My Thoughts On Life's Path

This was recorded by Andrea Tadpole-Broussard on Saturday, February 24, 2024.

My Thoughts On Life's Path

Am I Becoming a Crow?

Am I Becoming a Crow?

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard

2/12/24

Those of you who know me know that I am always looking for signs and symbols around me. I believe they are messages from the other side, aka Heaven. I am always finding coins. Today was no different. I found a quarter and a penny. For some reason, coins always remind me of my Dad. I also found a tiny cross with a beautiful red gem in it. I do not think it is worth anything. It is just pretty to me. My first thought when I saw it was that it would go on my altar that I will start creating soon. I had already asked God to send me the things that belonged on it. So, this is the first one.

Later, as I was sweeping up leaves I went to an area I rarely sweep. There was this beautiful reflection of a rainbow on the concrete. I immediately thought of God’s promises and could have sworn He was standing right there. I clearly heard Him say, “Andrea, do not worry. I got you in my hands. I promised to always take care of you and I do not break my promises.” I stood there for a moment and let God’s comfort and peace wash over me. Then I kept sweeping.

As I swept, I was thinking about symbols and signs I see all the time. My mind went to the crow. I know it is my spirit animal, in fact all birds are. They always have been. However, the crow is extra special to me because it is my connection to my Dad in the spirit. I beckons to me.

I kept cleaning as my mind wandered. I remembered a story I read about how crows like to collect shiny objects. I realized that is exactly what I do. The question arose in my heart, “Am I becoming a crow?” I do not mean physically, I am talking metaphorically.

This question started an inner dialog with myself. Yes, I do have conversations with myself and God. I do not have a problem with that. People who do not do that are the abnormal ones. Not me. So, I began to think about all the birds that have crossed my path throughout my spiritual journey in life. Of them, the ones I have felt most drawn to are pigeons and especially crows since my Dad transitioned to the other side.

Crows have always been seen by most people as the lowest and most worthless birds. They are seen as a nuisance. I mean, farmers do have scarecrows after all. They are not wanted and do not fit in wherever they go. Yet, they are highly intelligent and excellent problem solvers. They are also known to be collectors of random things, especially if they are shiny.

My mind drifted to how my Dad used to tell me that he grew up without a bed and slept in the floor most nights. I remember when I was a little girl one time  he took me to see the home he was raised in. It had dirt floors, maybe two rooms and no running water or plumbing. His parents were very poor. My Dad told me he was treated as worthless as a child and felt like he never fit in. Yet,  just like the crow, he was highly intelligent and a great problem solver.

As an adult he worked hard. He served in the Navy and got an education. He always provided for us and we always had a bed to sleep in. When my Dad transitioned to the other side and we started going through his stuff, I found collections of random things many of them shiny, much like what I imagine crows collect. I kept some of them because just like my Dad and the crow, I have always been a collector.

Back to the question that I asked myself, “Am I becoming a crow?” I certainly hope I am! The spirit of a crow is just like my Dad’s; fiesty, stubborn, flamboyant with a sense of humor that will make you laugh so hard your sides ache. Yet, they both love their family and life’s misfits with a passion that never dies.

So, today, I will continue to be the crow and collect the shiny things. I will keep looking for signs and symbols from the other side. For, it is in these messages from Heaven that my eyes are open to the beauty that I can only see with my heart. It is where hope springs eternally and where love lives forever.

Tribute for My Father - 2 Years

Tribute for My Father - 2 Years

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard 

2/11/24

It took me a little while to get this done. My voice isn't too good and I didn't feel like putting makeup on. So, here I am raw and real remembering my Daddy. 💜💜💜

Tribute to My Father - 2 Years

My Jesus

My Jesus

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard 

2/11/24

I read a post today that got my brain whirling. Instead of answering directly on the page I read it on I decided to write my own thing. So here goes...

I did not find my Jesus in a church, although I attended them almost every Sunday for most of my childhood. I know the Bible and could wow everybody with everything that was crammed in my head as a child and things that I have learned when I have seriously studied it as an adult. Yet, honestly, I see no point in doing that. Just because one can spout the Bible does not mean they are a Christian. I read a saying once that said, "Sitting in a church pew does not make someone a Christian anymore than sitting in a garage turns someone into a car." That is how I tend to think about it.

Before what I call my "rebirth day" aka my sobriety date, I was saved and baptized every time I told a lie, committed some kind of weird sin or whatever other gloom and doom the pastor was preaching about that Sunday. I wore the aisles out going down to get saved again. Yet, the pews were filled with the biggest bigots in the world in most of the churches I attended. 

For me, the worst place to find unconditional love was in a church. People in most churches kicked their wounded, instead of loving them and picking them back up when they fell. That is just me and my experience. Other people love church or what I call organized religion, and I am all for it...for you. It just does not work for me. 

Most whitewashed tombs AKA churches in our nation and cities today, especially in Tulsa, would not recognize my Jesus if He sat down next to them. They would probably throw Him out. I am sure He would turn the tables in the temple on His way out because of the way they have perverted and made a mockery of the message of love He tried to teach us.

When I finally truly found my Jesus, I was in my bedroom floor sobbing, wanting to end my life. I just wanted to find a way to stay sober and clean. I cried out to my Jesus, and He came to me, right there in my bedroom floor. I was 23 years old. I have been sober since that day. When I was about 30 years old, I had a near death experience. Yet again, my Jesus came to me. I have no doubt in the existence of my Jesus and the love He has for all of us. We are the ones that shut Him out. He is always there, waiting for us to let Him back in.

Do I live a perfect life? Absolutely not! Most days, I am a bull in a China closet, bumbling through life and breaking everything I touch. I am socially awkward and keep my circle small, mainly because I suck at peopling. Hell, one minute I can be driving down the road praying and singing praise and worship music, and the next, some idiot cuts me off, and I am cussing at them and flipping them off.

I am who I am. Most days, I fail greatly at the principles and values my Jesus taught me and that I aspire to. I am so grateful that my Jesus knows everything about me; good, bad, and ugly and loves me anyway. That is because His love for me is not about me at all. It is about Him and the unconditional grace and mercy He has for me and all of us. For too many years in my life, I tried to get good enough to come to my Jesus. At 23 years old, on my face sobbing in my bedroom floor, I finally realized it never mattered how good I was. He loved me face down in my puke, drunk just as much as He does with over 37 years of sobriety today. It is all about His unconditional love. It is always there. It is up to me to allow it into my heart and life.

When I was about 13 or 14 years old, my parents decided that I needed to attend a Bible study with them about Revelations and the end times. We went every week for the longest time. I absolutely hated doing that because the man who taught it made me afraid. The things he taught, made me feel like I had to dance on the head of a pin, or be careful not to step on a crack, or do something else wrong so that I did not screw up somehow and miss the "rapture." I carried all the things this man told and all the horrible pictures he painted around in my mind for years. That was part of the reason why I kept going up and down the aisles of churches trying to get saved. I was scared to death that I would be left behind!

After I got sober, for the first time in my life, I realized that it was okay if I had my own conception of God, my Jesus, or a Higher Power. Also, my relationship with my Higher Power was and still is very sacred and personal to me. It is not anyone else's business and is not up for judgment from anyone. For me, if I do not have a relationship with a Higher Power, I am going to die because I will drink again. And, for me to drink is to die. So, I am very protective of my relationship with my Jesus today.

Over the last 37 years in my journey of sobriety, I have studied every religion I can get my hands on. I have studied all kinds of spiritual paths. I have studied the Bible intensely. I have learned the history of religions, my Jesus, the writings, and various translations of the Bible, you name it. I have researched other gods. See, I believe that if my Jesus is so weak that I have to keep Him in a tiny little box and I am afraid to look at other concepts with an open mind, then I am believing in the wrong thing. I also believe that if I am living in fear of stepping on a crack or something and missing the "rapture," then I believe in the wrong thing.

Over the years, I have come to realize that my Jesus is all that is important to me. My Jesus is not a religious organization. My Jesus is not a certain translation of the Bible or denomination. My Jesus gets me like nobody else does. I do not have to be perfect. I do not have to worry about whether I take the mark of the beast or not; whether I scan my groceries with a scanner or allow my employer to digitally deposit my checks that I am goimg to miss the "rapture". None of that matters! Yet that kind of crap was crammed in my head as a young teenager. How crazy is that?! That is nothing to do with my Jesus at all!!!!

 My Jesus is very much my best friend. He walks beside me every step of the way in my life and very often carries me. There have also been times He has drug my ass, kicking and screaming all the way, because I get caught up in fear. When I look back at those times, I can see that I was looking with my fleshy eyes when I should have been looking with my spirit. Yet, my Jesus knew my heart and drug me anyway until I could get up walk alongside Him once again.

I am not writing this to impress anyone. Frankly, I do not care what anyone else thinks. I guess I just want others to know that my Jesus is not about all the lies and crap thrown around in so-called churches today. He is not at all about fire and brimstone , gloom and doom, and some getcha God that we should fear. The message of my Jesus was and still is very simple, "Love one another as I have loved you."

Signs and Symbols From The Other Side

Signs and Symbols From The Other Side

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard

2/8/24

Most people think I am nuts because I really believe strongly that our loved ones leave us signs and symbols from the other side when they pass on. I believe they do this because the gap between the two dimensions we each now live in is very difficult to cross. Some people have the gift to channel, I guess, but most of us cannot do that. So, our loved ones find different ways to make us stop and pay attention. They want us to see that they are still around us in spirit.

Today, I found another random quarter. At least some people would say it was a random one. I absolutely know this was from my Daddy. It was not random at all. It has the year 2022 on the face of it. I refuse to say that my Daddy died. Instead, I say he transitioned to the other side. This happened on February 11, 2022. I was there to lead him home. On the face, this quarter it looks a little beat up. Yet, when I flipped it over in my hand the other side looked brand new. Of course, it would be a picture of one of the beloved chiefs of our Cherokee tribe! I stood there laughing at the pure joy of seeing it as chills ran up my arm. My Daddy was and still is a very proud Cherokee man. He knew and absolutely adored Willma Mankiller.

The thought of them together on the other side blows my mind! My heart is overflowing with gratitude now knowing that my Daddy and my other ancestors, especially my Cherokee ones, are still here guiding me in spirit. I know they are here to protect me and that no matter what choufes I make in life, I will always be okay. After all, my Daddy promised to always have my back, even after he passed on.

Thank you my dear, sweet Daddy for another hello from the other side. You know that between me and you, we both realize that you are just in another dimension. Some people call it Heaven, I call it the other side. To me it is all the same.

I miss you so much Daddy! Yet, I know you are well and happy. I kniw you are my guide in the spirit because I feel your energy all around me every day.

Till we meet again in the same dimension, just know that I think about you and talk to you all the time. For me, you are not gone. You are here within my heart and in the love we still share. I love you Daddy!! 💜🌟💜🌟💜

For My Friend Wanda

For My Friend Wanda 

By Andrea Tadpole-Broussard 

2/6/24

Wanda, something you posted a few days ago touched my heart and got me thinking. I remember reading a story somewhere years ago about a man who tried to change the direction of a river so it would not flow on his property in this one particular spot. I sure wish I could remember the name of the story, but I do not know it right now. What I remember is that he went through all this work and trouble for a very long time to finally get the river to flow in a different direction. At least he thought he had finally mastered it. 

The very next day, a massive rainstorm hit and the river went back to where it had always flowed in the spot he did not want. The moral of the story was that you cannot change the flow of the river. So, instead of wasting time trying to, it is better to just go with it. I translated that as accept that it is God's will, even if it makes no sense to me.

For some reason, that story has always stuck with me in my heart. I suppose it is because I am just like that man. I am always trying to change the flow of a formidable power that I can never change. I have wasted a lot of my life doing that. My continued failures at trying to have led me down some shady paths. Until I could accept things as being exactly as they are supposed to be, I did not find freedom or peace.

The second anniversary of what I call my Father's transition to the other side is coming up on February 11th. I have been remembering the months before he passed better lately. For the longest time, they were just a big blur. I tried so hard to keep him alive. I did everything I could, said every prayer I knew, chanted mantras, burnt incencse, you name it. Yet, it was not meant to be. Just like I could not change the flow of a river; I could not keep my Dad alive. 

I do not know why I am telling you this other than this has what has been on my mind lately. See, my Dad and I started out very rough in life. He was good to me when I was a baby and young child, but when I became a teenager he got vicious. I suppose when you are dealing with a rebellious teenager who is drinking, drugging and roaring through your life like a tornado all the time, one might get vicious too. All I know is that as a young person, I hated him with all my guts. There were many nights as a teenager that I would wish and pray that he would die.

Yet, when I got sober at 23 some how, some way God found a way into both of our hearts and we found forgiveness for eachother. We worked our asses off on our relationship together. It was not perfect, but we absolutely loved each other and we knew it. I have the deepest gratitude for the gift of love that God gave to me and my Dad. If you had known where we came from, you would understand what a beautiful miracle this was and still is.

The last 3 months of his life I spent the majority of it sitting every evening watching TV and holding hands with him. That is all he wanted from me. Just to sit and hold his hand. Those simple, quiet moments with him are forever etched my heart. 

When I was there to help him make his transition, I begged God not to let him die. Then, I realized again that I could not change the flow of the river he was on. The greatest gift I could give him was to let him go. When you love someone that deeply, you do what you have to do. I know you understand this.

I still talk about my Dad every day. I still tell his stories. I still talk to him every day. I feel him all around me. I see him everywhere I go. I see him in the trees and birds. I see him in the roses when they bloom outside in my yard. I feel him in the gentle breeze when I finally sit still. I see him in the things he leaves me along life's journey like quarters, pennies and feathers. They probably mean nothing to anyone but me. But they remind me that my Father is still with me even though my fleshy eyes can not see him. Most of all these things remind me that the love we shared is still alive.

I guess I am sharing this with you because I understand why you still talk about your husband. I understand why you still say his name. I understand why you still tell your stories about him. It is because the love you shared with him will never die. So, keep saying his name and telling stories about him. For it is within doing this that his love for you continues to live. 💜