The Wisdom Within These Walls: Narrative Portraits of Wisdom

Copyright © 2015 Jessica McGhee-Stinson.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Balboa Press

A Division of Hay House

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.balboapress.com

1 (877) 407-4847

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

The author of this book does not dispense medical advice or prescribe the use of any technique as a form of treatment for physical, emotional, or medical problems without the advice of a physician, either directly or indirectly. The intent of the author is only to offer information of a general nature to help you in your quest for emotional and spiritual well-being. In the event you use any of the information in this book for yourself, which is your constitutional right, the author and the publisher assume no responsibility for your actions.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2897-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2899-9 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5043-2898-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015903866

Balboa Press rev. date: 10/2/2015

CONTENTS

Acknowledgements

Prologue

Introduction

Chapter 1 What Is Wisdom?

Where Do We Find Wisdom?

The Bridge For Wisdom

The Stuff Of Life

The Disease Of Not Enough

The Experience Of Life

The Space In-Between

Wisdom Matters

Chapter 2 Wisdom From Our Elders

Buckles And Buttons

Growing Up Cowboy

Living On The Edge Of Technology

Living History

The Elegy

Accentuate The Positive

Dream Big, Follow Your Heart, Live Free

Chapter 3 Wisdom In Uniform

Straighten Up And Fly Right

The Black Sands Of Iwo-Jima

The Forgotten War

Wounded Healer

3 Years, 10 Months, 23 Days, 9 Hours 45 Minutes Or Forever

The Odyssey

Chapter 4 Wisdom On The Other Side Of Darkness

A Thousand Forms Of Fear

Coffee With Sugar

The Ties That Bind

Flying Grandmother

Chapter 5 The Path To Wisdom

Consider The Past With Honor And Reverence

Consider Others With Honor And Reverence

Teach Your Children Well

Teach Your Parents Well

The Price Of Judgment

Soul Service

Our Last Breath

It Is Finished

Epilogue

A Reader’s Guide

Experience

Consider the Source

There Is No Time Like The Present

The Others In Our Lives

Forms

Portraits Of Wisdom

Acknowledgements

First and foremost, I want to acknowledge my Mother for who she is to me in this lifetime and for who she is in Spirit.

Mom, you set me on a life path of becoming a healer in the world, and as you consider my journey you should celebrate your singular role in helping to put me on course that has become my life. You planted the seeds of strength, will, loving, and perseverance—all the tools I needed to be aware that I am the only one who can create my life. You planted the seeds that I needed, and I used them where they were needed the most. I am grateful for everything, and I would not change anything because I love my life. Celebrate that Mom—because that is your legacy of wisdom to me in this lifetime. I love you in all ways and through all time.

Thank you to my dear husband and his family—my mother-in-law, father-in-law, and sister and brother-in-law who in their quiet, steady, unpretentious way provide much inspiration and support.

Thank you to my daughter Caleigh whose innocent question at 5 years of age generated a defining moment in my own story.

I am also so grateful to those who shared their stories with me. It is a great gift and I only hope that I do you honor by sharing them here.

There were many kind and generous family members, teachers and friends who offered insight, encouragement and guidance including: Sandy Haworth-South for her energy, creativity and enduring support in all things wisdom; Jamie LaRue, leader and teacher; Brenda Hicks Nesbitt, a dear friend, brilliant artist; Alec Nesbitt who was way too gracious and kind in editing; James Churches; founder of The Written Life for his notes on Tap Tapley; Kathy Gross who shared her father’s story so beautifully; Robin Slutsky for seeing the possibilities early on; Kimmy Brandon for making the right connections; Jillaina Wachendorf, dear friend and guide and happily now a partner in this work through Wish of a Lifetime.

I am privileged to be in company of many others who contributed through encouragement and blessings. May your generosity of spirit be returned to you a thousand fold.

Prologue

My mom had told us to pack as quickly and quietly as we could and to hide our clothes somewhere we could get to them easily when the time came. We would be leaving soon and we would have to be ready. My three brothers and I scrambled around the small house grabbing the things we thought we would need.

The attempt at reconciliation between my mom and dad was falling apart. The four of us had spent the summer with Dad in Kentucky and things went pretty well, so Mom joined us later in the fall in an attempt to re-unite the family. But the relationship between them was damaged beyond repair. The fights were becoming more frequent, angrier, more explosive. Bad went to worse and now in the early part of a cold, wet March it became clear that leaving was inevitable. It was just a question of when…and how.

That night was their wedding anniversary. Dad was particularly drunk, and Mom knew by then it would never work out between them. Dad left the house and took his car although he had no business driving. We were too young to know what all had led up to this, but we knew enough. So when Mom told us to gather everything we could and get it into her little car as quickly as we could, no one argued. It was time to go.

The tiny country house where we lived was set back from the driveway so we had to scramble across a large open field to reach the car. That night, the field was muddy and we stumbled across it in the dark dropping things along the way. But we couldn’t risk the possibility of being caught or seen by my dad should he return. Every time a car would approach on the road up ahead my brothers and I would drop to the ground until the car passed, it’s headlights swinging over our heads as we fell to our knees or lay prone in the red Kentucky mud.

My mom’s little car was packed full. It would have to transport the four of us kids, my mom and everything we could carry all the way back home to Colorado. There was hardly room for us, and there certainly would be no room for the family dogs, Gino and Heidi.

Gino was part bulldog and part boxer—a little fireplug of a mutt. But he was the precise combination of loyalty and loving four kids needed. He was fiercely protective of us and of the little dachshund Heidi when she joined the family. Gino nearly lost a leg in a ferocious fight with a pack of wild dogs one night when they attacked Heidi who was in heat. He fought them off until my mom and my older brother Sam could get outside with broom sticks and scare the pack off—but Gino’s leg was mangled in the brawl. He recovered eventually, but now we had to leave him behind.

The five of us squeezed into the little car. My mom and older brother Sam sat in front. My two little brothers and I crammed into the back in between suitcases and bags of belongings. Frightened, confused, uncertain…what about Gino? What about my 5th grade friends? Would I be going to school on Monday? Would I be able to say goodbye to them? I couldn’t quite grasp that we were leaving for good, that I would never see those friends, or my sweet Gino and Heidi ever again.

My mom turned the ignition and nothing happened. She pumped the gas and tried again. Nothing. She cursed and hit the steering wheel with her hands and started to cry. Damn! Damn! Damn! Young as we were, we could feel her defeat, her fear and her desperation.

My older brother Sam who was 11 at the time said let me try something. He jumped out of the car and told Mom to pop the hood. He had a vague memory of a mechanic’s lesson and knew just enough to check the sparkplugs….sure enough they were lose. My father had disconnected them to prevent us from leaving.

Groping around with only the headlights of the car for visibility, Sam and Mom fumblingly reconnected the sparkplugs—or at least most of them. They got back in the car and everyone held their breath while Mom tried one more time to start the car. We let out a huge cheer when the engine sputtered to life. Cheer for Sam, cheer for freedom, cheer for a new life as we pulled out of the muddy driveway and headed west.

It wasn’t long after we were back in Colorado and trying to get settled that Dad would call. Drunk. Angry. Professing how much he loved us, how much he missed us. He would also call the police and tell them that his four kids had been abandoned and had been left at home alone. We would all be roused from a deep sleep to find police officers banging on the door at 2 or 3 am in the morning; Mom, my grandmother Lyla who lived with us, and four terrified kids in our jammies proving to the police that we weren’t abandoned or abused.

The night my father called for the last time we were all home together. It was just after dinner when the phone rang. My little brother Stephen who was 8 at the time answered and almost immediately began crying; hard. We all knew it was Dad calling.

Stephen was weeping uncontrollably and then dropped the phone. He was more distressed than I have ever seen another human being. He began boxing his own ears, his hands flaying wildly about his head hitting himself