Birdies

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Dear Paul, Ben and Sarah, and Melanie,

cc: file, Grandma Hafen via Tony Hafen, Pauline Nelson via mail, Sara and Des Penny, Claude and Katherine Warner, and Lloyd and Luana Warner.

Welcome to "Thoughtlets." This is a weekly review of an idea, belief, thought, or words that will hopefully be of some benefit to you, my children, with an electronic copy to on-line extended family members. Any of you can ask me not to clutter your mail box at any time.

"Wednesday I received the following e-mail from Ben:

`This is a true story that occurred in 1994 and was told by Lloyd Glen. ************ Throughout our lives we are blessed with spiritual experiences, some of which are very sacred and confidential, and others, although sacred, are meant to be shared. Last summer my family had a spiritual experience that had a lasting and profound impact on us, one we feel must be shared. It's a message of love. It's a message of regaining perspective, and restoring proper balance and renewing priorities. In humility. I pray that I might, in relating this story, give you a gift my little son, Brian gave our family one summer day last year. On July 22nd I was in route to Washington DC for a business trip. It was all so very ordinary, until we landed in Denver for a plane change. As I collected my belongings from the overhead bin, an announcement was made for Mr. Lloyd Glenn to see the United Customer Service Representative immediately. I thought nothing of it until I reached the door to leave the plane and I heard a gentleman asking every male if they were Mr. Glenn. At this point I knew something was wrong and my heart sunk. When I got off the plane a solemn-faced young man came toward me and said, "Mr. Glenn there is an emergency at your home. I do not know what the emergency is, or who is involved, but I will take you to the phone so you can call the hospital. My heart was now pounding, but the will to be calm took over. Woodenly, I followed this stranger to the distant telephone where I called the number he gave me for the Mission Hospital. My call was put through to the trauma center where I learned that my three-year-old son had been trapped underneath the automatic garage door for several minutes, and that when my wife had found him he was dead. CPR had been performed by a neighbor, who is a doctor, and the paramedics had continued the treatment as Brian was transported to the hospital. By the time of my call, Brian was revived and they believed he would live, but they did not know how much damage had been done to his brain, nor to his heart. They explained that the door had completely closed on his little sternum right over his heart. He had been severely crushed. After speaking with the medical staff, my wife sounded worried but not hysterical, and I took comfort in her calmness. The return flight seemed to last forever, but finally I arrived at the hospital six hours after the garage door had come down. When I walked into the intensive care unit, nothing could have prepared me to see my little son laying so still on a great big bed with tubes and monitors everywhere. He was on a respirator. I glanced at my wife who stood and tried to give me a reassuring smile. It all seemed like a terrible dream. I was filled in with the details and given a guarded prognosis. Brian was going to live, and the preliminary tests indicated that his heart was ok-two miracles, in and of themselves. But only time would tell if his brain received any damage. Throughout the seemingly endless hours, my wife was calm. She felt that Brian would eventually be all right. I hung on to her words and faith like a lifeline. All that night and the next day Brian remained unconscious. It seemed like forever since I had left for my business trip the day before. Finally at two o'clock that afternoon, our son regained consciousness and sat up uttering the most beautiful words I have ever heard spoken, He said, "Daddy hold me," and he reached for me with his little arms. By the next day he was pronounced as having no neurological or physical deficits, and the story of his miraculous survival spread throughout the hospital. You cannot imagine our gratitude and joy. As we took Brian home we felt a unique reverence for the life and love of our Heavenly Father that comes to those who brush death so closely. In the days that followed there was a special spirit about our home. Our two older children were much closer to their little brother. My wife and I were much closer to each other, and all of us were very close as a whole family. Life took on a less stressful pace. Perspective seemed to be more focused, and balance much easier to gain and maintain. We felt deeply blessed. Our gratitude was truly profound. Almost a month later to the day of the accident, Brian awoke from his afternoon nap and said, "Sit down mommy. I have something to tell you." At this time in his life, Brian usually spoke in small phrases, so to say a large sentence surprised my wife. She sat down with him on his bed and he began his sacred and remarkable story. "Do you remember when I got stuck under the garage door? Well it was so heavy and it hurt really bad. I called to you, but you couldn't hear me. I started to cry, but then it hurt too bad. And then the "birdies" came "The birdies?" my wife asked puzzled. "Yes," he replied. "The birdies" made a whooshing sound and flew into the garage. They took care of me." "They did?" "Yes, he said." "One of the "birdies" came and got you. She came to tell you I got stuck under the door." A sweet reverent feeling filled the room. The spirit was so strong and yet lighter than air. My wife realized that a three year-old had no concept of death and spirits, so he was referring to the beings who came to him from beyond as "birdies" because they were up in the air like birds that fly. "What did the birdies look like?" she asked. Brian answered. "They were so beautiful. They were dressed in white all white. Some of them had green and white. But some of them had on just white." "Did they say anything?" "Yes" he answered. They told me the baby would be alright." "The baby?" my wife asked confused. And Brian answered. "The baby laying on the garage floor." He went on, "You came out and opened the garage door and ran to the baby. You told the baby to stay and not leave." My wife nearly collapsed upon hearing this, for she had indeed gone and knelt beside Brian's body and seeing his crushed chest and unrecognizable features, knowing he was already dead, she looked up around her and whispered, "Don't leave us Brian, please stay if you can. As she listened to Brian telling her the words she had spoken, she realized that the spirit had left his body and was looking down from above on this little lifeless form. "Then what happened?" she asked. "We went on a trip." he said, "far, far away.." He grew agitated trying to say the things he didn't seem to have the words for. My wife tried to calm and comfort him, and let him know it would be okay. He struggled with wanting to tell something that obviously was very important to him, but finding the words was difficult. "We flew so fast up in the air." "They're so pretty Mommy." he added. "And there is lots and lots of "birdies". My wife was stunned. Into her mind the sweet comforting spirit enveloped her more soundly, but with an urgency she had never before known. Brian went on to tell her that the 'birdies' had told him that he had to come back and tell everyone about the "birdies". He said they brought him back to the house and that a big fire truck, and an ambulance were there. A man was bringing the baby out on a white bed and he tried to tell the man the baby would be okay, but the man couldn't hear him. He said, "birdies told him he had to go with the ambulance, but they would be near him. He said, they were so pretty and so peaceful, and he didn't want to come back. And then the bright light came. He said that the light was so bright and so warm, and he loved the bright light so much. Someone was in the bright light and put their arms around him, and told him, "I love you but you have to go back. You have to play baseball, and tell everyone about the birdies." Then the person in the bright light kissed him and waved bye-bye. Then whoosh, the big sound came and they went into the clouds." The story went on for an hour. He taught us that "birdies" were always with us, but we don't see them because we look with our eyes and we don't hear them because we listen with our ears. But they are always there, you can only see them in here (he put his hand over his heart). They whisper the things to help us to do what is right because they love us so much. Brian continued, stating, "I have a plan, Mommy. You have a plan. Daddy has a plan. Everyone has a plan. We must all live our plan and keep our promises. The "birdies help us to do that cause they love us so much." In the weeks that followed, he often came to us and told all, or part of it again and again. Always the story remained the same. The details were never changed or out of order. A few times he added further bits of information and clarified the message he had already delivered. It never ceased to amaze us how he could tell such detail and speak beyond his ability when he spoke of his "birdies." Everywhere he went, he told strangers about the "birdies". Surprisingly, no one ever looked at him strangely when he did this. Rather, they always get a softened look on their face and smiled. Needless to say, we have not been the same ever since that day, and I pray we never will be.'

What a wonderful story. Even though the scientists in me says it might be just a story and wants to meet Lloyd Glen and check out how true it all is, the story fits my model of the universe. I was particularly struck by the comment about some of the birdies wearing green and white, and it reminded me how Ken Turner painted the trees in my painting to form a type of apron for the St. George Temple where all of the angels are drawn traveling back and forth between heaven and earth (see `Prime Words' (http://www.walden3d.com/w3d/prime_words/paintings/small_VII.gif). I do believe there are angels, or what the story calls birdies, among us.

Seven chronological examples from my own life, three tied to horse wrecks, one to a near farm accident, and three to a car wrecks will hopefully illustrate the depth of my conviction of how `birdies' are watching over us.

First: When I was young, maybe 10 years old, I had a horse accident at Calf Springs Ranch. I was staying there with Glenn and his first wife Connie. We had gone up to the Upper Meadow to get some cows, and I was riding Old Buck. Grandpa Hafen reminded me many times, over the following years how I must not have had the reigns tight enough. The horse got spooked, probably by a rattlesnake, and took off across the sagebrush and rocks towards the gate just south of the garage. I couldn't stop him, and somehow stayed on until he stopped for a fence. I went over Old Buck's head and landed on a big flat volcanic rock. I was out cold. I don't know how long it took Glenn to find me, to take me to the house, to drive 7 miles to Enterprise and to call Mom, to drive the 45 miles to Cedar City, or for the Doctors to look at me. I remember waking up in the hospital in Cedar City and asking for a drink of water. Then I remember waking up the next day in my bed out on the farm. I remember being very glad to be alive.

Second: I had two significant accidents on the one horse I had as a colt, and personally broke. I didn't do a very good job of breaking the horse. He never got to where, when I turned him towards the corrals and he started for home, I could not stop him. This would have been when I was about 14 or 15. The first accident happened when someone (probably me) shut the gate into the feed yard. I don't remember the horse's name. However, I remember when he hit that gate at a full gallop, threw his head back into my face, smashed my glasses, and gave me a six or eight stitch scar in my left eyebrow. Explain to me how there was not a piece of broken glass in my eye, if there are no birdies? As I look back on this event and consider the importance of sight in all of the work I do, it is absolutely amazing there was nothing but a cut and a trip to the hospital.

Third: The second accident with this horse happened the same summer, when I rode him down to the grainery to get grain for my stockshow calf. I was on him bareback. He ran away again, only this time he had to stop because there was this big cement building in the way. When he stopped, I went right over his head and landed on my head. Steve Lovell was watching the whole comedy from out in the fields where he was turning the irrigation water. I remember him running over, all worried, and me getting up, dizzy. He said, `You sure have a hard head.' Think what happend to Christopher Reeves (Superman) with a no more serious throw.

Fourth: Probably a year later, Ray Gardner came out to visit me on the farm. We needed to move one of the plows, and I put Ray in the drivers seat of the tractor. I was holding up the hitch on the plow so he could ease the tractor back into it, I could drop the pin in, and it would be hooked up. His foot slipped off of the clutch and the tractor jumped back and hit the hitch very hard. I don't remember everything that happened, I just remember feeling like my had was moved out of the way. I also remember being very upset at Ray for almost causing a most serious accident.

Fifth: When I was 16 or maybe 17 and driving The Red Apple (.../9832.html), I had my most serious accident. Dad and I had gone fishing up Right Hand Canyon at Kolob Reservoir the Friday before. We had lost a bumper or a jack out of the pickup, and I wanted to go back and see if I could find it. On Thursday Dad always delivered meat down in St. George, and points in between. He must of got off early, because I did not go with him on this Thursday. I also must have finished my chores early, because Charlie Garfield, myself, and two girls went up the canyon in The Red Apple to see if we could find the missing equipment. We didn't find it, and close to dusk we headed back down the mountain. There was a sprinkle of rain. I was driving with one arm around the girl with me. The power steering helped me too much and I over compensated when the car skidded a little on the wet gravel road. The car skidded with the passenger side downhill, and rolled 360 degrees, landing back on it's wheels. We did not have seat belts on. The girl with me, who was a cousin of one of the girls in my class, hit her head on the back side window and broke the glass. The front windshield popped out. There were no serious injuries. It was a tank, and in that sense we were very well protected. However, in looking back, I can't help but feel there were `birdies' watching over us.

Sixth: Grandma called in about February of 1969 and asked if I would drive a new yellow Cadilac she had bought to St. George for her. She went on to say, if Ray Gardner rode down with me she would buy us both plane tickets on Hugh's Airwest back to Salt Lake. How could two homesick freshman turn that down? So we picked up the car after school on Friday evening and headed out for Cedar City. We did not check the weather. There was no problem until we pulled out of the little town of Holden, just past Filmore. As I accelerated the car started to spin on black ice, went around in a circle, and stopped with the front bumper against a little grassy hill. As we pulled the grass off of the bumper, all of a sudden there was a real concern about the responsiblity of driving this brand new, very, very expensive car to Cedar City. The car did not have snow tires, and it was just starting to drizzle and snow. Obviously the road was already iced over. As we continued through the Beaver Mountains, the drizzle turned into a blizzard. There were a couple of times the car was almost going sideways. However, I was a pretty good driver, we slowed way down, and were slowly making our way OK. As we were going down the big hill just before Cove Fort, the snow was so thick we could not see a car length in front of ourselves. All of a sudden Raymond started to yell there is a semi-truck coming right at us from the back. I was afraid to hit the brake, and instinctively shifted down the gear. It acted like a break and the back of the car spun to the right, allowing the truck to barely miss that corner. The wind from the truck probably pushed the car to the side enough it didn't hit us. As it passed we both were completely frazzled. We limped on into Beaver, where I called Dad and told him we were going to spend the night in a motel in Beaver. He asked `Why?' saying `The stars are out here.' So we got back in the car and drove to Cedar. Both of us felt like we had been saved by our guardian angels. Having experienced it, I do not see how it could just be luck. It was the `birdies.'

Seventh: When I was in Ipswich on my mission I had an accident. Because it is late I will not look up the exact date in my journal. It was probably in about March of 1971. I had been out about 5 months, and the brakes on my bike were getting worn. We would put 30+ miles a day on our bikes. This day we were late for an appointment out on Whitten Church Lane, and so we were hurrying in the light rain on the inside of a line of cars next to the sidewalk. (Remember they drive on the opposite side of the street in England as we do.) As we went along, I was in front, and a white Volkswagon turned left into a sidestreet without signaling. I was right there and hit the back of his front fender, went over the hood, and made a four point landing (two hands, one knee, and my chin). So much for that suit. The abrassions on my hands hurt, and were bearable. The 12 stitches in my chin could have been much more serious without the softening help of the `birdies.' We taught a half a dozen lessons to nurses and others at the hospital. As an aside, since taking PAIRS, I've wondered if these head injuries have had other impacts on my life.

Surely there are those who will say `It is just ego to think you were not just lucky in each of the seven examples you recalled. Your luck has just run out the last few years in other areas of your life" (the HyperMedia failure, the divorce, etc.). Surely there are there are those who will say `It was your genetic makeup and the environment you grew up in which allowed you to be able to handle these (and other) experiences, as well as you have.' Please listen with your heart to the next words your mind perceives, which is another way of me sharing my testimony of angels or birdies: `I know my life has been extended. I believe this has been because I can be of service to my God! I recognize His hand in my life. Accordingly I have dedicated my life to serving Him and His work. I made this commitment back in 1968, and inspite of all of my weaknesses, I continue to strive to provide this service.' Do you know in your heart this is true? You do, if you are listening to perception.

If I am as intense as Roice's friend Rick implied by his question to my Sister (.../9829.html), it is because I value life. I see this same intensity with my friends who served in the Israeli services. You kids know David, who was a tank commander the last time Israel and Lebonon went after each other. He was 15 miles behind enemy lines and within a couple of miles of Arafat's headquarters when he was stopped (and this was before the other side even knew they were being attacked). Those I know who have put their life on the line for others believe in divine guidance, or `birdies.' They might be Mormon, Christian, Jewish, Hindu, or Buddist. They might even be agnostic. They see and feel something outside themselves. For me, maybe it is because my Dad and both of my Grandfathers were taken early, two from cancer tied to the atomic tests (.../9802.html) and one from a farm accident (.../9805.html). Whatever the reason, I know I consider life a gift, and I am glad to stive to live it life the fullest possible measure. I'm glad to be intense.

Monday I met with Ed Rogers and Ken Turner about turning HGOL (Heritage Galleries On-Line: http://www.walden3d.com/hgol) into a real business. I had never given Ed a copy of the prints, and he was suitably impressed (Melanie, thanks for making up the new packets). We had a long call with MuSE in Albequerque in the afternoon about the SEG demonsrations. I want more to happen than is possible by the 13th of September. Tuesday we had our staff meeting, the SEG team meeting, then continued our staff meeting for another hour and a half. Wednesday I went downtown and met with Wulf and Rick. I'm trying to put together a joint venture where our Service Center, Wulf's processing team, and Rick's exploration team all benefit. I worked quite late on Tuesday and Thursday evenings doing interpretations for the demonstrations. Rob came to dinner and Family Home Evening on Monday and we went to dinner on Wednesday before Young Men's. Friday I left the house at 5:15 AM, drove to Intercontinental, flew to Tulsa, got wrong directions as to how to get to Bartlesville, drove 40 miles in the wrong direction and drove faster than the `birdies' to get to Phillips offices only 20 minutes late, gave a two hour presentation to about 35 people, had lunch with the bosses, drove back to Tulsa, met with 3 researchers at BP-Amoco research (is everyone aware BP is purchasing Amoco?), worked on mail and other stuff at the airport until the battery ran out, flew back to Houston, and got to the house about 9:45 PM to fill up the water tubes for the new water bed upstairs. Rob and Joe helped me.

Saturday it rained and so I didn't go for a run. Larry and Ben and I helped Mike Smith move some couches and refrigerators. It was kind of a bait and switch, and the hour job turned into three hours. Oh well! It was fun to do some service with Ben. Ben, Sarah, Rob, Joe, and I went to lunch at The Original Pasta Company, went to Saturn to talk about a car for Ben and Sarah, went to the movie `Do you want to dance,' and went to The Marble Slab for ice cream. I went to the grocery store after we got back. Today was David Grua's missionary farewell. I played and sang the song I have written on the first 6 chapters of Job to Rob. He fell asleep. It has been a quite, and yet a busy week. I got the longest letter yet from Paul on Tuesday, and I have intended everyday to write you an equally long response. Oh well! Rob didn't want to read it because it started out `This is not a family letter.' Paul, Sarah read it and was suprised about how strong you reacted to she just saw as advise. Ben also read it, and didn't give any comments. In case anyone else feels like Paul, and for everyone's information, I am not sitting in a pool of self pity. I hope these thoughlets demonstrate that. I hope I can hear the birdies talking to my heart when there is something one of you needs to hear and that something I write will be of benefit to you. I love each of you with all my heart.'

I'm interested in sharing weekly a "thoughtlet" (little statements of big thoughts which mean a lot to me) with you because I know how important the written word can be. I am concerned about how easy it is to drift and forget our roots and our potential among all of distractions of daily life. To download any of these thoughtlets go to http://www.walden3d.com/thoughtlets or e-mail me at rnelson@walden3d.com.

With all my love,
Dad
(H. Roice Nelson, Jr.)

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Copyright © 1998 H. Roice Nelson, Jr.