God Whisperer

By Caren Cathryn Cain

The author shares the encounters with early guidance to reveal the Omniscient nature of our loving heavenly Father. He knows each soul and the destiny He has for us.

By keeping a pure heart and true to oneself, this destiny can be found and purpose fulfilled.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trilogy Christian Publishing
• Release date: May 12, 2020
• ISBN: 9781640885806

Book preview

Preface

Storytelling is one of the earliest forms of communication. This story is mine, but I may be telling it for multitudes who can relate and have lived through the past six or so decades of tumultuous changes. I choose books and movies that are based on true stories and find many to be inspiring, heartwarming, and socially educational for one such as me, who wasn’t raised in family dynamics, but who, instead, just grew up. I enjoy human interest stories and find them to be more satisfying than science fiction stories, or stories that are predictable, scheming, dark, or scary. Real life has plenty to offer, and I hope to appeal to those who enjoy reality reading.

Despite cautions against writing a chronological narrative, I’ve decided to trust my own leading. It wasn’t my idea to air my spiritual laundry in public or to tell my story because it is any better than anyone else’s. Simply, I was told to do so by my constant companion. I call it my inner counsel. My intent was to journal and deal with some issues that I had never had anyone to talk with about. It became a catalyst by which I hoped to connect my own dots and move forward with some resolve for my journey.

That being so, I submit this—my spiritual autobiography—prayerfully, with humility, honesty, and sincerity for your edification.

Caren Cathryn Cain

Introduction

First impressions can never be undone. Often they are tough to live down, and frequently they cause great turmoil. Like so many people, I survived the choices made by others that impacted my early life. In my case, the absence of family bonding and lack of connection with my parents allowed for more time with the imaginary world within. My impressions came from strangers. Though my basic physical needs were met, the deeper emotional connections were missing. I had developed lopsided thinking and was neither curious nor inquisitive. Survival mode took so much energy I failed to notice that things could be different if I explored alternatives. My relationship with the voices of the inner counsel became my refuge. I trusted them beyond anything outside of myself.

Each decade marked a leap in my life. Whoever was in my life at that time was my family. I let them become close to me only because their actions validated what I heard from within and then felt I could trust. Some people have left my life, and others have entered; but because of the inner counsel, I am never alone.

In the end, or at least until the present, the opportunity to put into action what I know to be my path and purpose fills my heart’s longing. It is my hope to reach others who have experienced a disconnection with family and step by step have begun the soul-awakening journey with hope for healing and wholeness, which brings true happiness.

As you begin this journey with me, I invite you to imagine that the childhood you remember didn’t exist. No family, no boundaries, no sense of roots for your young life. No attaboys or good going, girl messages—no words of encouragement to build your self-esteem, but none of the negatives either. You are a clean slate on which you build your own world, based on first impressions.

When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take care of me. (Psalm 27:10)

Esther making her first date with Joe, whom she would eventually marry. Her sister, Gertrude, looking on

First Impressions

A cab ride, the city bus, and then we arrived at the train station. It smelled worse than the city. The hustle and bustle of people getting to their lines for ticketing, excited children playing everything from chase and tag to peekaboo with anyone who would join them—all provided great entertainment for one such as me, who had seldom been very far from Portland, Oregon.

I had been warned, Stay close. Don’t run off. My brief history with my mother had taught me to listen and not to bend the rules. I’d been left plenty of times with strangers; and to finally be taking a trip with my mother, just her and me, alone, was a mixed emotional experience. I was both excited and terrified. I can tell you I wouldn’t knowingly do anything to ruffle her. I had seen her ruffled plenty of times, and while her moods were not often directed at me, I frequently caught the fallout from them. As we stood in our place in line, I clutched the end of her nicely tailored suit jacket. If she moved, I would be sure to move with her. I could turn and look at other people while we slowly worked our way to the front of the line. I thought my mother was the most beautiful woman in the whole train station.

I listened to Mother order our tickets. Two coach seats for Eau Claire, Wisconsin, please, one adult and one child. I liked listening to her talk. She spoke differently to others than she did to me. Sometimes, she made sure to smile in a special way. I guessed it was something she learned in acting school. She was going to be a movie star someday, or maybe she already was. I had to stay with different people all the time so she could go become famous. People looked at her as though she were someone they knew, so I felt really special being with her. I was wearing the gifts she’d bought for me—a new warm pretty, mauve coat that fit me and some new shoes.

Finally, on the train and in our seats, I stayed attentive until the conductor came for our tickets. Then I stared out the window of the train and watched the world fly by. As the train rocked along, I looked at magazines and whatever interested my mother, so I could learn something about her. She never said much to me unless she was telling me what to do. If someone spoke to me, my mother would answer and say to the person all kinds of things about me that I didn’t know how she could have known. Usually, she would end up talking about herself and mention she was teaching me everything she possibly could; but, of course, she was very busy. I knew how to do the time step in tap dancing, and my mother had taught me a Hawaiian song to sing while I did the hula, even with the hand gestures. I heard her tell one lady that we’d be singing somewhere soon, after the train ride, I guessed.

We went to a different car for our dinner. It was a diner car. I had a nice meal and ate everything on my plate. I was told to do that often. I liked most food, so it was easy. There was never much to snack on, so meals were a good time to stock up.

Riding on the train, I sometimes felt funny in my stomach if I looked down at magazines after eating, so I just closed my eyes and listened to the clickety-clack of the train wheels on the track. The rocking motion soon lulled me to sleep.

The next morning after we splashed our faces, we went back to the diner car for breakfast. I ordered eggs sunny-side up because that’s what my mother liked. We hadn’t spent very much time together, so I was trying to learn about her. When the eggs came, they were all runny, and I gagged because the eggs jiggled as the train rocked down the tracks. Mother yelled at me, saying that I shouldn’t have ordered the eggs that way if I couldn’t eat them. Did I think money grew on trees?

I knew it didn’t. I liked scrambled eggs and wished I had ordered my eggs that way. Mother was difficult to be with. I cringed when she yelled, mostly because I didn’t know her very well. She told me I’d better not fuss for food until it was time to eat again. I almost flew away because Mother was upsetting me. Flying away happened when I was yelled at or someone fought in front of me. Flying away was like an angel’s protection.

Mother didn’t talk to me the rest of the morning. I didn’t care. I played with my invisible friends, who were always there. When no one was around to play with me, I would surround myself with them. Later, Mother ordered me to get my things together and pay attention. We’d be getting off the train soon. When we did, it was the same thing all over: stay close, catch a bus, ride into a new smelly city, catch a cab, and go to another place. This time, it was a hotel. We checked in and got a key. That was all pretty exciting, and Mother knew just how to do everything.

Our room was really small. Mother hung up her clothes in the little closet and instructed me to put my things in a drawer. She changed clothes and told me to get out my book and not to touch anything else. Mother was leaving and would bring back dinner for me later. She told me I’d better eat all of it, or I’d be sorry. Then she left the hotel room.

I took out my favorite book. I read the words I knew and made up the rest. After a long time, even a nap, I found an ink pen in the drawer of the desk I was sitting at. I decided to draw over the pictures in my book. Before long, Mother returned with my dinner. Not sure if I would get in trouble for writing in my book, I hid it and put the pen away.

Yum! Chinese takeout. My favorite. As I ate, I remembered being asked what I wanted for dinner on my fifth birthday. I was really quick to say, Jumbo shrimp, please. The people I lived with at that time were really nice to me. No one had ever asked me that before or since. This time, my dinner was all noodley and chewy.

Mother changed clothes again and told me to take a bath when I was finished eating. Mother wasn’t nurturing; she had never bathed me. I did everything alone. When I came out of the bathroom, she was asleep. I quietly joined her. Sleep wasn’t my favorite thing to do. I’d been having bad dreams for a long time.

Early the next day, a lady whom I didn’t know came to our room. There was going to be a parade outside the window that I could watch. I had hoped to go outside and watch it with Mother, but she told me to behave myself, and we’d go somewhere in the afternoon. So I watched the parade with the stranger. Though disappointed, I soon became engrossed in the floats and the marching bands. I liked how the drums made my chest pound. We were up really high, so it was very different looking down at the parade.

Later that afternoon, Mother returned and told me to put on my new clothes. We went downstairs and caught a cab. The stranger came with us. We arrived at a big house that had lots of cars in the front. There were people everywhere. I felt scared. Mother seemed to know everyone and forgot about me. The stranger took me by the hand and led me to other children who were playing outside. I didn’t feel like playing. I was too dressed up, and the children looked at me funny.

Soon I heard Mother calling, Caren, come here. Hurry up. Glad to go and ready to be with her, I ran off. I was told to do my little dance routine and sing. Mother started me off by dancing herself, and as I warmed up, she stepped back and told me to go ahead while the rest of the strangers watched me. After I had finished, they clapped, laughed, patted my hair, and told Mother what a great job she was doing.

The people were from my mother’s family. One was my Aunt Esther who told me that the old person was my grandma and that her name was Esther too. Other aunts were there as well, and the children were all cousins. They were having a gathering because my Grandpa Joseph had died. Everyone took turns singing and playing the piano, harmonica, or accordion and dancing the polka together. Finally, we all ate. It was really fun for me, and I hoped we would stay forever. Then Mother started yelling at one of her sisters about a ukulele that had been stolen from her. I guessed it was Grandpa Joseph’s, and Mother hadn’t taken it when she left home. Now that she was back, she wanted it, but her sister said it was hers. They had a huge fight, and everyone seemed to have a voice in it.

I stepped back into another room, and my ears started buzzing. That would happen when I was going to fly away. With my hands over my face, I saw the way things were before this incident and hoped they could go back to being that way again soon. As I flew above the chaos and confusion, I was shown things about some of the people there. One at a time, I saw their faces and was told by my invisible counsel what they were thinking. One knew the truth and wasn’t heard when she spoke it. Another was mad and called my mother names. (I knew what jealousy looked like after that!) I looked at Grandma, and she was sad. She threw up her hands and went to her room.

Before long, I heard, Where’s Caren? Caren? Where are you? I’m getting out of here. I don’t know why I bothered to come back here. Caren? Slowly, I emerged from the other room, and the predictable command came. Get in the car.

I don’t remember the cab ride, the smell of the city, or the train station and not even the train ride back to Portland. I must have escaped into my secret world with my invisible friends for the next couple days until Mother settled down and noticed me again. I just spent my time thinking about the stories I had heard until the fighting began. Grandpa Joseph had been a farmer like his daddy. They had a farm in Minnesota; but after Grandma had the ninth baby girl, eighth and ninth being twins, he decided to sell the farm, move to the city, and get a factory job. Times were changing, and these girls would want to sing and dance so they could make opportunities for themselves in the growing world of entertainment. Radio was offering music, tap dance, and stories for evening enjoyment. Grandpa took a job at the first Uniroyal Tire Factory in Eau Claire, Wisconsin, and worked hard there all the rest of his working years.

My mother, Verna, was attractive, charming, and talented with both song and dance. She heard about an opportunity to go to California and try her talents there. She left for Bakersfield before she finished high school and made friends from her job at the new Arthur Murray Dance Studio. Verna shared an apartment with girlfriends. She was a great dancer and enjoyed the USO clubs after World War II began. During this time, women were given training in nursing, as the war created many needs, and Red Cross volunteers were trained on the spot. She entered a Rita Hayworth look-alike contest and finished well enough to get some prize money. She was also given a portfolio with a couple of nice colorized photos of herself to keep.

At nineteen years old, Verna thrived on the praise and attention she received and made up her mind that entertainment was her destiny and that no one could or would stop her. She sang harmonies with some friends and hoped for a break. The Andrews and McGuire Sisters were on the radio, and Mother saw room for more. She stopped using her name, Verna, and took the name Veronica from Veronica Lake, who was a blonde bombshell as they called the glamorous movie stars at the time. Though more auburn than blonde, she thought anything she could add to her talent and charm in this business would help to open doors for her.

I learned a lot more about my mother and her family during that trip. I wondered why she didn’t stay with my daddy and have a bunch of sisters and brothers for me to have fun with. These questions and many others would wait in the recesses for several years before I could piece together the stories. Where was my daddy, and what was his story? Didn’t they like me enough to want to be a family? I needed them.

Mother with twin sister, Esther, and the shared Schwinn

Mother’s photo from Rita Hayworth look-alike contest portfolio

Caren and Mother at Grandmother’s in Eau Claire, WI

Caren at four years old, dancing

Caren dressed for travel on train; age, 6

As a child, I couldn’t give my mother the attention she needed, so she didn’t have much use for me unless it served her. As an entertainer, Mother consumed each moment and competed with me for the attention I naturally would draw being a talented child. Even when I would perform, she wasn’t satisfied getting credit for teaching me. She would steal the moment rather than have a nurturing heart toward me. I didn’t feel she ever liked me. The fear of not being acceptable lived strong within me from that first impression. I withdrew.

These early experiences strengthened the bond with the voice in my head and heart. Children are as close to heaven as one can get. Their purity allows them to see the spirit world. My voice was my friend for many years. I thought everyone had the same experience and developed relationships with that guidance. Because I kept that connection, while others let it go to follow their family model, I remained on a different page, as we now say. I simply didn’t fit in here. I envied those with normal family dynamics.

What I Remember

My earliest memories are of being locked in small apartments or hotel rooms with a storybook and a pen. My mother had to have her life, and I didn’t have a place in it, unless there was praise in it for her. She didn’t know what to do with me. I wasn’t a bad kid, but just being a kid seemed to make her uncomfortable, so she neglected to spend time with me. She didn’t read me stories or invest any time in educating me or preparing me for even our immediate world. My book and pen were my entertainment. I’d draw over the faces and everything on every page, over and over again. Sometimes I’d trace them on a clean sheet of paper if I found stationery in a desk drawer. I knew better than to lay that ink pen anywhere but on my book. I was very sensitive to bad vibes early in life and made adjustments to test the mood even then. If I caught the slightest look of annoyance or disapproval, I was quick to change my demeanor and actions.

I’d like to think my mother felt badly about leaving me alone, because eventually she placed an ad in the newspaper to board me out. The first couple to answer an ad to board a three-year-old girl for fifty dollars a month were Margie and Lyle. I remember living in a big white house with them and their son Danny. Danny was two years older than I was. They had a big orange cat with a white face, and her name was Fuzzy. I remember learning to tie my shoes and getting swatted with a wooden spoon if I smarted off. I didn’t like getting my hair combed out. It was thick and curly like Shirley Temple’s, and I guess it was really hard to comb. Margie would yank and pull to get through it. I had a tender scalp, and she hated hurting me, but we’d cringe through it anyway.

We went on camping and fishing trips with friends and other members of their family. I loved the forests in Oregon, and the fishing was great. One time, I caught the biggest fish of the day. I didn’t know what to do with the pats on the back I got that day. Praise was a new feeling for a four-year-old, but I knew I liked it. Sometimes we’d go clam digging on the coast, and Margie would make clam chowder all day. All this began a beautiful connection with nature. I was able to feel at home whenever I was immersed in its beauty. It began an early pattern for seeking out quiet and my own form of meditation. Wildlife and gardens were my first friends.

I remember going to Sunday school for a little while. They were called Evangelicals. I thought it meant they were closest to angels, but week after week, I ran home concerned that I would do something to make God mad at me. After a Sunday school lesson about Cain and Abel, I believed my life was cursed because I was a Cain. I would have to hide my name and shame until I could grow up and get married. Then I could have a new name, and I believed everything would be better.

I liked the voice of my inner counsel best. It whispered things to me that didn’t confuse me—things that gave me just what I needed and could handle, nothing more. I liked it when I was told what to do and knew what was expected of me. I willingly obeyed and trusted that the adults knew what was best. I wanted to be loved by the strangers I lived with, but all along would have preferred it if my own parents had cared enough to tell me what they believed. I just hoped that I would learn good things from the strangers.

I remember getting a sick feeling in my stomach when I knew my mother was coming for a visit. I never knew if that meant I was moving or going for ice cream, and I learned not to ask because it seemed to upset everyone. If Mother brought me something, that would mean she couldn’t stay long. Sometimes she’d show up in a cab, and we’d go for ice cream, or she’d get coffee and share what I ordered. She’d tell everybody about all the things I was doing, and I never knew how she knew. I’d listen to her talk, but not so much to what she said. I just liked to hear her voice. It seemed the main things Mother would say to me were directives, like Get in the cab. I remember one time when she picked me up for a visit to an ice-cream parlor. She laughed when I tried to spell banana and I put too many anas on it. I liked to see her look at me when her eyes were happy. It didn’t happen very often.

I started having bad dreams. I can still remember having a certain one almost every time I went to sleep. I’d be walking down a road, and in the distance were buildings. The closer I got to the buildings, the less I could see what was ahead. I feared moving on, but I knew I had to keep walking. I sensed the danger there. The fear would cause me to break into a run, and then the street would fall out from under me. The buildings would close in and squeeze my body. When I thought my bones would break and I needed a breath so bad I thought I would die, the buildings would pull away. Then I would free-fall again. I’d get going really fast, and when I tried to turn and see what I would hit when I landed, the buildings would close in on me again. This would continue until I would wake up yelling. I got in trouble with Margie because I started having fits at bedtime. Sometimes I got swatted with the wooden spoon, and I’d be so frustrated I’d cry myself to sleep. The dream would wake me up, and I’d stay awake because I was afraid to go back to sleep. Eventually, Margie got me to tell her about the dream. It didn’t help to talk about it, but at least they’d let me stay up with them until I fell asleep. Before long, I had to talk with a doctor who knew about children and dreams. He said I