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Come view our world through a different lens—a lens that reveals our oneness with all beings.
Patricia Brooks has had some unusual encounters with different animals. Some were scary, some were awe-inspiring, almost all of them were startling, and none of them were invited. At first, she thought these encounters were strange but ultimately random. As the number of animals Patricia came across increased, she was forced to reassess the phenomenon. These could not be chance ...
Come view our world through a different lens—a lens that reveals our oneness with all beings.
Patricia Brooks has had some unusual encounters with different animals. Some were scary, some were awe-inspiring, almost all of them were startling, and none of them were invited. At first, she thought these encounters were strange but ultimately random. As the number of animals Patricia came across increased, she was forced to reassess the phenomenon. These could not be chance occurrences. Patricia was not running into them; these animals were visiting her instead. Upon reflection and self-discovery, Patricia realized that the animals had been sent by God and were laden with His lessons and meanings. Through the animals and His messages, God has guided Patricia through a personal and emotional journey she could not have endured alone.
I am on a remarkable journey; an enlightening journey. A journey I must have asked for, but most times surely did not want. It is filled with sadness, turmoil, disillusionment, despair, friendship, support, trust, and hope, but most of all, it is a journey filled with love.
Over the past several months, I have been receiving messages from God in various ways, through unrelated people and situations. I have been told, among other things, to keep a journal, because I am to write a book. The book would be my story. At first, these messages seemed unusual to me. I am not a writer; I have never liked to write. I also had no idea what my story was. However, these messages and other ones like them helped me to realize that I was on a personal journey, a spiritual journey. I came to realize that I needed to continue learning, reflecting, and working on opening my heart and mind to my higher self. When I was ready, all would be presented to me.
And it was.
* * *
In the early morning hours of February 18th I received my first direct message from God. It was an incredible experience. I would like to call it a dream, for I was in the dream space, but it was unlike any dream I had ever had. I was in a deep dreamless sleep when suddenly I was awakened, but awakened only in the dream space. I could see myself, as I observed from a distance, and I was given a visual of the top of my head being opened up, as if it were latched in the back, similar to a pot with an attached lid being lifted. As I watched, information was being transferred into my brain, kind of like a download. I instantly knew what the information was. The information was very clear and detailed. I was shown, chapter by chapter, exactly what I was to write in my book.
I had no fear. It wasn't at all frightening; it seemed to be the most natural thing in the world. I woke up thinking how God and His wisdom are perfect.
"Seek and you shall find, for God is in the little things." This was the second message I received from God in a matter of two weeks. A message that God gave me while I was in that wonderful "in between" space, the space between sleep and wakefulness, the subconscious and conscious mind. I was directed by a voice that was not my own to pay attention and write down the message so I wouldn't forget.
"Seek and you shall find, for God is in the little things," was repeated.
* * *
It is a beautiful, clear winter day. The sun is shining and the moderate temperature invites me to take a walk and breathe in the crisp cool air, beckons me after a long grey winter to come out of my hibernation and be one with nature again. My dog Bear, my sweet, furry friend, who is in terrible need of a grooming, patiently waits for me to accept the invitation, and take him along. I am not even tempted. I am on winter break from school and am sitting here in bed for the fourth straight day writing. If you knew me, you would know that this seems unthinkable. I am not a writer. I don't even like to write. I have never written more than a couple pages for a school paper in my entire life and those papers were torturous. I would count words, increase the font size and line spacing, and expand the margins. Any trick that many students, and teachers, know to make the paper look longer than it is.
Nevertheless, here I am, writing. I am completely content. I don't want to do anything else but write. The words are flowing out of me. I cannot type fast enough.
What is happening?
God is happening.
God is here, right here, right now.
He is with me, and with you.
He is in all things.
Take a deep breath, be still, be aware, and pay attention with your heart.
Seek and you shall find, for God is in the little things.
* * *
I am being told to share my story with everyone, for it is a message of faith, of hope and of love. The message is from God, and was given to me, but it is truly a message for all of us. I sincerely hope my story brings you the peace and the joy that it has brought me.
When did my story begin? It actually began a long time ago. My story began with my cat Misty.
Misty, my beautiful, black cat stole my heart the moment I met him. My handsome comrade could always be found on my lap, and if not on it, near it, and looking for a way up. He was my confidante, with whom I shared everything, from ordinary day to day occurrences, to my deepest secrets and desires. My Misty, the gentle soul who never judged me, just accepted me. My sweetheart who gave his love freely and unconditionally to me and everyone he met.
My Misty. My blessing. My heart. My guide.
* * *
Misty entered my life during a hopeful time. I had just turned thirty, recently started a new job, and was newly married to who I believed to be the man of my dreams. Life was finally everything I thought it should be. I believed I was content.
Everything was pretty stress free; my husband and I were still in the no-judgment phase of our relationship, and we had lots of time to spend together and lots of love to share. We wanted to share our happiness, but we weren't sure if we were ready for the responsibilities of parenthood yet. After much deliberation, we decided to get a cat. We could handle that. Cats were independent. They didn't take up too much time. A cat would be a perfect addition to our family.
Having made our decision, my husband Steve and I were eager to start looking. The next day, I left work early and headed to our city's animal shelter, filled with anticipation.
When I arrived, a woman named Rachel led me to a room at the end of a long hallway. She opened the door and I was surprised by what I saw. Stacks of cages filled with cats and kittens lined both sides of the room. There were so many of them! I didn't know how I was ever going to choose just one. I slowly walked down the aisle, careful not to skip a cage. The cats came to the edge of their cages, trying to poke their faces through the metal wire, straining to be noticed, to be petted. They meowed, they purred, they yearned for attention. I stroked them and talked to them. I thought they were all beautiful, but I felt guilty because I hadn't made a connection with any of them. We weren't meant to be together. And then I saw Misty.
He was sharing the space with a large orange cat, which came to greet me as I turned to their cage. I put my hand to the crate, introducing myself to him. As I petted him, my eyes wandered to the back of the cage and I saw the tiny shape of a kitten. I hadn't seen him at first because his black fur was hard to discern in the shadows. He was curled up in a ball, sleeping peacefully. I figured I shouldn't wake him, so I stepped back, ready to move on. But before I could turn away, the kitten in the back stirred, picked his head up, and looked straight at me. His eyes were a beautiful, sharp green that seemed to illuminate the dark recesses of the cage. I felt hypnotized, drawn in by his eyes. He rose and met me at the front of his cage and yawned, stretching his long legs on the bars. I admired his flawless midnight coat that seemed too elegant for the shelter. His eyes hadn't lost any of their luster in the dull fluorescent light of the room; they were still just as vibrant as they had been in the shadows.
There was something special about him. I felt an instant connection and I knew we were meant to be together. I spent a few more minutes with him, and then left to find Rachel, to tell her that I had found my kitten. She was out in the hallway waiting for me. She smiled when she saw me.
"Looks like you found your little guy, huh?" she said.
"Yes, I did," I replied happily.
I started walking towards the lobby, eager to fill out the paperwork.
"Which one is he?" she asked.
"He's the little black one, about halfway down. The one with the amazing green eyes," I said.
Rachel slowed and turned to face me. Her smile was gone. She looked upset, concerned.
"Is he in the cage with the big orange cat?"
"Yes, that's him," I replied, worried by her expression.
"Oh, ma'am, I'm so sorry, he's already taken," she apologetically replied.
I didn't understand. Misty was mine. He had to be.
"What do you mean 'taken'?" I stammered.
"A family came in yesterday and picked him out. But there are plenty of cats to choose from, I'm sure you can find another one!" she quickly added.
"Why is he still in the cage, then?" I asked, ignoring the second part of her statement.
"We have a twenty-four hour waiting period. Anyone who wants to adopt one of our animals has to go home and think about it," Rachel explained.
I didn't know what to do. Misty and I had already made a connection; none of the other cats struck me like Misty had.
Sensing how I was feeling, Rachel said, "You can put your name on a waiting list. If the other people don't come back, he'll be yours."
I put my name and number down on the waiting list before I left. I sat in my car, dejected. I had been so sure I was going to be leaving with Misty that day, and now I was imagining another family taking him home. It was going to be a long twenty four hours.
I returned the next day praying that the other people had decided not to come back for him. But what chance would that be? Who wouldn't come back for him? He was the most beautiful little guy you could imagine. But as the heavens would have it, he was still there. I could have cried with joy. We were meant to be together! I scooped him up and left quickly before anyone could change their mind.
I couldn't wait to get home and introduce Misty to Steve. As I expected he fell in love with him too. We took care of him with the zeal that only new parents possess. We got the cat bed, the cat toys, and the litter box, everything Misty could possibly want. We played with him all the time. As new parents we also listened to everyone's advice. We were told we should brush his teeth, so we did. We were told we should trim his nails, so we did. We were told we should brush his fur, so we did. We were even told we should give him a bath, so we tried. Poor Misty, he had to put up with us, being our first child and all!
* * *
Misty was a seamless addition to our family. Everything was going well with him. So well, in fact, that after about a year, we decided we were old enough and experienced enough to expand our family even more. Steve and I decided it was time to have a child and, soon, I became pregnant with my older daughter Lindsey. This didn't bother Misty. His world hadn't changed yet. If anything, we got to spend more time together. He didn't care how big my belly got; he always found a spot with me to sit. We spent many hours, peaceful and calming hours, sitting together during my first pregnancy. Shortly after Lindsey was born, our daughter Megan was born.
Our family was complete and I couldn't be happier. Life was changing, but it was still good. I was in full "mom mode." Lindsey and Megan, my two beautiful daughters, were quickly leaving the baby stage, onto toddlerhood, and before I knew it, they were young children, little people of their own. Lindsey, my sensitive, creative child, who could make an elaborate game out of anything, and even as a young girl had an intuitive knowing about her, an understanding greater than her years. And Megan; my silly, loving girl, who gave the biggest "Megan hugs". She would wrap her arms around your neck, squeezing harder than it seemed possible. At times I couldn't breathe she squeezed so hard, but I cherished every second, and would not pull away for the world.
So now instead of Misty, I brushed my girls' hair, gave them baths. I spent hours playing with them or was simply content to observe their play together, smiling silently as I listened to their laughter. My attention was on my girls, but Misty didn't mind, he adored Lindsey and Megan, and the feeling was mutual.
The girls and Misty were never far apart, and Misty made sure of it. He was always just a step behind them, wherever they went. On nice days, the girls drew with chalk on the driveway. Misty would be right at their side, admiring, walking through, and lying on their work; his fur a dusty mosaic of pastels when they came inside. On days when the weather didn't cooperate, the girls dashed upstairs to play with their dolls. Misty particularly enjoyed this activity. He was able to get up close and nestle right beside them. He often plopped down on top of the dolls' clothes. The girls were never annoyed; they just laughed because whether it was one small dress or an entire pile of clothes, Misty found it and settled right down. It was his way to ensure he was a part of their play, and it was heartwarming to watch.
Misty was special in many ways. We were often surprised at how dog-like this cat of ours was. He may not have craved attention as animatedly as dogs do, but he made sure he was always around, always close enough to be a part of things. He even took walks with us. The girls and I walked around our neighborhood all the time, and Misty would come with us. Most walks, we would find him following along, just a few feet behind us. At first we found this strange. We would joke that he was more like a dog than a cat. It may seem a little weird, but it felt right to have Misty there with us.
Misty's love and devotion also extended to our little Tiger, a small, skittish kitten we adopted years later. He seemed to be afraid of everything—people, animals, and noises of all kinds. The phrase "scaredy cat" made perfect sense after we got Tiger. We tried to make the house as comfortable as possible for him, but he still kept to himself most of the time. We were worried that Tiger would never feel at home with us. However, we didn't have to worry for too long, because Misty quickly took to Tiger. We were all surprised, Tiger hardly went near anything that moved, but he was totally comfortable with Misty; he seemed to only feel safe when Misty was at his side.
I have always been so proud of Misty for the way he took Tiger under his wing like that. Misty was twelve years old when we adopted Tiger. Older cats would not typically want to deal with such a skittish, high maintenance kitten like Tiger. Misty did, though. He was so gentle and caring with Tiger. He would even clean him and I would always be struck by Misty's tenderness as I watched him lick Tiger's fur. Misty made all of us feel better by looking out for Tiger. Tiger may not have felt comfortable with us yet, but at least we knew he always had Misty.
* * *
Unfortunately, things were going to change very quickly. As time went on, Misty had grown into a very large cat. I should have anticipated how big he would get given his long legs as a kitten. But it was more than that. The vet told me he should lose weight and that I needed to monitor his food. I bought him different food that was lower in fat and calories and figured that was enough. It was the holiday season and I was busy; too busy to pay attention so closely to Misty's diet.
One day my kids mentioned that Misty was losing weight.
"That's good; it means the new food is working. He needs to lose weight," I said absentmindedly. I wasn't paying attention. How could I not pay attention?
A couple of weeks later I looked at him and was struck by how slim he actually looked. Not just slim, but sick, too. He also had a funny smell, a stale, sick kind of odor. The smell bothered me the most. Misty never smelled.
I went to pick him up to give him a closer look, but he dodged my grasp. I frowned. That was definitely odd.
"Misty, what's the matter, honey?" I asked him. "I just want to pick you up."
I reached for him again, but he scampered away, this time hiding behind a chair. I knew then that something was seriously wrong. I called our family vet, Dr. Burke, and explained Misty's weight loss and odd behavior. He told me to bring him in immediately. Steve and I managed to corral Misty and headed to the vet.
We checked in and sat down in the lobby. I had Misty clutched to my chest. I didn't know what was wrong with him, but Dr. Burke's insistence on us coming in had me worried. I had finally realized he was suffering, and it pained me to think that he had been sick before that night.
Excerpted from God is in the Little Things by Patricia Brooks, Evan J. Corey, Lisa Seagren. Copyright © 2013 Patricia Brooks. Excerpted by permission of Balboa Press.
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Posted December 1, 2013
If you were in need of Divine Guidance, would you recognize it when it arrived? Author Patricia Brooks tells about her experience with messages she received by way of animal visits. Not the kinds of animals one would expect, like a dog, cat, or even the proverbial butterfly although Ms. Brooks does tell us of her cat Misty with whom she formed an instant and life-long bond. But God had chosen a bat to bring the first of many messages to the author. The story of the animal messages mirrored the events of Ms. Brooks life and seemed to come at times when she truly needed guidance or self-validation. The occurrences forced the author to stop and open her mind to realize that the messages being brought were from a Divine Source.
This book resonated with me as I, like Ms. Brooks, was brought up in the Roman Catholic religion. It has taken me many years to open myself to the fact that God communicates with us in many and varied channels. Reading this book has brought validation to me of my own spirituality.
The book is short and can easily be read in one afternoon. But I would ask the reader not to rush through it; to simply read the story and let the messages contained wash over you. While the writing is not exceptional - Ms. Brooks informs us at the outset that she is not a writer - it is genuine and heartfelt.