your higher self—unfettered, fully awake, and fully aware of all that exists within and around you.
But to get to that point, our young souls have to start somewhere, like in realities such as this one. Each human experience we have is like a class we attend for the betterment of our souls. Sure, you could take basket weaving for that easy A, but just how much would that class benefit you in the grander scheme of things? Likewise, trying to attempt computer science when you still have trouble just turning on a calculator won’t net you much, either. This is why working with the archangels before we’re born is so crucial—because they know and understand the nature of the Source (the collective spiritual consciousness) and Creation. Many of them have lived it themselves, so they are best suited to help us baby humans figure out what courses we should take from one semester to the next. Still, we humans are stubborn creatures, so we don’t always listen to our older brothers and sisters, which is why they come along for the ride. For that reason alone, we owe them our love and gratitude.
Once here, the archangels keep their vows to help us study, as well as drill us for exams. They run us through spiritual gauntlets to prepare us for the challenges coming around the bend. So despite my rocky beginning with the archangels, I love them beyond words. They have put up with my biting words, my ungratefulness, my obstinacy. They have served as my emotional punching bags and targets of blame. They do this for all of us, and still they dutifully, lovingly remain by our side.
There are no creatures so patient and willing to put up with every ounce of vileness that humans can throw at them as the archangels. Their love is pure and unconditional. They guide us, comfort us, encourage and inspire us. And when the time is right and we have learned the lessons we set out to learn, they will lift us up and celebrate with us.
Even when they don’t agree with the life scripts we write, even when they know they will be called upon to dry our tears, heal our hearts, and keep us company, they won’t badger us with I told you so … much. They won’t disparage or mock us. And they will never, ever abandon us.
[contents]
chapter four
RETURNING HOME
I sat in the parking lot watching the sun set over the trees in the distance. Transfixed by the deep, amber glow filtering through the dark leaves and over the tops of suburban houses, I allowed my thoughts to drift. This moment of silence, even for as brief as it would be, was something I needed. It was something that would hopefully quell the nervous anxiety that had gripped me days earlier and had refused to let go.
The trip down the spiral of that anxiety had begun a few days prior, in the autumn of 2006, when a client visited the store where I occasionally did readings. I had no scheduled appointments that day, but being at the store drinking tea was infinitely better than being confined to that upstairs bedroom at that godforsaken house, eating cold soup out of a can.
It was because I wasn’t expecting anyone that I was surprised to see my client walk in the door, and the worry etched deep in her features set off my internal alarms. Something was horribly amiss.
For the sake of this story, we’ll call her Tracy.
Tracy had always been one of my bubblier clients, always willing to share in a quip or two about “the boys”—what my clients had begun calling the archangels that I channeled for them. But that day, it seemed that all the light had been drained from Tracy’s soul. Within a few minutes of getting her seated and serving her a cup of hot tea, I found out why.
Her mother was dying.
“I’m at peace with Mom leaving,” she said as she held the china cup between her palms. “The family knew this was coming months ago. Mom knew. But now, as she’s nearing that moment, she’s afraid, Chantel. She’s so scared of dying, and there’s nothing I or my sisters can say
But to get to that point, our young souls have to start somewhere, like in realities such as this one. Each human experience we have is like a class we attend for the betterment of our souls. Sure, you could take basket weaving for that easy A, but just how much would that class benefit you in the grander scheme of things? Likewise, trying to attempt computer science when you still have trouble just turning on a calculator won’t net you much, either. This is why working with the archangels before we’re born is so crucial—because they know and understand the nature of the Source (the collective spiritual consciousness) and Creation. Many of them have lived it themselves, so they are best suited to help us baby humans figure out what courses we should take from one semester to the next. Still, we humans are stubborn creatures, so we don’t always listen to our older brothers and sisters, which is why they come along for the ride. For that reason alone, we owe them our love and gratitude.
Once here, the archangels keep their vows to help us study, as well as drill us for exams. They run us through spiritual gauntlets to prepare us for the challenges coming around the bend. So despite my rocky beginning with the archangels, I love them beyond words. They have put up with my biting words, my ungratefulness, my obstinacy. They have served as my emotional punching bags and targets of blame. They do this for all of us, and still they dutifully, lovingly remain by our side.
There are no creatures so patient and willing to put up with every ounce of vileness that humans can throw at them as the archangels. Their love is pure and unconditional. They guide us, comfort us, encourage and inspire us. And when the time is right and we have learned the lessons we set out to learn, they will lift us up and celebrate with us.
Even when they don’t agree with the life scripts we write, even when they know they will be called upon to dry our tears, heal our hearts, and keep us company, they won’t badger us with I told you so … much. They won’t disparage or mock us. And they will never, ever abandon us.
[contents]
chapter four
RETURNING HOME
I sat in the parking lot watching the sun set over the trees in the distance. Transfixed by the deep, amber glow filtering through the dark leaves and over the tops of suburban houses, I allowed my thoughts to drift. This moment of silence, even for as brief as it would be, was something I needed. It was something that would hopefully quell the nervous anxiety that had gripped me days earlier and had refused to let go.
The trip down the spiral of that anxiety had begun a few days prior, in the autumn of 2006, when a client visited the store where I occasionally did readings. I had no scheduled appointments that day, but being at the store drinking tea was infinitely better than being confined to that upstairs bedroom at that godforsaken house, eating cold soup out of a can.
It was because I wasn’t expecting anyone that I was surprised to see my client walk in the door, and the worry etched deep in her features set off my internal alarms. Something was horribly amiss.
For the sake of this story, we’ll call her Tracy.
Tracy had always been one of my bubblier clients, always willing to share in a quip or two about “the boys”—what my clients had begun calling the archangels that I channeled for them. But that day, it seemed that all the light had been drained from Tracy’s soul. Within a few minutes of getting her seated and serving her a cup of hot tea, I found out why.
Her mother was dying.
“I’m at peace with Mom leaving,” she said as she held the china cup between her palms. “The family knew this was coming months ago. Mom knew. But now, as she’s nearing that moment, she’s afraid, Chantel. She’s so scared of dying, and there’s nothing I or my sisters can say
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