It was 1994, around Christmas time, shortly after I'd first started channeling on December 4. Gang members had come to our then small town of Sedona and were "tagging" structures, washes, and parks with their logos.
The graffiti was quickly getting out of control, and Sedona rallied to clean it up by painting over it. My daughters and I went to the police station to get our briefing about our responsibilities in helping with the clean up project. My youngest daughter was four years old, and clearly bored as the Police Chief droned on about how to paint over the graffiti, and gave us each a map to our assigned areas. Of course, the Chief had the rapt attention of the adults in the tiny lobby of the police station, and aside from his voice, you could hear a pin drop.
My daughter wandered to the back of the tiny room, looking for something to alleviate her boredom.
All of a sudden, the itty bitty, squeaky, high-pitched voice of my daughter dominated the room. "JESUS CHRIST!" she said loudly. There were audible gasps, as all adults turned simultaneously to look at my baby girl. My face flushed, as I quickly cast aside thoughts of publicly denying that she was my daughter. My then-husband was there as well, and I would blame him. I would proclaim that it was his use of the Lord's name in vain that my daughter had picked up (though I was equally, if not more so, to blame). It's truly amazing how many thoughts can thunder through one's mind when under that kind of pressure and embarrassment.
I was already terrified of being condemned by the Christian community for my recent journey into mediumship, so this moment hit every button of my fears and expectations. I would be judged as a terrible mom who was a poor influence on my young daughter. Never mind the fact that I'd been visited by Jesus early in life, and had channeled him as part of the exploration of myself as a medium. Never mind that I had great love for him. And, yeah, I admittedly used his name as an expletive in times of frustration.
All of that went out the window, and I did what was in my heart. I turned around and walked to the back of the room, knelt down by my daughter, and gently touched her shoulder. "Sweetheart..." I started, as all adult eyes were on me and how I would reprimand her.
She cut me off, and pointed towards a bulletin board that was above her head. "Mommy..." my eyes followed her finger, "Jesus Christ. That's Jesus Christ." She was pointing to a picture of Jesus that was pinned to the board. I nearly cried. "Yes, sweetheart, it is. Yes, that's Jesus," I said, hugging her closely to me.
Out of the mouths of babes.