This book is for the spiritually curious . It’s for the lonely seers and the spiritually confused, hurting ones. It’s for the quiet ones sitting in the church pews hungry for more . I write in hopes that my story will open the doors of your mind , that it will awaken your senses to the unknown . Cross over boundaries you’ve set up for yourself .
The musty smell overcame my senses as I walked into the farm house. I had been there before , but this time it was mine to keep. As I walked into the dining room , the floor cried of dirt and old coins. Alone, I bent down to pick up the coins.
:: you will gain riches here::
I swept the coins into a dust pan , and emptied them into a bowl. I walked from room to room praying aloud blessings. Crying out for his presence to dwell here. I was happy. I was expectant , with eyes only viewing what could be. Over almost two hundred years old , repairs were desperately needed. The wooden floors shook as I walked up the narrow steps to the children’s bedroom.
My body got a chill as I heard him say :
:: there’s more to this house daughter.::
My expectant , hopeful heart smiled. I was home . My dream was coming true as I sat on the dusty floor below me. Joyful tears filled my eyes as spoke out loud my grateful ness for this house. My exact prayers were answered. He had heard my hearts desire for land.
I sat up and looked out the window in the second story room. High on his love for me I watched the river flow below the farm house. I looked at the old Mill and it’s beauty that once was.
It was as if my eyes were one sided. I only saw what could be, and not what once was. It was the once was that would haunt my life for years to come.
Months of bliss in the farm house danced around the cool breeze from the river. Coffee was consumed on the screened in porch as our children played day and night in the fenced in yard. Sunrise and sunset, you would find me in my happy place, on the front porch rocker. Plans were drawn to remodel the 200 year old Mill as my eyes grew wide with anticipation of what could be.
Many days of laughter were spent as our family grew into a new season of unity. Our youngest learned to walk in that old dark living room, and I learned to be open with my Maker. My Papa.
The children adored our pet chickens, as they chased them around the un level yard. Daily treasures were found from the past. Old glass bottles , and beneath the overgrown grass we found forgotten foot paths. I relished in my dream home , not a frown in my future as I made this house my home. I flourished there, I baked more than ever before. I was eager to serve my family , proud of my tiny kitchen and small living room. It was home for me. For the first time in my life , I loved a home. But that home didn’t love me.
In fact everything in that home welcomed me in, only to torture my spirit and begin to destroy my body.
It all began one late night. An acquaintance of mine , who had been exploring the empty farm house before anyone dwelled there, had began to trespass at night . She had a curiosity for historical properties and a knack for new age practices. She started exploring the life before , and the family that lived there before .Her interest in the old mill house was curious to me. She soon found out we were living there, and one night called me up.
” Do you mind if I come over to visit ? I have something to tell you , it cannot wait.”
As I washed the dishes that night my spirit knew trouble was coming. My husband wasn’t home as he was out working late. I agreed to see her, trembling with fear , imagining her words about this house.
I had convinced myself that anything un holy that had happened here had to flee as our family invaded this property. Surely nothing was going on I wasn’t aware of. I’m eternally peaceful here.
It became late , trees rustling in the wind , the chickens in the coop settling down to sleep. I walked outside to gather the fresh eggs as she pulled into the driveway. My body shook at her presence , and my mind prepared itself to respond.
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