The Seventh Direction

Invocation and Evocation … The particular day was for a young child terribly boring. On this day, my grandmother and her first cousin went to visit a friend who had been involved in an accident and was confined to a wheelchair. Granny’s cousin brought one of her sons along as a playmate for me. This was considered a kindness, but it really wasn’t. I was carted off to the elderly woman’s home, who was, to the best of my knowledge, a widow. She was exceedingly kind, but she had no toys and there was nothing to entertain me except my imagination for the duration of the visit, which was several long agonizing hours. This was at a time when practically no one had a television, and if they did, it was not used as a babysitter. So, I was condemned to play outside either by myself or with my second cousin once removed who I really didn’t know. There were no bicycles, primitive forerunners of skateboards, or outside toys. There was not a sandbox. There was not even a lawn in which a sandbox could have been placed. There was a pile of gravel, a pile of dirty construction sand, and lots of hard driveway. It was a hostile environment that would have made a wonderful setting for a sci-fi scene in a campy B-grade movie. Like most children of that era, I was able to find ways to occupy myself. My ways, however, may not necessarily have been constructive but they were not harmful other than adding to the laundry. My cousin and I managed to get dirty without trying. It only took a few moments as we jostled to stake out who would have control of the top of the gravel pile. My cousin didn’t count as good entertainment. He was boorish and overtly aggressive. This may have been because his parents seemed intent on populating the Earth, and he had many older brothers and sisters, as well as many older nieces and nephews. Or perhaps it was the result of evangelical fundamentalist parenting. His family seemed like a self-contained religious cult. They held worship services in their house with guitar music, out of key religious songs and fervent prayer. The children living at home were obliged to attend, and this succeeded in imbuing them with both religion and rebellion. Whatever the reason, my cousin wasn’t well socialized. That might be the reason why, as an adult, he died in a knife fight. It was certainly the reason I was filthy after being pushed off the gravel and sand piles. After what was a pleasant visit for the three women and an eternity for me as a child without toys or a decent playmate to pass the time, my grandmother and her traveling companion were ready to leave. We, the children, were summoned to come inside and pay our respects before leaving. My grandmother met me at the door and bid me to say a respectful goodbye. Hungry from the lack of snacks and dirty from running about in the dirt that wasn’t really a yard, I obediently responded to fulfill my obligations to the old woman. She was a stranger to me, but she was an elder and adults got the respect they were due. My goodbye was the last. As I tried to say goodbye, the old woman took hold of my hand and said, “Pray for me. If you will pray for me, I know I will be able to walk again.” I was young and at a total loss. I did not know how to respond. So, I asked, “How do I do that? What do you want me to do?” The old lady said, “Put your hands on my legs and pray for me, and God will heal me.” I looked at Granny with huge question marks in my eyes, and she urged me to proceed. I obeyed. This was not yet a world in which children shook their heads, “no,” and hid. I looked at the old-style nylons and the ugly legs of the woman that was sitting in the wheelchair. The metal chair seemed cold and forbidding, and the woman’s legs, with large dark knotted veins, were not something that invited my touch. So, I hesitated. But my grandmother said, “Just put your hands on her legs and pray. Say what is in your heart. Just ask God to heal her so she can walk.” Being a relatively obedient child, I complied. My whole body felt as if it were tingling, and I could feel a sensation of energy flowing through my hands. It felt as if the room itself had become charged with an electricity. The old lady certainly felt it. Did anyone else feel it? Did anyone else realize what was happening? Maybe they did. Maybe they didn’t. I did not. Almost immediately after the prayer we left. At the time I did not realize why the women were fussing as the old woman arose from her wheelchair and escorted us to the door. My grandmother and her cousin suggested that their friend remain seated. They repeatedly asked her, “Are you alright? Are you sure you are okay?” The women were insisting that the host did not need to rise or see them to the door, but the host would have none of it, and she walked to the door. Everyone said, “Goodbye,” and we departed for home. I thought nothing more about this, but a few days later I was given a gift that had been sent in the mail. It came from the elderly woman. She was now able to walk. For many years I would receive an occasional small package from her. I was in my junior or senior year of high school when the old woman for whom I had prayed died at a ripe old age. She had lived a long and healthy life and never suffered any further issues with her mobility. I never saw her again, but she never forgot me. When my grandparents told me she had died, I mentioned to them the packages that she had occasionally sent to me and asked why she had done so. It was only then that they told me the story. The woman had been in an auto accident. She was confined to a wheelchair, and the doctors who were treating her had exhausted all medical means of helping her and had determined that she would never walk again. Now I understood why years earlier Granny and her cousin were fussing when their friend rose from her wheelchair and walked them to the door. When I met the woman, I was young. I did not know how to pray. I had to ask what to do. Even then, I was not sure about what I was doing. Being raised in a fundamentalist Christian environment, I certainly was not taught about energies. Most likely the woman also was an Evangelical Christian. Whatever her beliefs were, she could feel or sense energies. She was instantly healed, and I, as a child, was none the wiser. The woman for whom I prayed had absolute faith. She said that she would walk if I put my hands on her legs and prayed for her. Despite my initial objections, there was no doubt in her mind, and she was determined that no one would leave the room until this prayer was said. She, as well as I, was invoking intelligent energies.