The Calling. Kim O'Neill

and, as I continued to develop my ability, I would receive more detailed and specific information.

      “You mean I’m going to be talking with dead people?”

      “We don’t refer to anyone as ‘dead,’ ” John explained. “Every soul continues its existence, regardless of whether it possesses a physical body.”

      “That’s absurd!”

      “A short time ago you thought talking with angels was absurd.”

      “But I don’t want dead people hanging around! I don’t know the first thing about—”

      “So you’ll learn. Babe Ruth had to hit his first baseball, didn’t he? Julia Child had to cook her first soufflé. You had to write your first radio commercial, didn’t you?”

      “But that’s different.”

       “How?”

      “Because that’s normal.”

      “Since when did you ever aspire to being normal?”

      I frowned, suddenly at a loss for words. It was true—I had never aspired to settle . . . to lead a conventional life. He was right, damn him. Double-damn him, I thought. Was he always right?

      “Now, now,” he teased. “Remember . . . I can hear what you’re thinking.”

      I kept forgetting that.

      “Oh, no!” he said loudly, comically slapping his hand against his forehead. “I suppose that means that I’m not normal, either!”

      I smiled. “Maybe that’s why we’re such a good team. Did the universe match us up because we’re both misfits?”

      “Thank you for that great vote of confidence. I think I’ve just changed my mind about asking you to provide a testimonial for my guardian angel resume.”

      “Do you guys really have resumes?”

      From the look on his face, I was glad that I hadn’t yet developed the ability to read his mind. With a resigned expression, John went on to explain that it was my spiritual responsibility to spend my life providing intuitive information to others to help them move their lives forward, just as he was helping me with mine. In addition to that, I was supposed to teach others to channel for themselves so they could receive their own messages from the other side whenever they needed them.

      I just stared at him. The left side of my brain had abruptly kicked into gear, and I began to tell him that the whole notion of me being an intuitive conduit was too ridiculous for consideration. After all, I was a serious businesswoman. It had taken me years to establish my credibility in the ultraconservative Houston business community. And I was to give all of that up? To start my own channeling practice? I’d be laughed right out of town!

      He allowed me to rave on. His unruffled attitude indicated that he rather expected this negative reaction from me. A short time later, when all my negativity was spent and I could quiet my brain, I began to balance and center myself.