If You Build It They Will Come

After being married for a little over a year, I began to have that urge to have a baby.   I did what many girls do; start dreaming of what that baby would be like, naming the baby, thinking about how I would raise that baby.

If my baby was a girl, I would name her Katherine with a ‘K’ as my mother so often said, after my grandmother.  I would call her ‘Kate’ and with the last name of Savage, she would have a truly strong sounding name.

Yes, Kate Savage…Katie in more playful times and maybe with her friends.

She had a good chance of having red hair and maybe my mother’s deep green-blue eyes, and I would reinforce her being strong too.

I actually envisioned being called to the school, and standing up for my little Kate, who obviously would be right; unlike how I and many other children were brought up, which would be the ‘teacher was always right’.

So she would be one fierce Kate Savage, my little girl.

It became one of the pivotal reasons for building the barn, which I would transform into a store so I could work out of the barn next to my home and raise my child myself.  No one was going to raise my child but me.  I was not going to let this world, beat my child into submission….this was 1990.

“If you build it they will come”

One day while working as an interior designer at the furniture store, Chardon Home Furnishings, I started absent mindedly singing, as I often did.  Later, the woman I was working for at time, a petite and sharp dressing blond came up to me later very upset.  She said: “You can’t just start singing like that!”

“What” I responded?  “You were singing, and my customers who I almost had ready to buy, wanted to hear you!”

I felt bad…and confused.  I didn’t want to be an impediment to anyone, let alone this woman I worked for, who I knew was struggling as it was.  I wanted to be an asset and so I told her; “I am sorry, I didn’t even realize I was singing, am I doing a good job for you?”  “Yes” she replied, “you are doing a great job for me” she added.

I left work with the problem of me singing churning inside of my head.  “Can you help me with this God?” I implored.  “What is it you want me to do with this?”  “How can I stop doing something I don’t even know I am doing?”

As it happened for me, I always tried to pay attention to the ‘signs’ and would question them.  What was it the universe was trying to tell me?  How could I continue to work with the stress that added to my life, while I was trying to conceive a child?  That stress didn’t help the situation as the doctor informed me.

Every month, I waited and hoped…..hoped that I would not get my period.  A day’s delay would bring delightful anticipation….that would tumble down that abyss of despair with the first cramp….and the eventual bleeding….that bleeding and the pain.

This brought visits to the doctor, the gynecologist who then ran tests.  Tests were ordered for my (now ex) husband at the time. 

I was discovered to have endometriosis.  This explained all the painful, I mean excruciating periods in my life; the kind of pain that brings you to your knees and put you in bed praying for it to go away, while hugging a heating pad.

Endometriosis….I had to look that up.  I searched through all the medical journals I could find, some in the doctor’s office, pamphlets that were passed out to probably all of the women who were also diagnosed with END-O-ME-TRI-OSIS.

It was still quite possible for me to conceive the doctor stated, but with the endometriosis and my past illness that brought me through the veil of death and back, I would have substantial scar tissues and probably adhesions that would likely make a pregnancy very difficult and painful.

It could however, help the endometriosis if I did get pregnant.

(Side note: I wrote this at my dear and good friend, Cathy Force’s home on the morning after a discussion with her daughter and sisters, recounting the story of Joseph.  Joseph was a stillborn and was a much anticipated baby, who would be the first grandchild for Cathy.  Yesterday was Joseph’s birthday, February 22 and he would have been 7 years old. 

I met Cathy at her daughter Erika’s home on this night, and Erika reminded us that it was Joseph’s birthday.  Erika is a remarkable woman with three gorgeous, healthy children now, all born after Joseph. 

I think it is worth mentioning, because the story of Joseph is an amazing story.  We returned to Cathy’s home, where I was going to do some bodywork on Cathy and her sisters.  After a session we were having a bite to eat and some tea, and Barb and Debbie started to talk about Joseph and the miracle of holding Joseph.

Yes, Joseph was already in another dimension, but the girls all spoke about the feeling of holding Joseph.  That you could tell he wanted you to hold him, and the indescribable experience was unmistakable… because they knew they were holding an angel, Joseph let them know.

Erika was so admirably strong about that entire journey, a reminder of what I already knew.  She was here to do amazing things on this planet, and she was more than equipped to be successful.

I recall the many times Cathy cried about Joseph, her anticipation, and her sadness for her daughter, even though as Cathy would say every time, Erika is handling it all so well, much better than she herself is. 

But that day, the day Joseph came and went into this world; Cathy held her baby, and recounted holding Joseph while husband Nick, held Cathy.

Cathy recounted how she and Erika’s mother in law, Suzanne, were both holding Joseph and discussing how they were ‘babysitting Joseph’, just not in the ways they had anticipated.

After some tears were shed in the Joseph stories, I reminded the sisters what Erika brought up; that it was Joseph’s birthday…..they didn’t even consciously know at the time.  Once the reminder was stated, they all sighed….the usual….Oooooooooooooooooh,

Well it makes sense.  A few moments of silence….

This is what women do.  We hold onto each other through our stories.

So it is interesting that I should dream so vividly that night, (I have my own room when I come to stay at Cathy’s, it is a bit of a drive from the West to the East side) and wake up crying about my own journey as a woman wanting a child and this is what unfolded.)

……..As the layers of the fantasy fall apart, one painful swath at a time, the illusion begins to reveal itself….and slowly….ever so slowly and achingly…..a real self emerges out of all of the delusion of who you think you are supposed to be….who….you so desperately believe you must be….to have value….to be someone worth loving and deserving of being loved in this world.

Anyway, I went home that night wondering how I could reconcile working for someone, wanting to do a good job, no…not a good job, a great job.  But how could I stop doing something I am not conscious of, not be stressed out and get pregnant?

Another piece of discomfort was the price factor; a customer could become very uncomfortable working on a better price and someone else who is just nice would have to pay more, I would inform the “nice” person they could get a better price rather than give the problem customer a better price, but that meant I was taking money from the store owner which was also uncomfortable.

So that night I come into the living room, to come and kiss my husband again, while I am cooking our dinner.  The sound of trucks, driving down GAR highway, intruded one more of many times into our conversation and my ‘fantasy world’.

I resented that intrusion as I always did, considering living ‘in the middle of nowhere’ practically, yet we lived so close to the highway, the constant noise of the traffic was an irritation.  “How can we live in the middle of nowhere, and still have to deal with the cacophony of all this traffic?” I wondered.

So, once again, I implored God to tell me what that irritation was about, and why He was trying to get my attention with it? 

When I added that to the previous ‘singing situation’ at work, it finally dawned on me….’Traffic’….all that traffic!  

Now I have several things creating a new dilemma for me. You see, I had managed several furniture design showrooms in the past. I could easily get rehired at any of them. Only, that won’t stop my random singing. Living in the country (last job was 1hour and a half away), and those jobs requiring 60 hour minimum weeks becomes another consideration.
I want to please my husband, be the perfect “Disney wife” take care of and make him the happiest man on the planet!
I would like to have a child, and that clock is tick, tock ticking away in me.
I am also having some physical health problems flaring up and that will require time off of work too.
How can I do a good job for anyone else knowing this?
Make lemonade out of lemons. Listen to the irritation and the answer will come.
More loud traffic goes by.
The light finally goes on inside of me.
I will build my own shop. A simple barn/A-frame will do.
I go outside to see where and how when I literally “see” the barn standing in all of its etheric beauty.
I open the door (no, there really isn’t a door) and walk in and see my writing desk in one corner, cherry bookcase behind it, tapestry and damask couches and
brocade chairs, maple and oak end tables, Victorian carved oak bed grouping and hammered-iron headboards.
I simply note my growing inventory list. I will need a good excavator to prepare the field that is approximately 200 feet east of my home, which sits on 27 acres.
I drive down to the local corner store to get a reference. “Dick Bosse” is my reply from the friendly store owner in response to my query. Dick comes walking
into the store after the words are barely out of the store owner’s mouth.
While Dick and I go outside to work out the logistics, Dick says we will need Barry’s trucking to deliver the layers of rock we will need.
Barry himself comes driving up in a shiny red truck. Dick and Barry wave to each other and Dick introduces me “this young lady here is Mrs. Savage and she is
considering building a store/barn on her property down the street here”.
Who is building the barn for her?
I reply “I haven’t found that person yet, any suggestions?”
They both reply, “how ‘bout Brower?”
Guess who comes driving up?
Yup, Brower.
Who am I to question any of this?
Several months later, the store is standing. The work, well there was plenty. I just thanked God I could do it. Whatever it was, I was glad my angels were helping me through it all. I had blisters, sleepless nights. Anyone who has ever built anything knows you go through many, many obstacles even with the best laid plans. I cut wood and trim. I laid stones and rocks by hand in the parking lot. I hung insulation, dry wall, and wall paper.
I built landscaping boxes, and dug posts for my signs. I fought with my (ex) husband about the fact he wasn’t helping me. Worse, he would make it hard for me
and anyone trying to help me, should we care to wake the sleeping bear. (This relationship and my waking up to it comes later in the story.)
Anyway, I was grateful to be able to do any of it, and that God was helping me the whole time, how else could I have done all those things I never did before. (I must admit and give thanks to my sisters Bev and Janet, my brothers Bob and David, and my friend Lorraine who also came out on several occasions and gave me
a hand too.)
Anyway, I know that gratitude in times of difficulty and strain is a miracle worker.
It is a great tool and gift for us at any time, but when you are thankful in difficult times, it moves mountains.
The store opened following my daily prayers and meditations in the morning. People came with different stories of how they were drawn to the store. They told me more often than not; the song I was playing (whatever it was at the time) meant something very special to them and how it was “weird” that I should be
playing it at that time. I knew better. I know the power of the Holy Spirit; that which is infused in the all.
We would end up working together on their house, selecting furniture, colours, arrangement, etc. What happened in the journey was so far past my knowing world. In the process of designing homes, one must listen to women’s stories: their pain, their big love, their deep world. How stretched their beings had become in every direction to be; good girls, good wives, good mothers, good teachers, good friends, good-no- great lovers, and remain nice and certainly not become “bitches” and of course the other dilemma-whores, the can’t win for loosing scenario. Too good in the bedroom and some men can’t wrap their brain around that. Not their “good girl wife”~ the Madonna complex. Now many of these wounded women were on different forms of psycho tropics and felt bad about that too.
They didn’t know why they were so depressed and how dare they be- with everything so good. So in the process of listening to women’s stories, a blooming took place, the river widened in my being and

I began the process of birthing what I began to realize women needed to become whole. What I did not expect was that I would be birthed anew too and starts my own process in the discovery of the Divine Feminine. Yes, this little Catholic girl would become shattered and have to put herself
back together again. I would learn to infuse vibrations of sound into the home in a return to my musical being and background. But the stories….

                        “If one woman told her story ~

                        The whole earth would crack wide open” - Rainier Marie Wilke.

I started asking what other forms of natural therapy they had tried while concurrently they were asking me what forms I had tried. My response was; yoga, aromatherapy, meditation, Reiki, etc. They would reply with a dazed look in their faces and more often than not, say something like; “Ra- what did you say?”

They also started picking up the books (mine) that I was using for display purposes and asking if they could borrow them. Hmmmm. Not what I had planned, but ok we can do this. Sure you can borrow the book. Soon I didn’t have any books left, they were all being borrowed. What are those things on and around your desk? They would ask. (My affirmations, crystals, rocks, etc.) I prayed and meditated on it all and asked for guidance.  I started dreaming homes before I went to them and given solutions and design ideas that were far more than just colour schemes, but what the women and families needed to help them heal.

One such dream was for client, B. W.  She and her husband essentially lived in a split house, he on one side and she on the other and they had a Florida room at the end that connected the two with a bar, where they would ‘meet’.

B did a pretty good job of disguising her saddened heart, but when I went into the home, the sadness was beyond palpable, so was the energy of unkind words being spoken.

She asked me to do both sides and create the flow to merge in the Florida room.

But the night before I was to return with design ideas, fabric samples, Wall Paper, colours and furniture, I dreamt that B asked me to go up the stairs into a small bathroom.  Once inside, she asked me for suggestions.  I was hearing that she needed more light in her life.  I looked up and asked her what was up above?  As I did, I pulled down the attic ladder, which for some reason was in the bathroom.  I suggested sky lights and knocking out the wall to a bedroom that only was used for a little bit of storage.

The next day, I went to B’s home and we bantered a bit as I hauled all the necessary samples, books, etc. into the living room.  After I finished and before we started on the ideas, she asked me if I would mind looking at the upstairs bath.  I followed her up the stairs and we entered the bathroom.  She told me she had consulted with some bath designers, before she met me.  Well, I started to ask what was upstairs and began to pull down the ladder, and the dream came flooding back to me…I had to rest on the sink counter for a minute to take it in, and absorb what was happening.  She asked me if I was okay, and I gathered myself together and continued to make the suggestions, EXACTLY AS IT HAPPENED IN THE DREAM.  She did make those alterations as well as the idea’s I suggested for the downstairs living rooms and Florida room.  The energy in the house shifted dramatically for the better and so did she.  But the dreams were only just beginning.  The women came, and all needed more than just design suggestions or a new sofa.

I wondered why? Why were so many women depressed and asking me how I dared to live my life. Surely I was not the only person whose attention this was getting, was I? I Looked up into the “Heavens” and pleaded for answers. Truly this would be frightening for the universe asking me to notice something that other trained professionals should be taking note of and working on. Not me. I am too wild and un-tethered. I just put colours and fabrics together and hold peoples
hands during the process. Guide them through the weaving of their desires and their family’s. Oh yes, and the home that most certainly had visions of its own to be listened to. My heart just swelled in this sea of pain these women were in and well, at least if I could make their home “feel” better for them, maybe that would help.
Things were growing more and more restless inside of me when one Sunday I decided to attend a new church I had designed a meeting room for.

The Sermon was “Did you ever notice how God never picks the obvious person to do His work?”
Come on! My body was buzzing. This buzzing started at an early age and though I won’t share all of the experiences now, I will share some just to give you a
flavor of my life.
Many of the psychic experiences I had growing up were “painful” to put it mildly. This is not a complaint because I know now why; they were forever etched in my being that way so I would have a much harder time dismissing them. I am grateful for the rich tapestry that is the weaving of my life!

Thus began my own search and plea to God, to help me find the right people to come and share alternative methods of healing, those I knew and whatever ones necessary to help all these women.

It wasn’t long before a friend and client of mine, Trish came in one day and asked me if I would be interested in going to a retreat called Sacred Space on Kelly’s Island.

Trish and I went to the retreat.  The moment I stepped foot on that island, it owned me.

There was a powerful energy on that island.  There I met other people with the same interests as mine and some of the teachers I would bring to the store, to help my clients learn alternative methods to relieve their pain and depression.

One of those people was Linda Green, who was the yoga instructor at the retreat and she has essential oils with her.  She took some of us on a plant identification hike.  I thought I knew about Aromatherapy at that time, I used to buy Frankincense and Myrrh along with a few other oils downtown.  This is what I wore for perfume.

Linda told me about a well-known teacher she was bringing into Athens to teach an Aromatherapy class.  Jeannie Rose was on the forefront of Aromatherapy and actual, reputable information.  She was largely responsible for bringing Aromatherapy back to the US from Europe.  I bought her books.  It was loaded with valuable information…finally, someone who knew their stuff.

Then Linda told me how much the class was, and that it was going to be (4 days I think?)

Well, I couldn’t imagine my husband going along with the idea of either me going away for that long, or paying thousands of dollars for a ‘hobby’.

Who would watch the store?

Anyway, I pretty much dismissed the idea for those reasons.

About a week or more before the class was set to begin…I got the call.

It was Linda Green.  A woman had paid for the class, and she was too ill to be able to attend.  She looked at the list of potential students interested and she chose my name, she said, ‘she is supposed to go’.  I would have to pay for room and meals, but the class was paid for.  “How could I not go?”…this was obviously a sign from Gd.  I looked up to the heavens and with tears in my eyes, I said; “you will need to help me convince my husband, you know who we are dealing with.”

I went to the class…I was blown away.  It was 1993