Do you believe?

If you knew what I know you would.

Hi Friends,

Can I tell you a story?

It’s okay if you don’t believe me.

No one ever does.

But first, some ancient wisdom and an inspiring way that wisdom shows up in our daily lives.

Wisdom

You may not know the chapter and verse, but you’ve heard the expression, “a still small voice.”

And behold, the Lord passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains and broke in pieces the rocks before the Lord, but the Lord was not in the wind; and after the wind an earthquake, but the Lord was not in the earthquake, and after the earthquake a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire; and after the fire, a still small voice. 

—1 Kings 19:11–12, RSV

The original phrase, written in Hebrew, is “qol dmamah daqah.” which can be translated several different ways.

"a soft murmuring sound" (Jewish Publication Society [JPS], copyright 1985);

“a quiet, gentle voice” (Orthodox Jewish Bible [OJB] copyright 2002)

"a gentle whisper" (Holy Bible, New International Version [NIV], copyright 1984);

"a gentle little breeze" (The Harper Collins Study Bible);

…or my favorite,

"the sound of sheer silence" (New Revised Standard Version of the Bible [NSRV], copyright 1989);

Inspiration

Very early in Steven Spielberg’s career, a journalist asked him, “What do you do?”

Spielberg admits he was unprepared for the question. It irked him a bit.

“I didn’t know where it came from,” Spielberg says, “but I sort of turned to the journalist and said, I dream for a living.”

“Years later,” Spielberg reflects, “I realized that’s exactly what I do. I dream for a living.”

“But the thing I want to emphasize is this,” he says.

“Dreams always sneak up on you.”

“Sometimes a dream almost whispers—always whispers; it never shouts.”

“And if you can listen to the whisper, and if it tickles your heart…then we will benefit from everything you do.”

Story

It was just after 7:00 am in early June of 2001.

I was on the freeway in my Ford Super-Duty F-350 Crew Cab with a V8 Power Stroke Turbo Diesel, and I was sailing.

I’d already visited two job sites by this time, and now I’m headed to an 8:00 am project meeting across town.

Rounding the corner at nearly 80 miles an hour (that’s 130 km/hr for you Canadians), I’m southbound on the M-5 connector.

Two lanes of hurried traffic merge into four as we sweep eastbound onto I-96 and then merge again into six ragged lanes of congested southbound mayhem on I-275.

The Mixing Bowl, we called it.

Photo by Denys Nevozhai on Unsplash

Hundreds of thousands of bloodshot bleary-eyed commuters raging toward the rising sun, hurling themselves toward downtown Detroit as fast as their rushing cars, trucks, and SUVs can carry them, weaving in and out of the staggered box trucks, semis, and gravel trains jostling for lead position on the narrow, broken, pothole-strewn lanes.

And there I was.

All alone, in the middle of all of that rushing steel, behind the glass, behind the wheel, bumper to bumper, shouldering into the curve…

—when a touchless loving embrace released me from my bodily experience, held me suspended in euphoric bliss, while an unspoken voice imparted these words:

No, I wasn’t drunk, no, I wasn’t high, and no, I didn’t fall asleep.

Just the opposite, as a matter of fact.

I’d never been so alert in all my life—beyond alert. Expansive. Free.

Thing is, there’s no way I can help you understand how this felt.

And that was the thing.

It wasn’t ‘all in my head.’

This was a very physical Experience. I felt it…sort of.

Even though I couldn’t feel anything touch me, I felt lifted.

And even though I couldn’t hear a male or female voice, I heard the words “Everything is going to be alright” plain as day, clear as a bell, and as bold as brass.

The entire episode may have lasted…ten seconds? I really don’t know.

But I do know that I was not in my body, driving my vehicle for many miles.

I was completely disconnected, yet totally present.

I also know that I laughed out loud for at least twenty more miles in happy disbelief as I slowly effervesced out of this euphoric state and reluctantly tingled back into bodily awareness.

And I can also tell you that I didn’t want it to end.

I tried my damndest to hold on to whatever it was that held me, but there was nothing to hold on to!

God, I laughed.

Just laughed and laughed.

So loudly I laughed.

“Everything is going to be alright?” I mocked, “But there’s nothing wrong!” I screamed and laughed some more—tears streaming down my face all alone behind the wheel.

That was the other thing about it.

There was nothing wrong anywhere in my life—nothing wrong. Everything was great!

I was the happiest I’d ever been. 36 years old, married, two bright, healthy, beautiful children, and my career…

Gosh, as far back as I can remember, all I’d ever wanted to do was play in the dirt. A pudgy-faced toddler, sitting in my sandbox, digging holes, building roads, cities, and skyscrapers of sand.

And now, at 36, I was at the helm of a large excavation company—commandeering millions of dollars in machinery, manpower, and materials. Building real roads, actual airports, hospitals, hotels, schools, and skyscrapers. Shaping the skyline of metro Detroit.

Everything was already alright.

Hell, I was living the life I didn’t even know enough to wish for.

How could anything be better than this?

I couldn’t imagine it.

Of course, I didn’t tell anyone about what happened that morning. I didn’t know how. And who would believe me anyway?

No, I kept this tingly, giggly giddiness all to myself and did my best to reimagine it over and over. It felt that good.

Time passed—three, maybe four weeks.

The feeling was all but gone now.

Then, one hot August afternoon, a trench collapsed—with me in it!

Buried alive, but an unbelievably miraculous rescue and a week in the hospital saved my life.

A month later, 9/11. The entire world changed.

Then, in December of that year, just six months after being held, suspended in bliss…the excavation company folded.

Bankrupt.

I lost the career that I loved, the house that I built, my twenty-five acres of property, my tree farm, and my beautiful Ford Super-Duty F-350 Crew Cab with the V8 Power Stroke Turbo Diesel in Midnight Blue Metallic, all in the blink of an eye.

Things were not alright.

In fact, things were only getting worse.

For starters, I was so broke I had to get a paper route.

Literally.

I worked as a courier during the day, attended college classes in the evening, and delivered bundles of newspapers to truck stops, bus stops, airports, and convenience stores overnight.

I was never home. Hell, I rarely slept.

Then, my twenty-year marriage imploded. Just disintegrated. My wife left.

Now I’m divorced, raising two teenagers on a paper boy’s salary, and attending a school that I can’t afford at night.

Things—at least on the outside—are definitely not alright.

But somewhere, in that barren emptiness, I discovered something.

Peace.

None of it bothered me.

In fact, I was even happier than I was before.

Losing everything was actually liberating. As the external trappings fell away, so did my false friends, runaway habits, addictions, and superficial desires.

All that was left was a profound sense of clarity, simplicity, inner strength, and gratitude.

Yes, gratitude.

It was never easy, and I would’ve never chosen that rocky path on my own. But, somehow, my life was…better.

Of course, my hardships, missteps, and mistakes were not over. Not by a long shot.

But my euphoric experience that summer morning back in 2001 opened my eyes to a world of possibility I’ve been exploring ever since.

And now, all these later, I know deep down in my bones that as hard as things get…

Explore

It’s hard to trust that your suffering is worthwhile or that anything good will come of it. I get it.

But here’s something you can try to prove to yourself.

Jot Journal

Keep a notebook. I call mine a Jot Journal.

It can be as plain or as fancy as you like. Doesn’t matter.

When calamity strikes, jot it down. It can be an infuriating situation, a current gripe, a total catastrophe, or a miserable failure.

Jot it down.

—Skip two lines

Jot down your next impossible situation (if there is one)

—Skip two lines

Now, set a 30-day timer on your phone or calendar (Jot pg 32).

Come back to that page in your Jot Journal on the appointed day.

Fill those empty lines beneath each gripe, catastrophe, failure, or impossible situation with:

A) What's better now because of that setback? or
B) What valuable lesson did that situation teach me?

Option B) is my favorite because I find I'm always learning the same lessons over and over again.

By revisiting these lessons early and often, I shorten the Cursing Curve (struggling moments compounded by reactive behaviors).

Give it a go.

You don’t have to make a project out of it, and it doesn’t have to be a daily habit. Just give yourself permission to put it on the page.

Then go back and look. This is the most important part.

You’ll be amazed at what you learn.

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I love you guys! ❤️‍🔥

Stay safe! ☺️

-Paul