A Bite

of "Sliced Bread"

A Bite of Sliced Bread

A Story from the Book "Sliced Bread"

cover of "Sliced Bread"

Reverend Glen Eagle Lives On

I woke up shaking from yet another very powerful dream and wiped tears from my cheeks. I must have been actually crying, not just dream crying, and my knees were quivering with electrical pulses. I had dreamed about Reverend Glen Eagle and I knew that I had to do something about it. The task he gave me was a difficult one and I didn't know if I was capable of handling it. Let me backtrack.

A part-time job at Woodgreen United

While living in Toronto (in the late 1970's) and writing articles for Canadian Interiors Magazine I needed a part-time job to help pay for my living expenses. I applied for and got a part-time secretarial position at Woodgreen United Church on Queen Street East. When I first met the minister, Reverend Glen Eagle, I found myself standing in front of a very tall handsome man whose blue eyes sparkled with love and caring. He leaneded to one side on a walking stick and his movement was laboured and slow. His smile was radiant. I liked him right away and I guess he liked me.

It seemed like a simple job at first, answering the phone, typing up and running off the church bulletin on a Gestetner copier, and once in a while handing out food vouchers to the needy. For the first two months word on the street must have been that there was a real sucker behind the desk because as soon as the board of directors released funds for the food vouchers there was a long line-up at the door for hand-outs. I gave freely and the coffers went dry pretty quickly. I had a few lessons to learn about giving and about finding other ways to help people.

Reverend Glen Eagle

Many a morning I heard and saw Reverend Eagle painfully walk along the hall to his office. Sometimes I noticed blue "x" marks on his hands and forehead after he had been for a radiation session. His hair was thinning and his bones were very brittle. One day he leaned against the door frame to my office and said, "It's such a joy to come in every morning and see your cheery smile."

It wasn't very often that we had time to actually stop and talk but on one particular occasion he sat back in his chair behind his desk and told me how his cancer was progressing. "It's the one behind the eyes that's going to get me. I just hope that I can live to see my children graduate."

One morning an agitated young man came bursting into the office and demanded to see the minister. Reverend Eagle had just returned from another treatment and was feeling poorly but he was willing to listen to this man who needed money to travel across the country to see his wife and child, and he hoped the church would give it to him. When Reverend Eagle denied him the help the young man stormed out uttering verbal abuses.

"Isn't it interesting," said Reverend Eagle later, "how a person can be so wrapped up in their own problems that they become blind to another's. That man stood yelling at me for quite a while, wanting something from me, without even noticing that I could barely hold myself up."

On occasion we had chats about spiritual matters, about God and life. He earned my complete respect, for never once did he insist that I attend a service at the church. It was a mutual respect. One week while typing up the order of service I felt somewhat concerned about the choice of hymns. "Reverend Eagle," I asked, "don't you think that if we Hide In Thee we never face up to our experiences and lessons in life? Hiding from our problems is not how we overcome them."

"That's a good thought," he replied. "Lets change the hymn."

Reverend Eagle in hospital

That fall I left for Lansdowne but made regular trips into Toronto to do research for articles. On one such trip I found out that Reverend Eagle was in the Princess Margaret cancer hospital, and I sensed that he wouldn't be coming out. For him the end of this life was near. I sat quietly in front of the window on the top floor of the Rodomar's house, where I stayed on my trips to the city, and while watching the bare branches of a huge tree swaying in the wind I was inspired to write Reverend Eagle a letter. I told him I couldn't wish him physical well-being, instead I sent him well wishes for his spirit as he lay, like the branches of that tree, waiting patiently for spring and new life. I went to the hospital and asked a nurse to please take the letter and a potted yellow primrose to his room.

"Wouldn't you like to deliver it yourself?" asked the nurse.

"Yes I would, but I have been told by family that only family can visit. I want to honour their wishes."

"I'll take care of it for you then," she replied with a warm smile.

A sympathetic death

A few months later, when I was taking a break from renovating the shop in the village, I went to help Mum out on the farm. While shovelling the cow manure I became very ill and had pain in my stomach and throughout my body. I thought extra hard work would help distract my mind from the pain so I began digging up a patch of garden. The pain got stronger and I was forced to lie down on the couch for the rest of the day. It was evening before I felt well enough to get up. I was completely puzzled by the symptoms. Why would my body ache so much? The answer came later that night when we received a phone call from the woman who had taken over my job as church secretary.

"Reverend Eagle died today," she said. "I thought you'd want to know."

Evidently I had experienced a sympathetic death.

Reverend Eagle visits in a dream

A week later I had the dream in which I walked into Reverend Eagle's office and saw the lockers opened along the wall, his gown hung loosely over one of the locker doors and as I turned to his desk there he was, sitting in his chair beaming at me. I was overwhelmed with emotion.

"But Reverend Eagle, you're not supposed to be here. You're dead," I blurted.

"Yes I am," he replied with a smile. "I'm here because I have something very important to tell you."

I broke down crying and felt my chest heaving. He got up from his chair and walked without limping over to the window where he perched himself against the sill. "Please tell Mrs. Eagle to be careful because the same thing could happen to her."

I was still crying when I awoke. How in the world could I possibly pass on such a message? Later that morning I phoned Woodgreen United Church in Toronto with the excuse that I couldn't find my T4 slip to do my taxes, but nobody could help me. I was finally given the phone number of a close friend of the Eagle family.

The phone call

"Hi, Helen. This is Rosemary calling from Lansdowne," I said. "I can't find my T4 slip and was wondering if you could send me a copy?"

"Yes, of course," she replied and took down my address.

"How was the funeral?" I then asked.

"It was huge," she said. "It was almost like the whole East Side of Toronto was there. He was loved by so many. The service went really well."

"I was in the office last night," I continued.

"Then you would have seen how empty it is," she replied without even questioning the fact that I was located in a village at the other end of Lake Ontario. "No it wasn't. He was there, sitting behind the desk."

There was a really long pause.

"Finally, my belief that life continues, that the spirit of a loved one continues to be with us, has been confirmed," she whispered. "Thank you."

I gave Helen the full details of the dream, and as we said our good-byes she asked that I keep in touch. I hung up the phone and laughed out loud, "Reverend Eagle, you used me!"

I walked out of the nearly completed shop and stood on the street to soak in the warm sunshine and allow my mind to fully grasp what had just transpired. I guess it was Helen that I was meant to talk with. But what was I to do about talking with Mrs. Eagle? It took a couple of years before I could write the message to her.

Thirteen years later

Thirteen years later I sat meditating with a friend in my little house on Quadra Island in British Columbia and as we came out of the meditation I started to talk about Reverend Eagle. My friend began to stare at the wall behind me with her eyes wide in wonder and surprise.

"Was he a big man?" she asked.

"Yes he was," I replied.

"He's standing right behind you," she said, "and he's smiling."

This observation confirmed the feeling I had of a presence standing over my right shoulder. We then both sat quietly to link with the presence. The message that came through was that Reverend Eagle would help me do a healing drawing for Mrs. Eagle. He wanted to let her know that he lives on and loves her dearly.

The next day I prepared the studio, lined up the chalks and a blank sheet of drawing paper on the drafting table and lit a couple of candles on the window sill. I put on some meditation music, stared out at the ocean and took myself into that quiet space inside, my inner workshop. There in my mind's eye I saw Reverend Eagle and the drawing. The challenge was to recreate the image onto the sheet of paper in front of me. The colours flowed as I rubbed the chalks into the paper creating abstract images that drew the eye to a focal point of brilliant light surrounded by a spirit heart. The drawing emanated love. I packaged it up along with a letter and sent it off to Helen asking her to please forward it to Mrs. Eagle.

Two years later I was busy in the kitchen preparing supper when the phone rang.

"Is this Rosemary? This is Mrs. Eagle." I had to sit down. It had been over fifteen years since the initial dream. "I want to thank you."