The New Book: The Well: Two women, Two thousand years apart, connected by a Pandemic, Slavery, and a Son

Dear Friends:

At long last! The new book is here: The Well: Two Women, Two thousand years apart, connected by a Pandemic, Slavery, and a Son. It has been almost eight years (!) since my first book, The Messenger, was released. And I am days away from my eighty-fifth birthday. (Yikes!) Goes to show ‘ya – anything is possible.

From Covid19 (which, thank the Good Lord I have not gotten), to breast cancer (I’ve been clean for a year), to everything before, after, and in between its launch, the book took its own time. It also took a while for me to realize that I wasn’t in charge of it or anything else. I had to understand that in order to let it go where it was going. To let it become what it was going to become.

Once the full impact of the futility of controlling it sank in, I was astounded at the sheer enormity of things that were beyond my grasp. It was humbling. And a blessed relief. At some point, it dawned on me that all I could control was how my willful mind was perceiving things, planning things, expecting things. And I found out that my grasp of the concept of surrender wasn’t as good as I thought it was. It took time to surrender it in its entirety to the real Creator. And a wonderful editor. To be sure, I had plenty of help, including the artist (who happens to be my brother) who created the gorgeous cover.

During the writing of the book, Covid19 shut down life as I knew it, and the startling events that took place in those years, plus old memories, showed up in my story. I didn’t plan it that way; they came, and I let them unfold. Of course, my experiences didn’t impact the Egypt part of the story. My Spirit Guide Lukhamen continued to show me his life, and the events that were happening around it. As in the first book, our two stories emerged. And they converged as before and surprised me again.

How clear are things in hindsight! I can see now that the book had two purposes: one, and the most important, was to finish telling Lukhamen’s story. It was given to me to give comfort to those in grief, including me. And two, to teach me humility, reverence, and gratitude in the face of a Love I still cannot fully understand.

I’m going to stop here, because this is a subject that has many, many aspects, and I dare say I will come back to it again and again.

And so, dear Friends, on this day, my wish is to offer you this labor of love. I hope it will bring you a vision of life that is far greater and far more beautiful than our earth-bound minds can imagine. I will be talking to you again soon. I’ve missed my blog. And you. Until next time.

You can find The Well on Amazon.

Spring Always Comes

I went to a women’s luncheon last week, and the entertainment was provided by a lovely woman from England. She stood there, petite and serene, alone with her guitar, and sang a little melody called “Spring Always Comes.”  I suppose all my friends on the East Coast could use a little encouragement like that right now.

Here in the Southwest, spring is already here, although it doesn’t arrive officially until Monday. The trees are in bloom, the sun is warm, and today there was a perfect, gentle breeze that seemed to kiss the new life around it – the blooming irises, the cherry blossoms, and people like me, who felt renewed and young.

I get messages from the Universe (my readers know that), but I’m getting better at noticing them when they appear. That little song was one of them. It must be, because I can’t get it out of my head. The more I say it, the more I think about it, the more it resounds with truth: Spring Always Comes.

Seeds germinate in the harshest of conditions, in drought and in drowning water. Trees withstand unrelenting cold and wind, appearing to all but those who know better, as dead. We humans see this return to life every year and yet, so many of us still cannot believe that an all-knowing, all-loving God would grant us, His children, the same ongoing cycle of life.

As for me, I do not believe in death. I believe only in life. I believe that Spring Always Comes, and that is why I listen for the voices of the ones I love who have gone on to another spring – my son Eddie, my husband Bill, my mother, my father. And why should they not speak to me? Shall I not speak to my children when I leave this pasture? Shall I not try to let them know that I am alive and renewed in another springtime?

And why would God grant me only one spring? I believe that I have lived before, many, many times. I have evidence of at least one former life. I wrote a book about it. Haven’t we all felt that that one lifetime is not long enough? It isn’t. One lifetime is not long enough.  We have so much to learn!  Can we learn true compassion, can we learn complete and utter forgiveness in one stumbling, error-filled life? We are all capable of it, but it takes…time. Times.

If we are vigilant and willing, we accept our lessons as gifts, one gift at a time. This lifetime has been a full one for me. I have learned from death that there is no death. I have learned that whatever energy I project onto the world or onto another I project onto myself, whether it is positive or negative. I have forgiven someone in this lifetime I thought I could never forgive, and as the result of that forgiveness, a tinnitus in my ear and a pain in my head for which no doctor or expert could find a cause…went away. It went away finally when I realized I had to forgive more than the blows I had received from this person in this lifetime. I learned the meaning of the admonition in Scripture to forgive “seventy times seven.” For me, it meant forgiveness for every lifetime I suffered a blow to the head at the hands of this same person, the signal to me being the pain in the same spot in my head, the ringing in my ears that wouldn’t go away. I had to forgive the blows that even caused death. Can we learn to forgive seventy times seven in one lifetime? It took me until now, until this lifetime to do it.

And so, Ultimate Love gives us spring, after spring, after spring, to grow, to experience winter, to reawaken, to be born anew, to learn that that we can become the true, perfect beings that we are, the beings that we started out to be, before …ah, but that’s another thing altogether.

If you are still digging out of the snow, if it is still cold and damp, if it’s dark, be assured, be happy, because Spring Always Comes. Always.


Read The Messenger: The Improbable Story of a Grieving Mother and a Spirit Guide by Helen Delaney. Find it at For a signed copy, go to