was now sitting beside me.

Along with a perception reality shake, I offered to buy John dinner at the local tavern where I had
originally planned to eat. My persistence won out to his humble refusal convincing him that it was the
least I could do for coming to my assistance.

We spent over six hours sharing stories of living in faith and making choices that felt all part of this great
mystery realizing that it was effortless when life felt controllable and safe, falling neatly into organized
compartments. But when things didn’t go our way, it was a totally different story and usually one where
we forgot to live by the same rules.

As John became more comfortable disclosing his past, he noted that it had been too long since he felt a
sense of care or connection with anyone. “I can’t believe this is happening. I was on my knees just two
days ago. I cried out to God that I had had enough. There was nothing worth living for. I was
contemplating ways to end my life. And then you show up and…”

In sharing so many of my own personal stories and time, John felt inspired and could make some sense
as to what really was going on in his life. It was as if my trip that day seemed to parallel his experiences,
although much less traumatic, reminding him that the perspective he held in good times was also needed
in what we thought were the bad. We were a mirror to each other reflecting the spiritual truth that we
were never alone and that all prayers are heard and answered.

At two a.m. I left John with the two teenage boys at the twelve by twelve room he now called home. On
the drive back to Cincinnati, feeling that I had finished my true work for the weekend, I looked up to the
heavens and laughed, saying, “Now you send me on out of town missions!”

I was thrilled to be used again as a messenger of spirit once I got out of my own personal plans and
way! Living in the unseen non-physical world was becoming more convincing and inspiring to me. Only
by undergoing these tests and trials would I come to see the truths of this generous universe we live
in. A simple opening and changing of my mind was benefiting my life in more ways than one. And others
too!