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From the Desk of George Barnard –
January 26, 2009.
There were a few events during three time periods (some years, then
decades apart), that were strangely interconnected. During the first
time period, I regularly misbehaved by making fun of someone. The second
event frightened and embarrassed ‘the living daylights’ out
of me. The third event was a routine healing of a kind – routine,
if being transported halfway across the world by your Midwayer Friends
can be called routine.
Beyond much doubt, it proved to me that ‘the universe’ knows
precisely what will happen long-term, has a great memory, has an ideal
plan, also, and sets about teaching us worthwhile things. This is a
further episode . . . of letting go but not letting God.
From 1982 until 1994 I lived on, and worked from, my 170-plus-acre farm.
A sizeable watercourse ran through the front of the property. The best
place – a hill beyond that watercourse – had been selected
for the homestead. It presented a wonderful view, but it also required
for me to build a bridge with a 65’ span, and for which I needed
to ‘set aside’ at least three months to construct it.
The whole bridge project would weigh about 75 tons when completed. It
was running about one week over the allocated time, with just one day’s
work to be done, when I was involved in a serious accident. A few tons
of bridge decking slid from the delivery truck and pinned me to the
ground. It also smashed my right leg, although, fortunately without
the shattered bone piercing the skin.
Neighbors were soon at hand, and they tried to pull me out of that lumber
jumble. I calmly told them to one-by-one take the decking pieces off
me, and to not drag me from under that heap, which would have done even
more damage. I wondered if I should trigger self hypnosis, then decided
I must have already done so, because I felt no pain. They tried to set
me up on my feet, but I told them to tie my broken leg to my left leg,
bring my station wagon around, and slide me into the back on a heavy
board.
At last, after the nervous driver of my vehicle first lost his way,
then finally remembered where the hospital was located, I was rolled
into the casualty department. I could relax at last. I felt great! I
briefly viewed my body from above, and decided I did not need it anymore.
It was useful while it lasted, but now I was going home, slowly. I was
on my way, feeling terrific! Only a peculiar buzzing in my right ear
was irritating me somewhat.
The buzzing grew a little louder. It might be someone’s voice,
I considered! It was a voice! It was a woman’s voice, getting louder
and louder! She was screaming profanities into my ear! She was calling
me all kinds of horrible names for my being ‘on my way to heaven!’
I opened my eyes and looked into the face of a pretty young nurse. This
was not an angel, though, I was sure. Angels would not call me a dirt
bag and much worse.
I smiled at her. “What might be your name, Kiddo?” I just
had to ask.
“Julie,” she told me.
“What’s your date of birth, Julie?”
She told me. I calculated, and informed her, “You are a 22 master
number. You should be in charge of this place!”
“I damned-well am in charge of this place!” And with another
long string of awful names for me, she added, “I hate it when people
die on my shift! I hate it! Don’t you dare! I’ll be very angry
with you if you don’t stay with us!”
Moments earlier, she had gone to look for the hospital’s X-ray
technician, but the Midwayers had sent her right back to her casualty
department, for I was letting go, and the 1,111 Secondary Midwayers
didn’t want to ‘let God.’
In retrospect, but for my being incapacitated for a prolonged space
of time, there would not have been an 11:11 Progress Group, an 11:11
List, or a team of more than 70 active 11:11 members. I would still
be thriving on the frequent adrenaline rushes of reorganizing near-bankrupt
companies.
The universe does have a plan.
And it’s just a small thought from George Barnard.
© 11:11 Progress Group.
Toujours au Service de Michael.
11:11 Angels
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