The Silver Lining

Jennifer Lynch

Journeymakers, Inc. Publishing

The Silver Lining Jennifer Lynch Copyright © 2010 Jennifer Lynch www.angelwisdom.co.uk

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. Published in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the publisher. All characters and events in The Silver Lining are entirely fictional and any resemblance to any person living or dead is purely coincidental. Published by Journeymakers, Inc. www.voiceoftheangels.com In arrangement with Jennifer Lynch

ISBN 13: 978-0-9841142-2-1 ISBN 10: 0-9841142-2-X

Printed in the United States of America 12 11 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

I dedicate this book to my very brave mother with love.

CONTENTS
The Silver Lining ............................................................................... 7 When Will it Stop Raining? ............................................................. 8 School Was Horrid.......................................................................... 14 Identity is Important to Us ........................................................... 17 More About Adoption ................................................................... 18 Finding a Comfortable & Serene Slot in Which to Dwell ........ 20 Facing Up to Our Truth................................................................. 21 My Shadow ....................................................................................... 22 Acceptance ...................................................................................... 23 Vibration of Love in the Heart Centre ....................................... 23 Where is the Spoke in Your Wheel? ............................................. 25 Grounding is as Important as ABC ............................................. 28 Universal Expectations – What Are You Attracting? ................ 29 Feeling Second Best Keeps Us in the Lack ................................ 33 Whatever We Think of, We Attract, or Energy Flows Where Attention Goes ............................................................ 34 The Pendulum is Swinging ........................................................... 36 Why Do We Think There is Only So Much Money in the World? ............................................................................. 37 Counting Your Blessings ................................................................ 39 Stuck in a Rut - Time to Move On ............................................... 41 More Detail about Accepting Second Best ................................ 43 A Few Weeks Later ........................................................................ 46 Gillian Two ....................................................................................... 48 Boundaries – Why Do We Need Them? ..................................... 51 Fran ................................................................................................... 53 Holding On Too Tightly ............................................................... 59 Loving From Your Heart ............................................................... 59 Growing Tall and Strong................................................................ 64 Living in the Now ........................................................................... 64 The Stronger Sun ............................................................................ 67 Forty and Beginning To Surf ........................................................ 70 The Importance of Our Inner Child ........................................... 73

Are Angels Real? ............................................................................. 77 Abundance and Dirty Money........................................................ 81 Free Will .......................................................................................... 88 There Has To Be a Plan ................................................................ 93 Forgiveness Allows Our Love to Flow Like a Mountain Stream ............................................ 95 Someone Was Listening ............................................................... 101 Afterword – Grieving and Releasing .......................................... 103 I Am a Rainbow ............................................................................ 108

Jennifer L ynch

The Silver Lining
As my life unfolds I see a silver lining. High up in the clouds, far beyond the magenta, higher than violet, lies the shimmering silver. Some may view it as “the Gods” providing a comforting blanket of protection for us humans on planet Earth. Perhaps we can see it as a friendly buffer zone, a time to catch our breath and to reflect, as we fall gracefully into the arms of angels. So many times in my life I have felt very near to giving up. I am sure that this may sound familiar to many. But what a tragic mistake, if at those truly desperate times, I had given up. My life would have been cut very short and I would never have had the opportunity to experience the magical silver lining, nor would I have mentally stretched out its creases or felt its huge expanse. Even now as I write this book, I can see it in my mind’s eye glistening amongst the stars. Does it exist purely to save humanity by allowing us to jump into it like some giant trampoline? Or is there another more profound reason for the lining, perhaps one which enables us to express a part of us, which is so often hidden, like the child in us that at times we think has left or gone away? So I am asking you now to reach out and find your child within and let him or her speak to you as he or she has so much to say to you about the real you, the real you who needs to be loved, cherished, and nurtured. Take the blanket now as you see it in your imagination and swaddle it around you. Your inner child needs to

Jennifer L ynch

be comforted. Your child needs to know that the adult part of you is going to look after him or her, to protect and communicate that he or she is safe and will be looked after, especially when he or she goes out to explore God’s garden.

When Will It Stop Raining?
It rained on my life when I was ten years old because my mother had a stroke. At the time, I didn’t know the word “stroke” or what it meant, but then I hadn’t really known the word “adoption.” It was just a word. But it sounded disabling. It was disabling. It was awful and it felt as if a part of me was torn away because my mother had become someone different. The change resulted in something really large and that something was a “something” I couldn’t really comprehend, although, God help me, I tried. Mum lay in a hospital bed and just didn’t come home. My father was grumpy and cross most of the time. Under the circumstances it was not surprising. To be fair to my poor father, he was doing the best he could. But I expected my parents to be cheerful all the time and I certainly didn’t understand why he was so angry. We asked if we could see Mum in the hospital, but we also knew that our father didn’t like hospitals as he hated the smell. When I was there, I sniffed and I let the hospital air fill my small lungs to see if there was anything evil or nasty about it, but I always felt quite safe.

~8~

The SiLver Lining

Dad knew that he had to take us to see our mother, so eventually we went, three children all very subdued and quiet. I had thought a hospital was a comforting place where you could snuggle up under a blanket, a place where you could go to sleep without being prodded. No one ever shouted in a hospital. It felt a bit like a library because it was expected that you should only talk in a quiet whisper. So when we went to the hospital we were always extremely well behaved, or tried to be. We were three little girls all under the age of twelve, so desperately wanting to see their mother and wondering what on earth was going on. She sat propped up against some pillows and was smiling at us wearing one of her new nighties. New nighties were for the hospital, to look smart when you are ill. This was another thing beyond my comprehension. I loved her face. It looked so gentle and reassuring as she told us that she would be home soon. And we were also told that we had nothing to worry about as they were just doing some routine tests. We were assured that it would only be a few more weeks before she returned home. I thought she looked happy, as if there were nothing the matter with her. I firmly believed whatever was said to us. But surely there must be something to worry about because we were in Cheltenham General Hospital. And people didn’t stay in this hospital for this length of time unless there was a problem. Cheltenham General Hospital was a rambling old building with high windows and very long corridors and far too many wards. The floors were polished until they squeaked under your feet and smiling nurses bustled along long plain corridors which smelt of disinfectant. Days soon
~9~

Jennifer L ynch

turned into weeks and my heart ached for my mother. Just when was she going to come home? Home from school at lunchtime, we had oxtail soup (an ox’s tail?) It made me feel a little sick but it still warmed me inside on a cold winter’s morning. With a chunk of homemade bread on the side of the plate cut roughly, it really didn’t taste that bad. The bread was very nice, so I ate it rapidly as I watched the clock. It would soon be time to go back to school and I didn’t want to go to school. I really didn’t like it. I had forgotten the days we had sports altogether, so that there would be no need to bring my PE kit. If I forgot my kit, I would be yelled at. But then I couldn’t bring myself to look at the bottom of my kit as I knew the smell of the new rubber gym shoes would make me feel wobbly, especially as I hadn’t even worn them yet and it was now nearing the end of the summer term. I remember many weeks back my mother had written a note about my bad chest, which excused me from games. I hoped the note would last for a very long time. “Jenny is allergic to the grass and she must be kept off the playing field,” she had emphasised with great accuracy. Fortunately my teacher had gotten the message loud and clear. My mother was my greatest friend when it came to writing notes. And school was definitely my greatest enemy. When it came to it, I would be happy for the new gym shoes to be outgrown long before they ever got put on my feet. Only now, many years later, I can see that at this time in her life my mother had a definite choice to make about her health. She had suffered a severe stroke, which meant that her life would never be quite the same again. After that she
~ 10 ~

The SiLver Lining

suffered from double vision a lot of the time, along with a severe loss of balance due to muscle damage at the back of her eyes, and a loss of feeling in one arm and leg plus sometimes her hands. She very soon found that there were all sorts of tasks that we generally take for granted that she could no longer do. For example, she found it difficult to get through shop doors, so we children had to take over the shopping and wandered around the local co-op trying to find the items we needed. How could our mother ever have the strength in her arms to open the shop door with bags of shopping and at the same time hold her walking stick? Worse than that were the glaring strip lights in the shop which upset her eyes. The shop lights affected her balance really badly and she could easily topple over. How could she go into town on the bus when twenty paces proved to be far enough for her to walk? Even cooking a meal for three young children without being able to use both hands properly became a major challenge for her. The days were dark, and a low creeping depression started to form upon our family. Not only had we moved house to an area where we knew no one but our mother had, through no choice of her own, become a different person. She didn’t want to move because everything was so much of an effort. This meant that we had to try to look after ourselves as well as the house at times, which was very challenging. The outer wall of our house adjoined the wall of the co-op. The sound of the banging trolleys was a reminder of the inherent hopelessness that we all felt.

~ 11 ~

Jennifer L ynch

I hear the trolleys bang against the wall And hope that they will wake me up Wake my mother up and bring her back. Make her be the mother she was, the mother who was able to walk fast. The mother who had time to listen. The mother who took us for walks around the stone walls of York. I wanted to stay in my pushchair Where I was safe I didn’t want to grow up. I hate it I didn’t want to know about Cupboards and shopping Why aren’t things how they were? I loved living in York when I was little but now things Have changed so much since Mum got ill None of it is her fault but I still hate it One day many weeks later, our mother “woke up” when I had almost given up hope. I thought things would stay the same forever but I was wrong. She realised what she had to do, as no one was going to help her get better but her. I remember thinking that something had changed and things felt different. They certainly had. Our mother had made her choice. And that choice was to try. Trying doesn’t come easy in a dark place, in a new town without friends and three young children. Trying is from another place altogether. You could call it a faith place, a God place. But it is something we all have within, if we can only access that part of us. Perhaps it is a place of reserve that we sometimes imagine has gone away from us. Yet it is

~ 12 ~

The SiLver Lining

still to be found during truly urgent times when we explore all of those vacant and empty places within us. We so often find this inner strength when we have nearly given up hope and we suddenly realise that we have become connected to our higher or wiser self. It is always there for us in our stillness like a calming voice, which suddenly knocks the sense into us. That is “trying.” And it is hard. One day when I had been going to my new high school for a few months or so, I came home to see, to my utter astonishment, a very long piece of knitting rolling across the lounge floor. It was a green jumper, perhaps, or a scarf. It was quite big. Then I realised that my mother had been knitting, but how? Still no dinner – I could wait for that – as the knitting was suddenly so exciting that I was grinning from ear to ear. “I can knit on these huge needles. It is quite easy!” she said. The needles were indeed very large. I didn’t even know that you could get needles like that. The needles took on a life of their own as they gently clacked away. I heard them frequently and I grew to love them. Clacking of needles heal her, heal her, Clacking of needles, knitting and mending, Mending, knitting and believing. Clacking of needs show us the way, Show us the way. I looked out of the windows and believe it or not, it was no longer raining and sometimes I could even see the sun. It was still very lonely. Why were we here? What are we
~ 13 ~

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doing in a little box of a house on an unknown street, in an unknown town? And click, clack was all I heard. But click clack said something to me.

School Was Horrid
When I started at the high school it was all so new and different. It was a new school in a new town and a uniform with a school tie, which could have been quite smart if I hadn’t hated it. But then I wasn’t use to wearing a tie. Everybody wore ties at my school, or so the uniform shop had told me, which just wasn’t true. I wore the tie begrudgingly as I knew that being the new girl I would feel odd anyway, whatever I wore. I would stand out like a sore thumb especially as I had an accent, which was different than theirs. I had come from Cheltenham in Gloucestershire and this was Ipswich in the late ‘seventies and they were certainly different in Ipswich. Hopefully if I didn’t speak to anyone at all for a week or two they would leave me alone. And by the time they got used to seeing me I would fit in a bit more. Until then, my lips were sealed. “Do you know what happens when you have sex?” This was all I seemed to hear. It must have been something to do with being twelve. “No, well, I am not really sure that I do,” I would reply. But to be honest I was a lot more concerned about other things. Why ask me this when I was only trying to find the classrooms? Sometimes I couldn’t find the classroom
~ 14 ~

The SiLver Lining

at all and I missed the whole lesson. This school was so big compared with the one I came from. I think Mum said it was three times as big. There was a huge mural on the wall. They said it was an “abstract.” It reminded me of boats. They had to be boats to make such an important mark on a school, which look virtually all the same wherever you go. I hated this school. It reminded me of the hospital, the corridors are so long and boring. If it weren’t for the boat painting I felt as if I would die and give up altogether. Please don’t say it is an abstract again because you know it’s of boats. If you say “abstract” again, I will hit you… I found the art class. It is in the C block. The C block is a modern block which stands on by its self. It is separate from the rest of the school and it is a lot more modern. It’s only about ten or so years old. I always manage to get there really quickly because I like art. So it is easy to remember where it is held. In here I can smell the brown carpet tiles and rest on comfortable chairs in the waiting area. Here, it doesn’t remind me of never ending corridors because there aren’t any. I am good at art and other people come to see what I am painting. “I wish I could do that,” a girl says to me. “I think you could if you try as hard as me,” I say to myself. My hands are covered in paint and I am scrubbing them really hard with a nailbrush to get it all off. They are nearly raw but I don’t care because this is art. Art is good. It goes with pain. You can sacrifice anything for art because art always deserves it. Today is a double lesson, which is twice as long as usual and that makes me happy. I see Jane. She is one of my friends from another class. She lives near me. She draws amazing trees. Only Jane can draw a tree like that! The tree is completely alive. I see a face in Jane’s
~ 15 ~

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tree. It is a cartoon and it is alive. Jane’s brother is fantastic at art too. Jane’s brother, Steve, has drawn a picture of a racing car, which left the paper and ran along the lounge floor. Steve is amazing, even more amazing than Jane. I don’t think that Steve knows who I am. Perhaps he knows my name? I am not sure, as he never talks to me. We go to Jane’s house to get eggs. Their house is noisy and our house isn’t noisy. It feels very different. Their house is very near and it is only a few minute’s walk at the start of the next road. We live in a nice house now. I have just found out today that my birth mother was Irish as my Mum just told me. I have been asking her if she can tell me anything else at all about my birth mother, as I am sure there must be a lot of information I still don’t know. I am pleased that I know more now, but I am wondering why she has never told me this before and waited until today. I am thirteen now. The news that I am Irish makes me feel really happy. I twirl my skirts and I know that the Irish blood fills my veins. There is hope, as I begin to know who I am. I have found some small sense of identity I can relate to. I can hear a flute playing a tune to me. I could always hear the flute and now it makes more sense. So much makes sense now about who I am. The sea is splashing my banks and the grass is lush green. I am akin. I am one with my soul...belonging. I have a place...

~ 16 ~

The SiLver Lining

Identity Is Important To Us
I wonder about identity and why so many of us are desperately seeking a better sense of self. You could call it a sense of belonging, which strengthens who we are and gives us a place to be, a place where we can feel much more at one with our innermost feelings. I can now be comfortable on my own because I have personally discovered that I do have a root. I now know where I come from and the story about why I came into this world has been expanded a little further. I may still seek to share, but I am not continually seeking identity or trying to rob the identity of someone else to strengthen who I am, because I am more comfortable with being me. I am now very much me. For instance, I know that I am the woman who likes cats and children and dogs. I am a warm and comfortable person to be with. Sometimes I wish to share that “comfortable” with friends who reach out to me and also identify with parts of me. But they are not seeking to rob me either. This is what true friendship is about. And it very much exists within the silver lining. After suffering a lot of bad friendships in my younger years, I now find that I have some really fantastic friends whom I truly love. It all takes practice and trying. But in the end you can see the results. I constantly remind myself that Rome wasn’t built in a day and I am really alright with that. Good friends are worth their weight in gold. And being a good friend to someone else is priceless.

~ 17 ~

Jennifer L ynch

More About Adoption
Being adopted can at times, make you feel that you are without a root. This is undoubtedly because you do not know where you have grown from. If you are lucky, you may know something about your background or parents. If you are unlucky, you could imagine the worst scenario you could muster up, or the most dramatic. Your mother could be a famous actress, or she could be a nun in a convent, or perhaps a lady of the night! Whatever you imagine, however unrealistic, you can identify with all these self-made scenarios they could even begin to act as extreme parts of yourself. Your feelings, that may on the surface appear to be imaginary, will be very real to you. Your mother could quite honestly be a very ordinary woman. But that in your mind is unlikely because your imagination enjoys extremes and exaggerations. Part of you enjoys living out the various aspects of the “not knowing” drama and the ultimate imagining has gotten used to filling in the gaps...the gaps you have always had to fill in because of lack of information. This is probably why adoption is done so differently nowadays because it has proven to be better for children to know who their parents are, for all sorts of reasons that benefit both the parents and the child. As we grow older many of us have feel a natural need to know so much more about our family history. Sometimes I look at people who trace their family trees and wonder why they do this. Is it just for fun, or is it part of some inner need for identity, which has not been fully expressed? This “need” is nevertheless a need which should be explored as it enables us as individuals to make those necessary building blocks.

~ 18 ~

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