Some crossings happen quietly.
Others stop me in my tracks.
This one began with a little girl who didn’t want me to see her.
She kept herself turned away, curled into herself, carrying a weight that no child should ever have to carry. I didn’t ask her to look at me. Instead, I sat beside her.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “You don’t have to let me see you.”
For a while, we simply talked.
Little by little, she scooted closer until she was leaning against me, as children do when they’re trying to decide if someone is safe.
Then I became aware of something else.
Whether you think of it as an earthbound spirit, the energy of shame, or something our minds create when trauma takes root, it was relentless.
It whispered that she was awful.
That what happened was her fault.
That she didn’t deserve to leave.
As I wrapped an arm around her and held her close, a trusted helper appeared and quietly took that presence away.
The silence afterward felt different.
Lighter.
Only then could we talk about what had happened.
She told me she hadn’t listened to her parents. A stranger had lured her away with puppies.
She believed that single decision defined her forever.
My heart broke.
Because she wasn’t describing a choice made by an informed adult.
She was describing exactly what children do.
Children trust.
Children are curious.
Children don’t recognize manipulation because they haven’t yet learned the world can contain it.
The fault never belonged to her.
It belonged to the person who used her innocence against her.
As she began to understand that, something shifted.
Then a dog appeared.
His name was Rex.
Instead of running to him, she froze.
It made perfect sense.
The last time puppies had appeared, they had led her into danger.
“How do I know?” she asked.
I smiled.
“This isn’t those puppies,” I told her. “This is your Rex. He came just for you.”
Her angel gently encouraged her too.
Finally, she reached out.
Rex wagged his tail with all the certainty that only a beloved dog can carry.
She smiled for what felt like the first time.
Then they walked away together.
I’ve thought about that little girl ever since.
Not because of how she died.
But because of what she believed afterward.
How many of us are still sitting where she was?
Still convinced that one mistake…
One moment…
One decision…
Makes us unworthy of peace.
Maybe the hardest crossing isn’t from one world into another.
Maybe it’s crossing from shame into compassion.
And maybe, just maybe, we’re greeted by the ones who have loved us all along.
Sometimes with wings.
Sometimes with four paws. 🐾
These stories are shared exactly as I experienced them. I don’t expect everyone to interpret them the same way. My hope is simply that they offer comfort, encourage reflection, or remind someone that love may reach farther than we imagine.
Your turn to stir the tea