Do you ever have those moments when a strong blast of intuition or “sense” about something rattles through your body? Something seems to be telling you to pay attention, to be careful? Those moments when you second-guess and doubt yourself about something significant or even silly, with no obvious reason to explain the sudden awareness? Had that happen to me twice in the past few weeks…
First was the ice storm that rolled through our region. My husband was agitated that the roads were bad for a second time that week. He had much to do at work and was frustrated by the delays and uncertain of how difficult the travel would be. He wanted to take my car, which handles better in ice and snow, but I was not willing to give that up for a second time that week. I had a lot on my afternoon schedule, too.
So, I said “no” to the use of my car, and my husband prepared himself to head down to the garage to brave the day. But something made him hesitate, and he walked into our second story home office above the garage and sat down on a loveseat that backs up to a window. Sitting there he briefly checked his calendar on his phone. (It is amazing what we can do with our phones these days!) He wasn’t sitting there more than a minute when I walked into the room after drying my hair. As I walked in, however, something outside the window above his head caught my attention. The huge Bradford Pear tree in our backyard just beyond the driveway was moving toward the house, positioned to fall right in the very spot where my husband was sitting! In that second I “knew” what was about to happen, and my first thoughts were “Do I grab him or flee?” I opted to yell and grab for him at the moment we both heard the crack of the tree splitting. Hubby jumped toward me as half the tree came crashing against the house, thankfully, not breaking glass. It hit the roof, then scraped down the side of the house and with a terrific thud sprawled all over the driveway blocking the garage door. Clearly the weight of the ice on the limbs of this old and weary tree spelled disaster.
We were in shock for a few minutes. This old tree was almost a family member, and we knew its days were numbered, having debated a number of times whether to just go ahead and take it down. I wanted to prevent a crisis. My husband didn’t want the tree removed. So, when this event happened, which I intuited long before this eventful morning, my husband went into panic mode… Not only could that tree have crashed through the window and harmed him, but had he gone down to the garage when he intended, had I agreed to let him take my car, he would have been in one of our cars and crushed and likely killed! We went on about our day with the help of our trusty tree removal company. But the close call has kept both of us vigilant.
The second intuition moment(s) happened a week later. This time I pulled from the refrigerator some nice burgers to broil in our recently renovated kitchen. They would be great for our evening meal, something causal and comforting. I have prepared them often, but not in this new oven. Even though I have used the oven and broil feature numerous times since installation, this was the first time for these favorite burgers from a meat market. However, when my hand pulled the package out of the fridge a part of me hesitated, even putting them back on the shelf. My inner voice was trying to caution me, saying something was not right. I reasoned that they were safe as I had only purchased them the day before. They wouldn’t make us sick. Yet the inner voice of caution continued. I tried to ignore it. Called it “silly” and tried to silence my mind.
The burgers went under the broiler. I made a salad while the first side cooked. And they definitely smelled good! When the timer went off I opened the oven to flip the burgers and the fumes from within burned my eyes, almost a toxic experience. There was more smoke in the oven than I had remembered from previous meals… Yet I closed the oven and set the timer for the remaining six minutes and walked over to the sink to splash some cool water on my eyes as they were actually burning.
Moments later I looked back at the oven only to see LOTS of thick smoke billowing out around the opening! Panic set in. Fire! This was the caution I was trying to ignore…
I opened the oven door. Yes, this was indeed a fire! Closed the door and turned the oven off, advice my dad had given to me and my siblings. Dad was very safety conscious; taught us all sorts of practical stuff that I am very grateful for.
Grabbed the phone and dialed 911 as I assessed what was happening in the oven. Stated my name and location and nature of my call… We debated a moment whether to send out the fire crew. “Yes, please send them…”
After that request the fire actually seemed to settle down. It was contained within the oven, clearly attributed to grease from the burgers. I knew it would die out, yet I determined that I needed to be sure and definitely needed help clearing the house of all the thick smoke that developed. However, I felt like a fool calling the fire department…
The fire team arrived, assessed my dilemma, did all they needed to do, reminded me to clean the oven by hand thoroughly before attempting to use the self-clean feature. They were nice, and kind. They told me that if I ever needed them again to be sure to put on a few extra burgers as the ones we salvaged from the oven looked and smelled good!
Should have tossed the burgers after all that drama, but they did smell good. We ate them anyway…
But the lesson in all this is that sometimes we have a warning or caution that something is about to happen or there is something we need to pay attention to. It is so easy to dismiss those cautious and insightful messages. We shouldn’t. I think both my husband and I have a tendency to look for a logical answer to those intuitive messages. What happened to us these past two weeks between the tree and the grease fire I believe has convinced us that we need to not demand a “why” from the voices of intuition. We must simply hear those voices, trust in their wisdom, and act accordingly.