Sometimes You Just Need a Few Cookies

I have said it many times. Following the spiritual path is not easy. It involves direct encounters with the righteous/ego mind, the Enemy of Peace.

Today, I had yet another encounter with The Enemy.  It began with an email from my real estate agent. She forwarded a message from a couple who is supposedly very interested in my house (the one that’s been on the market for almost three years). They’ve seen it twice; they’ve asked reasonable questions, which I’ve answered. All good signs, I was told. Today, it was different. The email said, “Please see below. This is making buyer nervous…anything you can add or correct”….etc. etc. etc. Scrolling down, I see this from the buyer’s agent: “My client is questioning why the floor joists needed to be replaced 3 times in 10 years…She’s concerned that the house may be sinking.”

My righteous/ego mind swung into gear. Je-sus Christ! It yelled. In the interest of full disclosure, and as a selling point for my house, and on the advice of my agent, I have provided interested buyers with a list of renovations I’ve made over the past ten years.

Back to the righteous/ego mind, which is now having a ball because I’m pissed off.  It really enjoys chaos.

Can’t they read? My list doesn’t say I’ve had joists replaced 3 times. Do they want this house or don’t they? Buyers today are such crybabies. If I’d been like that, I’d never have owned a house. And on, and on, and on.

I could have stopped there, and indignantly refused to respond, but as you know, the Universe likes me. (It likes all of us – even while it is sending us …opportunities to progress.) As it happened, I meditated this morning, and its good effects were still present in my other mind. The peaceful, rational one. Meditation is my way of connecting with the Universe’s Loving Power. It stopped me mid-rant and said something like: Emotions don’t belong here. Do your job and respond like a cool, collected grownup.

So I began to research. I am trained to do that, you know. I didn’t last in Washington for forty-two years by blowing smoke out of my…smokestack.  In that town, if you don’t do your homework, everyone will know it. And that’s bad.  

With my righteous/ego mind put in its place, I emptied my box (I have a box by now) labeled “Selling the House” on the floor and went through the pile of papers until I had reconstructed (no pun intended) the whys and wherefores of work that was done in the last 10 years. In the process, I remembered (or was I told?) that repairs, additions, and renovations were made to the undercarriage because we wanted to prepare the house for additional weight when we were anticipating developing the second floor. That was when Bill was alive. It was his decision (which I couldn’t remember at first). Thank you, Billy. Later, I had more work done because of a bathroom leak that had damaged floors. It had nothing to do with the house “sinking.” I also promised documentation for everything. It was a good, accurate report.

Just as I was ready to celebrate and send it off, I couldn’t find the last bit of documentation. It’s never easy, is it?

I went through every file folder three or four times. I went through every email since August of last year, the month in question. I knew I’d saved the papers. I would never have thrown them away. But where were they? At this point, even as tired as I was, something interesting had taken hold. Faith. I had looked through every possible place they could have been, or so I thought, and I couldn’t find them. And I wasn’t worried. Just then, I noticed the small pile of papers on my desk, the first papers I pulled out of the box. Why I put them on my desk instead of on the floor like the others, I do not know. Well, yes I do. I put them there unconsciously because they were reports of the last repair, the one that needed the most documentation. But I didn’t even remember seeing them.  Or…LP had helped me without my noticing – put them right out there. Once again, it occurred to me that I was looked after, loved, taken care of, down to the smallest details of my life. Every time we notice that we are loved and taken care of is an important event. The details don’t matter.

Why do I have to go through this exercise of losing my balance and regaining it, losing it and regaining it, losing and regaining it? The obvious answer is because I’m human, and in that humanness I am limited and forgetful, but perhaps the most important reason is that I need the exercise. Like physical exercise, spiritual exercise produces strength, flexibility, and an increase in serotonin-like faith. Whether my report satisfies the buyers or not is not important. Whether they are my buyers or not is not important. What is important is that I got the exercise I needed.

Oh, did I forget to mention something? During my frustrating search for the documents that were right under my nose, I ate four chocolate chip cookies.  Faith doesn’t have to be perfect. And a little chocolate-produced serotonin may be just what it takes to get you through to the finish line.

chocolate chip cookies


Read The Messenger: The Improbable Story of a Grieving Mother and a Spirit Guide by Helen Delaney. It can be found at

The Messenger IMG_0416




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