Healing story: It was hard to become a healer, with all my doubt

It was hard for me to become a healer.  I am a child of unassailable logic and practicality.  My family of origin worships science.  And I was raised to be more concerned with what everyone else thought of me than with what I thought of me.  (Thus I didn’t think much of me.)

A couple years into my healing journey, when I was reluctantly drawing the painful conclusion that in this crazy energy healing (of all things on earth) lay my destiny and purpose, I found myself in a particularly dark pit of despair, a period of immense doubt.

For a long miserable week I’d been stuck in one of those dark nights of the soul, doubting everything I had heard and experienced about healing, doubting my skills, and wondering if I had been brainwashed. Most of all I wondered if crazy people were aware that they were going crazy. Without a healing support group, and not knowing this was a common experience, I had nowhere to turn and was getting desperate.  (This is one of the many reasons I created the Global Institute for Awakening, the support group I longed for.)

One morning while brushing my teeth, pondering all that was weighing on me, I surprised myself.  Though I had never done this before, I asked for a sign.

It just popped out.  My Christian upbringing had left me with the impression that it was impertinent and greedy to ask Jesus to demonstrate that he could walk on water when you darn well knew he could.  So I assumed that asking God for help fell into the same category of offensive no-nos.

Immediately I was awash in guilt for having asked.  Yet I was struggling sooo hard, waffling between my solid inner knowing that “of course this is the right path for me”, and horrific demons of insecurity and doubt and “what will other people think.”

But out of my desperation it came.  For a moment, my mind actually gave up its constant mental machinations, its weighings and ponderings.  I simply gave up and asked,  “God, please give me a sign whether I should continue with this healing stuff or not.”  I was shocked to feel how much I meant it.  I really wanted to know, to make a decision, then and there.

Still brushing, I glanced up and out our small second-story bathroom window.  It framed a tiny selection of branches from the 200-year-old red oak about 30 feet behind our house.  As I watched, a crow immediately landed smack-dab in the middle of my view.   The exact middle.  Perfectly framed.

I stopped brushing.

The crow cocked her head and looked right at me.  Then she did something I’ve never seen another bird do before or since:  she bobbed her head up and down three times, in a big, exaggerated way.

I gaped.  She had 110% of my attention.  She seemed to pause to measure whether I’d gotten the message.  As if to make sure I had, she did it again, bob-bob-bob, looked at me a final time, and flew off.

If you know crow behavior and can explain what this action meant in the world of crows, please leave a comment.

I know what it meant to me.

I kept studying healing.