In a place encapsulating all of space, a time enfolding all of time, the call went out. “I need a volunteer for humanity on earth.” The words were not spoken; they were formless thought with no need for amplification. Telepathically, they were felt in every heart. Each of His children heard them, each in his vibration. As She expected, one clear, pure, musical voice responded. “I am here,” it felt with so much emotion that The One had to smile.
So, it had always been. This one beautiful singularity had always been very much in love with the human race and its world. He, alone among his brothers, had faith in the inhabitants of Earth. He, alone among his sisters, could see through the shadow and darkness in which the fledgling race had chosen to envelope itself to the pure spark that dwelled unrevealed within each of its members. He saw as The One saw. While His other children often became annoyed and even angry with the human race’s seemingly endless fascination with dangerous toys and pastimes, Michael had always shown more compassion. Seeing past its faults and foibles, he loved the diamond embedded within the rock with an all-consuming, ever-fresh, always-renewing, passionate love.
His compassion for humanity had already compelled him to give up his place in Oneness to become one of them. He had borne their pain and shone his irrepressible light upon their darkness and they had murdered him, but his love for them was boundless. Far from being angry, he had suffered at their hands, forgiven them their blindness, and was always eager to return to them.
When he had rejoined the Oneness from his first visit to Earth, he had required healing. He had been surrounded by all of his brothers and sisters who had formed a circle around him. It had taken everyone’s love and healing embrace projected into his spirit to restore the wholeness of his soul that had been so badly damaged in his human lifetime. Like his flesh torn by whips tipped with steel and nailed to wooden beams, his soul, too, had been flayed, pierced and torn by their hatred and lack of understanding, his light flickering weakly. The tears of this place the children of Earth called heaven – and of all who resided there – had been the soothing balm that had mended the shards back into Oneness. Nonetheless, whenever he had spare time, Michael could always be found watching over Earth and its inhabitants, his love clearly illuminating his being like a torch held aloft on a dark night. At times, his eyebrows knit together in consternation at their obtuseness. At others, his smile as he watched them at play on their small world lit the heavens.
The One looked at his son. He was brilliant, glowing, a being of such pure and unselfish love and beauty that his radiance nearly hurt His eyes. His dark hair and crow’s wing eyebrows framed expressive eyes that radiated and telegraphed each emotion the instant it was felt. His body was thin, youthful, muscular, but not with the definition of a body enthusiast. Rather his musculature defined unconscious grace, ease of motion and fluidity – the body of a dancer. His feet and hands were large. “Beloved, I expected you would want to do this. I would ask you to hesitate and reconsider. This mission will be no easier than the last. It will take every bit of your strength and endurance, every ounce of your courage and love. It will demand more of your light than anyone should be asked to give. Once was more than I could require. To ask such sacrifice of you twice is more than I can bear.”
Nodding once, Michael’s eyes shone with tenderness. “I am ready. You do not ask it of me. I offer myself for those I love,” was his soft reply without hesitation or thought. “I assume the mission is love?”
“Yes, my beloved son,” The One sighed. “They don’t seem to have gotten it. They haven’t seen that when they hurt one of their own all are harmed. They haven’t understood that when they harm their planet, they diminish their own chances of survival. The messengers we have sent have done their best, but still these humans seem intent on their own destruction. Unless we do something to intervene, by the time they get it they and their world will be cinders.”
“We need someone who can command their attention in large enough numbers and transmit the message with undiluted strength, clarity and purpose to turn them from their course. We will gift you with the tools you require to do that admirably. Those same tools, unfortunately, will be a lightning rod for darkness just as before. As it circles the flame of a candle, it will surround and try to extinguish your flame. This is a race that cannot suffer one who shines with such grandeur and grace; it reminds them that they do not so shine and they react with fear because they can’t understand. For the more beauty they see in you, the less they feel in themselves. The more truth they comprehend in you, the more lies they must create to justify themselves in their own eyes. They are deluded into believing that there is a finite amount of these qualities and by you having so much, they think that they are deprived. They are held fast in their duality.”
The One sighed knowingly. “As before, that duality will be a mighty force. I must send others to counterbalance your radiance. You hold so much brightness within your being; you are truly a being of light. Your radiance blinds even Me. Your luminosity will be dimmed by the transference into your human form, but it will still attract attention. Earth’s inhabitants are very accomplished at producing their own darkness, but I must dispatch others to challenge you for balance.”
Several other light beings appeared at Michael’s side. They, too, shimmered with light, but their forms were imbued with colors, some opaque, others transparent. Each of these beings embraced Michael with love and whispered their apologies as he returned their embrace. He knew that his brothers would be his opponents in the coming assignment. It would be their task to cast shadow upon him as it would be his to broadcast light and love. They would provide obstacles for his spirit to rise above. They would cast doubt for his spirit to conquer. He forgave each of them in turn knowing that without their presence, the soul that he would assume could not complete its work and his assignment would be doomed before it was birthed. With a resigned nod, he said, “I understand. So mote it be.”
“I will also dispatch helpers for your journey,” The One announced. “These will support you with their love. These will hold you fast within their hearts. These will defend and give you strength, nourish your flagging spirit in times of darkness, encourage your hope in times of defeat, and quench your thirst for knowledge and companionship when your aloneness becomes more of a weight than you think you can bear. Know always, My beloved son, that I will never so burden you that you will break under the strain. You are strong, my mightiest warrior; but you will require all your strength to accomplish your mission.”
Once again, Michael was surrounded by other light beings who were beautiful to behold. Each of the new group stepped forward to bestow a kiss upon his face and whisper, “I am honored to be your companion.” “I will hold you close.” “I will lift you up lest you bruise your feet upon the rocks.”
Left alone with his thoughts, Michael trembled with anticipation as he awaited transference into the soul of the being he would be on the world that he loved with all of his heart. He knew that he would feel separation and isolation keenly in contrast to the unity that he shared in Oneness with all those who had come before and all those who would come after. He knew that he would not recognize his brothers’ roles in his life to come, but that the obstacles they presented would cause pain or anguish to the human life and soul into which he would soon descend while, at the same time, gifting that soul with opportunities for growth and strength and occasions for creativity to be unleashed upon the planet. So it had been in his previous life on Earth, so it had to be. He also knew that there would be those who would recognize the spark within him, the radiant purity he embodied, the love he would personify and exude who would love him in return as he loved them. That knowledge sustained him and made him anxious to begin.
He understood well that he would not remember his task clearly, that the descent into human life would erase his memories of Oneness and Completeness. He would need to create his role as he lived the life to come, as all humans are required to create theirs. He would be asked to choose his reality and the part he would play in that reality moment by moment, as are all humans. He would be set adrift and feel lost and alone, though he understood that he could never be alone, that he was always in communion with all of life. He would struggle as all humans struggle to discover his purpose. After the first few months of life, his identity as a single entity would be formed from his environment and his genetic heritage. Those first few months of life as an infant, he would still be connected by silken threads to Oneness, but unable to communicate that joy to those bound in physicality. He knew that some of his brothers would possibly assume the role of parents or siblings.
As he contemplated the task he had assumed, he sat in meditation, seeing in his mind’s eye the small, blue world that would be his home. His heart overflowed with joy to be returning to this beautiful planet. The diversity of its life forms spoke thrillingly to his heart. From the smallest insect to the largest whale, he loved them all. Even the sandy deserts, the beautiful, green forests, and the fathomless bodies of water resonated within his soul. The small creatures who ruled this planet thought themselves insignificant and separate. They didn’t realize that their most silent, secret thought echoed throughout the universe, creating their reality and the reality of all life forms in their world. It would be his task to help them remember their power to remake themselves and their reality in the way he lived each of the moments of his human life. He was anxious to get started. The opportunities for creation were infinite.
“My beloved,” he heard within his stillness, “have you reconsidered?”
“No, Father. I am anxious to get started.”
Michael’s fervent reply caused a flurry of emotion within The One. Pride in this, His most beloved child, battled with fear for him and anger at the pain he would endure at the hands of his brothers and humanity. “I don’t want to let you go from me again. I don’t want to feel the aloneness when I reach out for you with my thoughts and your melodious voice doesn’t respond.”
“My Father, you know that I always respond in some fashion. Even when I left the Oneness before to enter a human body, we were One, were we not? Didn’t You teach my brothers and sisters and all the children through me that we are all One, that there is no separation unless we manufacture it within our own thoughts? May it always be so. When I open my mouth, may Your words be heard, Your song be sung, Your melody and harmony be expressed. When I move my body, may Your grace be felt, Your music be made visible. May Your joy and Your love flow through me and be felt in every heart with which I come in contact.”
“So mote it be,” The One sighed deeply. With a fond embrace, He whispered, “You are my beloved son and in you I am well pleased. You’ve just given me an idea, a way for you to reach the most hearts and minds, a way for you to bring Me forth that humanity will be able to see and understand. You will be music in all its forms and expressions. Music will be your breath, your thought, your speech, your movement. It will be your deepest and most direct connection with Me.”
Michael felt a swirling vortex gathering around him, atoms and molecules forming and shaping him as The One’s voice slowly faded. “Through music you will gain everyone’s attention. Through melody and rhythm you will teach and inspire. Through harmony you will bring peace to a conflicted world; you will cross territorial boundaries, racial boundaries, ideological boundaries and introduce unity into embattled hearts and minds. Through dance you will reflect the joy of your Father in you. The music of the spheres will be your constant companion, your obsession, your dream, your wakefulness, your delight. In it and through it, you will respond and enlighten.”
Softer and softer did the voice of the Creator become in Michael’s heart as faster and faster the vortex of spinning atoms accelerated. “We will give you a beautiful body whose every twitch will express Me. It will not be without its problems and it will dismay you at times, but it will be breathtaking in its rhythm and movements, its splendor and expressions, its sensitivity and its magnetism. We will give you a voice of ethereal beauty and grinding intensity and with it you will articulate My message. You will always be surrounded, enveloped, supported, comforted, and cradled in music, My Beloved, a biological, silicone-based tuning fork vibrating to the accompaniment of the universe. In this you will take unbridled joy.”
The whispers and thoughts of the Creator faded slowly into the sound of the swirling vortex as it created bones and tissue, organs and synapses, sinews and cartilage. The atoms of his humanity formed around him, shutting out the voice of The One as it became more and more muffled. “You will never be out of touch with the music of the spheres in all its potency, emotion, and melodrama. It will move you always. In your solitudes and quietness, you will hear and interpret that melody. You will transcribe and translate, formulate and create, midwife and bring into being that which you hear in the stillness of your heart. Into the world of form and matter will you deliver the music, into the hearts and minds of those who hear and see the way the music uses you will you communicate Our messages of love and compassion. You will be a clear channel for my purpose and my meaning.
In this you will always know that I am with you, that even in your darkest moments, I am there. I am already missing you.”
(To be continued)
Part Two of Michael: A Short Story
In the unearthly stillness, Michael lay unmoving. He felt disconnected somehow from the body he had animated for nearly fifty years, but also not fully alert in his spiritual body. He was aware of millions of tears bathing him in a torrent of sorrow, of hundreds of thousands of hearts breaking open in shock and bewilderment and disbelief that he really was only human, that his body could be subject to death just like all of theirs.
Part of his preparation for departure was to review the life that had just ended. This review took all of his attention and intention as he saw the scenes of his life played out within his mind. He was unaware of physician’s efforts to revive the physical envelope that he had evacuated, of the rush to the hospital, of the scalpels cutting into his flesh to examine his physical organs or the vials of vital fluids taken for in-depth toxicological analysis to determine the cause of his death.
He saw it all again, like a Technicolor film with Dolby surround sound playing in his head except he was living it from the perspective of all of the actors in the film. He saw again the small, beautiful, chocolate-skinned boy with eyes too large for his head. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen months old dancing to the rhythm his mother’s washing machine had made as it vibrated and banged against the wall, the load of clothes tumbling inside; he heard, again, his mother’s laughter as she watched his body move in time and he ran to her and was gathered into her arms and held close to her bosom. He recognized in her one of the angelic helpers who had been dispatched to assist him on his journey.
It had been she who had insisted that he be called Michael, who had adamantly opposed the much less common name his father wanted on his birth certificate. As always, his father had eventually given in to her demand, but not without considerable effort on her part; with Joseph, she always had to fight to get her way. Giving in, to him, was a sign of weakness and Joseph would not be vulnerable. He had learned well the lessons of a hard-fought youth. He ruled the four-room castle they called home. She had always told him that she just felt in her heart that he was Michael.
He lived again the moment when she had discovered that he could sing. She’d heard him from the kitchen as he made his bed, singing along with the radio station. His brothers and sister had gone to school and he was left with Katherine until he could join them in the short walk to the elementary school almost directly behind their house. He sang with real joy, his voice clear and strong, the words easily understood by Katherine in the other room, but not by the singer. She had peaked around the door to see if it was the radio and discovered the clear, bell-like tones were coming from her five-year-old son. His body moved as he sang and he was a sight to behold. She had told Joseph who had been practicing his older sons, rehearsing them day and night with a dream that they would leave the gritty steel mill town and move into another life. At first, he didn’t want to hear her, but once he’d listened to his youngest son, he hadn’t been able to deny the child’s presence. It was as if he had been born in music, as if his body had been shaped in rhythm. He had joined his brothers in their living room rehearsals, being literally whipped into shape for his later life.
Later, after he had entered kindergarten, he had sung to a crowded auditorium full of teachers, parents and kids. His surprise at the thunderous applause, the tears of his mother and his teachers his rendition of “Climb Every Mountain” had produced was nearly indescribable. He didn’t think he’d done anything special. He was just singing like he did every night in his living room. But they did.
He relived the fear he had lived with on a daily basis, cowering behind the bed or in the closet, waiting for his father’s wrath to turn on him for some imagined or exaggerated misdemeanor. As he looked in his father’s face contorted with rage, a soft voice whispered its apology into his consciousness. One of his angelic brothers had played that role in the play that was his life. Michael saw and was grateful for the challenge of his childhood for he recognized that it had molded his stagecraft and his ambition and his drive towards perfection in all he did. It had allowed His Father’s voice to be heard and His messages to be absorbed from a universal platform, reaching into hearts and minds in every geographical location on the world he had loved so dearly. He also acknowledged that it had greatly influenced his love for children, for play as well as his inability to turn away a child’s innocent trust and affection. Within his mind, he whispered, “I forgive you and I thank you. Without you, I could not have been me. Go with God and forgive yourself.”
He saw again the awkward, gangly adolescent, whose face had betrayed him by sprouting a new eruption every day, adding to his already disabling insecurity about his appearance and his identity. The only place that adolescent had never been ill at ease was on the stages of his life when he seemed possessed by self-assurance that bordered on cock-sureness and sexual energy to spare. For those few hours, he had communed with his Heavenly Father and his earthly father looked on from the sidelines. For those few moments he had felt plugged in to the current; through him that charge had flowed outward to his audiences and from them back into and through his body and heart, forming a closed circuit of symbiotic transmission that nourished and drained both audience and self at the same time. Sometimes that flow had caused his body physical pain as it tore through him with a force strong enough to topple cities, leaving it exhausted and weak, his spine tingling and his neck and shoulders whiplashed as if he had been involved in a wreck of some kind. At other times the rush of energy had rejuvenated and gentled him and his audiences in a rocking of comfort and reviving emotion.
He would often remark that the stage was his only home, the only place that he felt entirely welcomed and completely at one with himself and with the universe. On stage, the stinging nettles of cruel criticism from his father couldn’t touch him. He was in command. He was lightning embodied in flesh, thunder incarnated in movement. He knew what he wanted to give his audiences – everything that he had been given – all the love – all the anger – all the joy – all the pain. He acknowledged how he wanted to give it – unstintingly and without reservation or thought to his own comfort – all out – full throttle – no holds barred, literally. He smiled in remembrance. Yes, it was those stage moments that he had lived for. And he knew that for this, too, he had to thank his human father as well as his Divine Father.
As an adult, he had carried that charism, that eucharist to an entirely new level. He had become something his world had never seen before – a global musical tsunami. When he whisked into a city, normal activity ceased – traffic was rerouted, stadiums were stripped and rebuilt to accommodate tons of speakers and lights and equipment, several floors of hotels were evacuated, welcoming committees were dispatched, hospitals and orphanages were overrun with camera crews and journalists following his movements from bed to bed as he graced the children with his presence. Normal life – pain, illness, weakness, fear – were memories until he departed.
He had crossed every barrier known to the human race – racial, generational, territorial, denominational, ideological, geographical – first with his music, then with his short films, and finally with his person arriving for performances and concerts. From Soweto to the Kremlin his music had touched them all; it was loved by young and old, rich and poor, black and white, male and female – all joined together to dance and sing along and celebrate the sheer joy of being alive.
When everyone was soft and malleable and pliant as clay in the master’s hands, he had delivered his Father’s message with a punch and a kick, a spin and a centrifugal force that left everyone, including himself, winded and awestruck. He saw now what he hadn’t seen when he had worn the blinders of human life. Through his body, his Divine Father had been carried on the vibrations of the rhythms, the sound waves of his voice, and the staccato beats of his feet dancing and spinning and moonwalking across the stages. Open hearts in every audience had taken from the stadium much, much more than they had brought in.
Hidden deep within his energetic, nearly manic performances was the seed of a message that would fall on fertile earth, blossom and grow – in some cases bearing immediate fruit – in others lying dormant and unheeded over a span of years until, at last, the tears shed at this – the hour of his departure – would water it and nourish it with his light into an exuberant budding of love, compassion, and healing that bore the potential of healing the world he loved with such devotion. He understood that they had heard his Father’s voice in his and he knew a moment of gratitude again for both of his fathers’ gifts to him.
His music had opened doors that had been shut, locked and barred years before during the Cold War on his small world. When the beats and melodies of his music had entered the hearts of the young people behind the Iron and Silk Curtains he had won them over.
In their love for him, they forgot to be suspicious of this foreigner, this representative of another ideology; they forgot to distrust his words and actions. Those beats and melodies were soon followed by his face which had then been followed by his person, contributing to a more open and curious perspective towards what had previously been viewed as the enemy. They had broken down the barriers to admit him into their hearts, their homes and their countries for short stays. Caucasians loved a black man, Russians loved an American, former members of the Communist-bloc rolled out the red carpet and treated him like a visiting monarch, poor Latinos danced in the streets to the music of someone from across the border. The barricades erected from distrust were cast aside by his music.
Who could view him as the enemy? His small, wraithlike, fragile body threatened no one. His soft voice and manner, his expressive doe-like eyes had disarmed their decades-long-held belief that only weapons of mass destruction could ever re-unify their populations. Just so had he made his small contribution to a more open and unified world by dismantling the suspicion with which each had viewed the other – song by song and brick by brick. And the walls that had separated them had come down without bloodshed or weapons when they danced and sang and clasped hands in their enthusiastic response to his presence. Within the stillness of his life review, he thought, “Thank You” and heard in reply, “No, Thank you.”
Once again the millions of faces turned towards him anxious to catch every single twitch – he saw their love, he saw their trust in him, he saw their loyalty, he saw their surrender, he saw their joy in him and he rejoiced with them.
He’d often wondered how they could relish being packed in a huge stadium like sardines in a can, shoulder-to-shoulder and hip-to-hip so tightly that raising their arms had to be accomplished with great care to avoid injuring their neighbors. But once the music and light shows had started, once they saw his slender frame enshrouded in a cloak of meteoric light or emerging from a space capsule or shot from beneath the stage, they had danced and sung along, clapped in all the right places in unison to accompany his performance, and thoroughly enjoyed themselves … as had he. They only noticed their aches and pains and bruises when they arrived back at their homes and settled down to remember what they’d been a part of … the reunification of a world.
They hadn’t known that he, on the other hand, had often been in too much pain – from his cracked and bleeding feet, his stretched and strained ligaments, the joint pain from his Lupus and the adrenalin rushing through his blood stream to produce that amount of energy exchange – to sleep for hours, sometimes days, depending on the time zones. He had hidden his agony from them as he had thought was only right and proper. They didn’t need to know what it cost him to give himself to them; they didn’t need to know the number of hours he devoted to perfecting that performance – that the voice had been primed by at least one, sometimes more, hour-long session of vocal exercises before each and every show with his voice coach, that those dance steps had been honed to rapier precision by personal trainers to build his almost super-human endurance and stamina, and hours of rehearsals.
Once again, he gave thanks for those beautiful faces and hands clasped together and waving in the air; lighting their BIC lighters during Earth Song and Heal the World and Man in the Mirror, they had replenished and refreshed the flame in his soul with their joy. They hadn’t known that he needed them to drive that performance as much as they needed him, though he had tried to tell them of his love for them every time he was handed a microphone or allowed to place the feet of his human body onto a platform or stage.
He knew in his silence that it was their tears that bathed him in their love – their sorrow – and his heart broke open at the pain they experienced now that he was no longer in their midst. He also knew that the plan he had lived was perfect and for the greatest good of all of them. Some of them had known him for years, but some had waited for this moment to awaken to his significance in their reality, to become more aware of the messages he imparted and to dedicate themselves to spreading those messages far and wide across their world.
From his earliest performance to his last rehearsal, the stage had fulfilled his every sleeping and waking dream and he could see in retrospect the beauty of his life as it was viewed by those watching and listening … the linear progression from boy to adolescent to man uninterrupted for over forty years.
Thank you…. just… thank you.
Siren xxx
Oh WOW…. WOW!!! I am speechless after reading such a beautiful description.
Simply beautiful…wondrous and inspiring…thank-you
No doubt about it…it happened just this way. How could it be otherwise? Thank you for putting into words what so many of us know but can’t articulate.
Jan,
This is beautiful….I can picture it all, happening exactly as you describe it….left me a little emotional thinking about the many sacrifices he willingly made, his need for healing when he left here. Oh how I would love to be one of his helpers that “ will lift you up lest you bruise your feet upon the rocks.”
If Michael’s radiance blinds even the One, well far less for a lesser mortal like me….no wonder I am constantly stunned when I look upon his face and see so much love and beauty radiating from it, truly “a being of such pure and unselfish love and beauty”.
Thank you for loving short story.
Jan I will simply say I Love You! ♥
Oh Jan – this incredible gift FROM you & TO you means so much & I am sobbing with the emotion is has evoked – God’s pain, Michael’s pain, God’s sacrifice & Michael’s sacrifice – are we worthy? Can humanity ever reach God’s ultimate goal to validate the great gifts given to us? This is not just a story but I feel it’s a vision of truth – and there is power in truth. Thank you from the abyss of my soul – you are truly gifted & blessed – mjxx
Michael never gave up on us, regardless of how shabbily we treated him. And God has never given up on us … or he wouldn’t have sent us Michael. So we must be worth it, although at times, I myself wonder about it.
Jan thank you so much for this story that so many of us that have come to know Michael would say that you have written not a story, but a biography..
Thank you from the bottom of my heart.
Beautiful. Divine. Thank You.
Jan, thank you so much for sharing this, it is magnificent. Bless you…
Michael is the most Glorious Luminous Lightning Rod of Divine Beauty ever gifted upon this planet….may God forgive us for everything…may we be worthy of a second chance…
I am crying too hard to say more right now….
What a fantastic creation from your heart, mind and soul. I believe it just might be true! It all fits. Very powerful.
Dear Jan…. “Michael: A Short Story” had me spellbound and hanging on your every word defining His boundless spiritual energy–energy which resonated during His time on this earth in the flesh, and which resonates still from His eternal presence in the cosmic sphere…of all the words that have been or can be written about Michael, it is these kinds of spiritual writings that truly paint the picture of who the Beloved really is….your words bring a calm to my soul even though they reveal the bitter truth of His sacrifice and the suffering He endured…He did it all for love….I can’t help but be gratefull for that…
How eloquently you have put into words the universal truth we have known all along, but could never really express. What a blessing you have given us. As we read your beautiful words, what was before residing only in the depth of our souls can now be processed with our minds. Eternally grateful to you.
Thank you so much. This is a beautiful story that wraps us into the essence of his life and ours. Your words connected our souls.
I Love each and every word you wroteof Our Her,I have fallen in Love With this Beautiful Gentle Soul Called Michael Jackson,he is the impetimaty of Love
I will never live another day without Michael in My Soul,God Bless You for Your Beautiful Words,I have to purchase your book, and keep it next to my Bible
“Love You More”
Doris
i am speechless and so emotional,,,,please publish this,,thanks!!!
Welcome to With a Child’s Heart, Irene!
I am in tears! I wonder how and when he will return, or if he will?? I loved him all his life, and will love him for the rest of mine!! A very beautiful story about a very beautiful man, a beautiful soul. Thank you so much!!
Thank you, Linda Forster. Michael: A Short Story is available in print format at my author’s Spotlight at Lulu. The link is:
http://www.lulu.com/spotlight/withachildsheart
Just finally got to reading this Jan. 🙂 I’m slow but eventually get there. Had me smiling. As you had written to me awhile back, it looks like we were seeing the same vision of Michael’s story… without even knowing each other at the time. Life is interesting… and magical… and mean to be. God bless you and all of us. ❤
Of course it was supposed to say, “and MEANT to be”… HA! 🙂