You Never Walk Alone

As many of you know I have an issue with the teachings that we have a saboteur within or a small self that will always separate us from our good. I especially don’t like the ideas that our egos will always separate us from God, and our personal desires will lead us astray. These limiting ideas have been part of our baggage for so long many think they are true. And again I wonder why would we choose to believe them?

Certainly there are archetypal models that have been around since the beginning referring to evil forces at work in our lives. These scary ideas are in most of the great spiritual teachings. Some call these evil forces satan, the enemy of God, the lord of evil, and the tempter of human beings. The evil within is sometimes identified with lucifer, the leader of the fallen angels.
Other traditions have their own definitions.

Do you really believe that you have evil forces within you that will always try to separate you from God and the desires of your heart?

I don’t mind that I have what might be called limiting beliefs or limiting habit patterns. I don’t even mind having what some might characterize as a low Self Concept in some areas. I might even let others get away with grouping some of my behaviors and suggesting that they do not support me in staying on track to create the reality I desire. But I draw the line with references about my mind or my body as if they are not: “the crowning achievement of the Living God.”

I’d like to share a part of my story with you; a story about hope and believing in yourself.

I had a spinal fusion at twenty three where my spine became infected with the E.coli bacteria. That orthopedic surgeon did four more surgeries over the next year to get rid of the infection and finally as the infection continued to spread he admitted he was over his head. He referred me to the University of Washington Medical Center.
After fourteen days of tests, six doctors came into my room to tell me the infection had indeed spread and they would have to do a very major debridement to clean it out. They would open me from two inches above my belly button and go down through my pelvic area to scrape and chisel the infection out of the spine, then between my scrotum and rectum, then up to several inches above my belt line so they could again get to my spine. After that they would open my buttocks and follow my sciatic nerves where the infection has gone down my legs.

The next morning when they opened the abdomen they found my lower colon had holes where the infection had damaged the tissue and they performed a colostomy. They pulled my bowels out, cut them and sewed the two open ends to my tummy. I was sent home to heal and learn how to go to the bathroom in a plastic bag. Thirty five days later I came back for the big one. The one they said I couldn’t come out of whole.

The story starts with the end of that next stay.

Somehow, I had come through this incredible surgical procedure without any severe nerve damage. Oh, I was in a great deal of pain and had a lot of numbness (some that would stay with me for years). The doctors were even more tentative about whether my colon would ever heal enough to have my colostomy reversed.

But I had won the first round. I had demonstrated to myself that through my own personal commitment, I could make a difference in how my life went. I really wasn’t sure whether or not my change in attitude had made the difference. But as Uncle Larry had taught me, “Son, if anything good happens within twenty miles of you, take credit for it.” And that’s what I tried to do.

However, my “I Can Make A Difference” attitude was short lived. The surgeons went back in two weeks later to redo the drains. After I was back in my room and awake, Dr. Hedgewood came in and sat down beside my bed, his usually erect British posture replaced with slumping shoulders.

“We found the infection still has a good hold,” he said. “We can only hope that with the new drains and antibiotics, it won’t spread.”

My confidence crumpled, and depression set in.

After a total of thirty-seven days in the hospital and three surgical procedures, I was finally sent home to mend and learn to live with my disease.
Within a few days, severe pain returned, caused by new pockets of infection, and I was readmitted to the hospital. I hadn’t even been home a week!

When I returned, Dr. Hedgewood was gone. His time as a visiting professor was up, and he had gone back to England the previous week. I became a patient of Dr. Yelton, the head of the orthopedic department. He was a hard-nosed arrogant doctor with an attitude. Dr. Hedgewood would be sorely missed.

After more high-level meetings with the general surgery and infectious disease specialists, they decided on another course. They told me they would cut out all the skin, muscle and connective tissues down to my spine. Rather than close the wound, they would leave it open and put me in a body cast to restrict my movements so I wouldn’t be able to bend. Leaving the wound open would let the tissues granulate, or heal, from the inside out and leave no place for the infection to take hold. Also, with access to my spine, it would allow them to try some new procedures with antibiotics that might have more of an effect. I was told I’d be in the cast for about six months, which would mean I would not be able to go to school the next quarter.

When I awoke from surgery, my body was in a cast from my armpits to just above my knees. The cast had an opening in the back where the tissue had been removed; bandages were covering that area. The cast also had an opening in the front left side for the colostomy bag and one between my legs for my genitals. It was designed so that my legs were spread apart, with a foot-long brace between them to give the cast strength.

The bandages on my back were changed twice daily. On the third day after surgery, I was curious about the operation and wound. When an intern came in to change the bandages, I asked, “Could you get a couple of mirrors so I could see what it looks like?”

“That would be kind of hard with you in the cast,” he said. “And we don’t really have the right kind of mirrors around.”

I could tell the intern didn’t want me to see the surgical site, which confused me because they had always accommodated me in the past. What was the big deal? I thought. Well, I’d find out.

Taking matters into my own hands. I had a friend bring in a small wall mirror and set it on the windowsill next to my bed. He also brought me a hand-held mirror, which I hid in my nightstand. I practiced pushing myself up on my side, which was no small task while in a body cast from nipples to knees. After I got it down, I waited for my chance.

The next day during one of the two dressing changes, when the intern moved to get new bandages, I pushed myself onto my side, took the hand-held mirror from under my pillow, and looked at my reflection in the windowsill mirror. What I saw shocked me so much I almost dropped the mirror. In the cut-out space of the body cast, I saw a gaping wound, like a raw steak. There were two pieces of red, raw meat side by side, each about two inches wide and a foot long from my mid-back down to my buttocks where there was a hole big enough to put my fist in. Between these two strips of raw flesh was an almost transparent tissue covering what looked like a yellow bumpy thing.

When the doctor turned back and saw me, he just shook his head.

“What’s that yellow thing?” I asked.

“That’s your spine, Terry. Lay down.”

When I lay back down, I was horrified. I felt like I was going to vomit. I broke out in a cold sweat. First they had mutilated my front with the two ends of my colon sewn onto my stomach, and now they had destroyed my back! How was I going to function with no meat, no tissue, no muscle over my spinal column?

“What in God’s name have they done to me?” I cried.

“I thought they explained it all before the surgery,” he said.

“You’ve got to be kidding! I didn’t hear them say they were going to destroy my back!”

“I know it looks bad, but it will heal,” he offered. “It’s a good plan.”

“Yeah, right,” I quipped.

After the intern left, I lay there seething. Every time I envisioned my ruined back, I became more enraged until my body was shaking. These were supposed to be great surgeons, but now I felt like they were a bunch of butchers, and I was the side of beef they were butchering.

Some would say that the outrage and horror I felt was just a transfer of some inner anger about myself or some other bullshit like that. But unless one has seen his or her body being taken apart one piece at a time, explanations like that are just book-learned knowledge. And knowledge alone doesn’t come close to feeling the visceral rage and horror of the experience itself.

I had felt lost before, knowing there was nothing I could do. Now I also felt like I was being destroyed physically. I lay there in a body cast unable to care for myself, with a plastic bag attached to my abdomen for my solid waste and a tube up my penis so I could urinate. And slowly my anger turned to despair.

Beaten down, I slipped completely into the belief that there was no way to be whole again. They had cut out and tossed away the muscles in my back. What would be next?

I went to sleep that night in a black depression. Around midnight, I awoke. My bowels were about to move, but the plastic bag to catch my body waste had come loose. I grabbed a small towel for wiping up spills and shoved it into the hole in the cast. Pressing it hard against the opening of my bowels with both hands, I held back my own body waste.

I got it in time, but if I let go with either hand, the waste would pour out into the cast. The door to my private room was closed, and the nurse call button was pinned up by my head where I couldn’t reach it unless I let go of the towel. I tried to get it with my mouth, but the body cast wouldn’t let me move that far. I was completely at the mercy of my diseased body, and there was nothing I could do about it.

For almost forty-five minutes, I called for help; my screams were getting louder and hoarser. Where the hell were they? I kept calling until I was beside myself with outrage and despair. My arms were getting tired holding the towel, and I hurt all over. Finally, the door opened and two night-shift nurses rushed in.

“Where were you . . . where were you?”

“Oh, Terry, we’re sorry! We were at one end of the hall working with a lady in trouble. We didn’t hear you.”

"The bag’s come off and I couldn’t reach the call button.” Suddenly, emotions flooding me, I began sobbing and couldn’t stop. I had gone over the edge, and there was no way back. All of my talk about fighting was lost. I didn’t want to be here anymore. It was too much. The terrible things that were being done to my body and the prospects of living with what was going to be left were no longer tolerable. I wanted to die.

“Terry, it’s going to be okay,” one nurse said, trying to calm me.

She put her hands on the towel so I could release mine, while the other nurse found the bag. They got it back on me without letting too much of the waste leak out. But it didn’t matter to me anymore. It was over. I had given up and I knew it.

An excerpt from: “The Hell I Can’t” by Terry McBride

I know that some of you are hurting and some have real fear for your future.

Some of you have lost your retirement; some of you have lost jobs or your homes or your health. And perhaps most tragically some of you have lost hope.
Life seems to be just one struggle after another - add to this the belief that you can’t trust yourself and there is something evil about you (your monkey mind, the saboteur within, your small self or your ego) and these old habits of thought can lock you into believing that suffering is the pathway to some greater good. And the lie that you need to accept the things you cannot change, hides the truth that life is about joy and abundance.

Two weeks ago I spoke at the Orange County Center for Spiritual Living in Mission Viejo, Ca.
If you are ever in that area stop and visit with Reverends Sandy and Kirk Moore. They have a magnificent center, and you will love the people who attend. Before I spoke, their guest singer James Higgins sang in his glorious voice, “You Never Walk Alone”. I was in tears both services, it was a transformational time.

I can’t begin to tell you how many nights I listened to that song on my little tape recorder as I wept into my pillow while they did things to my body that you’re not supposed to do.
I had surgeries on my back and abdomen dealing with the infection for eleven years. The surgeries mentioned above were the sixth, seventh, eighth and ninth. I had a total of twenty seven.

To create the reality you desire you must start from the position that you are not your “stuff”. You are not your past or your history; you are not your beliefs. You are not what’s going on in your now.
You are the crowning achievement of the Living God. And you have the right and the ability to create what you want. Yes it may take time and effort on your part to really figure out how to take charge of your creative mind. There may be pitfalls and challenges along the way.

I know what it is like to be sick; I know what it’s like to be surrounded by disease and terrified of the future. And I know with my mind and my heart, there is a power for good in the universe that we can learn to use to make our dreams come true.

Hear the lyrics, feel them:
“When you walk through a storm hold your head up high, and don’t be afraid of the dark. At the end of the storm there’s a golden sky and the sweet silver song of a lark. Walk on through the wind, walk on through the rain, though your dreams be tossed and blown. Walk on, walk on with hope in your heart and you’ll never walk alone. You never walk alone”

Believe in yourself, believe in your dreams and have courage. You are more powerful than you ever imagined and you are not alone.

I send you Love, Joy and Power!!!

Terry McBride

Who Do You Think You Are?

I remember a time when I was watching a television program with my wife. The program was about disease and the part we can play in it. At one point, the presenter stated how several people had received wonderful benefits from being sick and that they did not experience the disease itself as a negative which needed to be eliminated. He further stated that the healing people seek may not necessarily include the complete healing of their body.

After the program I turned to her and said, “Yes, I agree that disease can be a teacher, but if one does not know that they can eliminate their disease then it’s just another box. A glorious box, perhaps, with great lessons and insights to be gained. But, it is still a box and something that we “can’t change.” And in that box there is no freedom in choice, only degrees of helplessness.”

When I was sick with what my doctors said was an incurable infection in my spine, I was sent to a psychiatrist who wanted me to work with him so that I could learn to live within what he called “my human limitations.” He said that there was a good chance I would spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair and he could help me face that reality with dignity. I told him that I didn’t want to learn how to live in a wheelchair with dignity, but that I wanted instead to learn how to get well. He said that I was living in a dream world.

We argued for almost an hour. He read from my medical records and I quoted from scripture and self-help books saying, “All things are possible if only I believe.” It became a very heated discussion. He told me that I was in denial and I told him that I thought he was a jerk. He confronted me with all the evidence that he knew about me being an angry young man who was afraid. And I threatened him with bodily harm.

Finally, I stood up and told him, “I won’t believe you! I am not my medical records, I am not my past, and I won’t use what is going on now as a predictor of my future!” As I walked out of the office I heard him ask, “Who do you think you are?” With that question filling my mind I went back to my hospital room. This hospital stay happened to be for the fourteenth surgery on my spine.

At first I was just angry and resented him for confronting me. Then that anger, mixed with the fear I had within my own beliefs, really plugged me in. But the more I thought about what he had said, the more I had a sense that he was getting to a core issue when he asked, “Who do you think you are?”

Oh, I had read positive books. I had sayings and positive affirmations on my wall. I had started my days with various rituals that were supposed to be meaningful. Yet, when I stood in front of the mirror after shaving to declare my reality I would begin with “I am a survivor.” The entire universe would respond with “Ok, survive this” and I then would own up to all the rest of what I had been taught: I am the adult child of an alcoholic parent…I’m terribly co-dependent. My small self and the saboteur within were always separating me from my good and my ego was always leading me astray.

I was so busy owning up to my human frailties and shortcomings I had no clue about my divine magnificence and authority. And from that limiting perception of self I began to realize that there was no way I would be able to create the health I wanted. That’s when I changed my mind. I was no longer going to validate suffering and disease as the great teacher.

It was nine years and thirteen surgeries later before I was whole and infection free. It then took another five or six years for me to create my body so that it was pain free. I wasn’t always on track or disciplined with what I thought I should be doing. But I did it. There were days, weeks and even months when I was angry and depressed, but I kept using the tools of choice as I knew them and, finally, I created the health that I wanted.

Certainly, I learned some great lessons while I was sick. And the most important lesson was: I am not my stuff, I am not my past, I wasn’t even what was going on in my now. I was and am a magnificent expression of the Divine, and the rest I get to make up.

Looking back, I realize the psychiatrist gave me just what I needed when he asked, “Who do you think you are?”

"I Grew My Leg Almost Three Inches Last Month"

His name was Richard. I was the guest speaker at a spiritual center in Ventura California. I had just delivered a great rendition of my talk “Who do you think you are?” It dealt the difficulties I had regaining my health when my spine became infected with the e. coli bacteria. I was pointing out the challenges we may face from others when our goals and desires are met with failure after failure. My story ended with my perfect health. There were two major ideas in that talk. First, you can do anything. Second, the quality of your life starts with your perception of who you think you are.

I had given that talk hundreds of times and that morning I was quite pleased with my delivery and how it had been received. Later, I was standing in the lobby of the center greeting some of those who had been in attendance when this tall fellow came up with a big smile. He introduced himself, gave me a big hug and said, “I know exactly what you are talking about, I grew my leg almost three inches last month.” I was standing there with my mouth open when an older gentleman who had been behind him, stepped around and said, “He did! He used to have this big ol' lift on the bottom of his shoe and a few weeks ago he come to church without it. I never seen anything like that.” I started to chuckle and told Richard, “I’d enjoy hearing how you did that.” He smiled, gave me his card and said, “Call me.”

That afternoon I went to lunch with Reverend Paula, the spiritual leader of the group and as we were driving to the restaurant I asked her if she knew Richard. She said, “I sure do, did he tell you about his leg?”

A few weeks later Richard and I had lunch together. As we were sitting at a table outside he crossed his leg and then he pulled his foot up over his knee he laughed and pointed out the sole on his right shoe. He took off both shoes and showed me that the right shoe had the original sole. The left shoe had been resoled. He pointed out the small holes around the outside of the right sole and said that was where the lift had been attached. Richard grew his leg with mental work alone. No supplements, no growth hormones, nothing except his own introspection and declaration. He spent quality time developing the belief that he could do it. And in the end he just declared it would happen.

Richard and I became friends. I’ve had the pleasure of having dinner with him and his wife Wanda several times. I haven’t talked to them since they move to Arizona, but his story always brings a smile to my face.

I see my job as teaching and inspiring others to believe in their ability to create what they want. My book and the Everybody Wins Program I developed assist them to do that. In my years of teaching, I’ve met thousands of people who have created miracles in their lives. And there are still times when I witness the unlimited ability we all have to create reality, where like the older gentleman in Ventura I can say, “I never seen anything like that.”

A Matter of Self Image

Sometimes I wonder about the self-image of the people who started the idea about having a saboteur within themselves. You know the small self, that part of them that always separates them from what they want. Or how about the people who talk about their ego as always separating them from God.

How terrible it must have been for them, to think that there was something, within themselves, that would really work against them and the Divine Magnificence they are. Think about it, it must be the same kind of thing, to believe that the devil lives within, or that some part of ones own being is an evil that cannot be trusted.

I want to ask these people, "When is it that you are God expressing uniquely as you and when is it that you are your ‘small self’? When is it that you are God out-picturing into form and when are you that part of you that always separates you from God?” It can be complicated to believe oneself separate from God and I want to know how they do it.

Several years ago a good friend, Jody Stevenson, spoke at a Unity church in the Portland area. Her topic focused on the subtle word games we play that talk about duality and separation. She told me that after the service a man came through the line to greet her who was just radiant. She said she could feel him when he was still several feet away. When he came to her he took her hands and said, "I finally got it: God is bald and kind of short. He's not the best dresser and He has bad days." His eyes glistened with tears of joy as He said, "I now understand who I am. I have limiting beliefs and habits and they are not who I am.” Jody said that as he walked away, she could feel the presence of God moving into the social hall, to have coffee.

It seems simple to me. If there is only one power and one presence in the universe and in our lives - God the good, omnipotent - how could there be anything that would separate me from my divine nature?
Oh, I might have a thought or a feeling that I am separate. But, it's just a thought or a feeling. And those kinds of thoughts and feelings do not have any Truth unless I declare them true.

How long must you and I be bombarded with ideas of duality and separation. When do we get to stand just as we are now and be the magnificent out picturing of The Divine? This is the hunger within people today, to know themselves to be holy. Then we read books and attend lectures that lead us to think that we need to be different to really know God. And the "lives of quiet desperation" go on and on.

I wonder, what would happen if we all got what that man got, when he heard Jody? What would our lives be like if we all began to move through our existence here in form, as if we were divinely magnificent? I wonder, when we moved into the social hall to have coffee, would people feel the presence of God moving among them? I suppose it's just a matter of self-image. But then again, there could be some magical list. Maybe God really is bald and short, and you and I who aren't, are in fact separate.

Can We Have What We Want?

Do you have the right to create the life you dream of? At first this seems an easy Yes. And I find that many people struggle with how specific they should be in the creative process. There are wonderful teachers that insist we should not be specific in our use of the principles that create reality. When I was sick this was languaged as, “We don’t always get what we want; but we do get what we need." "The healing you are looking for may not include the healing of your body." "God may have a bigger plan for you than you just getting what you want." "You need to accept the things you cannot change.”

Within these kinds of statements there is still the possibility of having your dreams. However, we are no longer the choosers. We are no longer in control of the creative process. Whether we get what we want is up to some sort of Higher power.

I think the tools of choice are fairly simple. The real question is: Do we have the right to use them to get what we want? When I finally realized that what I was choosing to think and do created what I was having and experiencing, I ran head on into how specific should I be in my choices?

One of the huge stumbling blocks for me in the area of choice had always been that there was a list of the proper choices. And too many times those correct choices did not relate directly to my heart’s desire. So, the motivation to accomplish those right choices wasn’t there for me because I really wasn’t going after what I wanted. It was difficult to follow through with what I needed to do because my heart wasn’t in it.

But as I continued to study and apply what I was studying I found this difficulty boiled down to different opinions and different teachings. When I read and studied specific teaching models, I tended to believe the material I was paying attention to. As I shifted my focus to differing opinions and material that supported my new focus, I found I could also shift my belief. The principles I was studying were essentially the same. The difference was how I could use these principles.

Ultimately the corner stone in my search to take control of my life was a quote on Commitment I received from a friend. It said:

“The moment one definitely commits oneself, then providence moves too.”
“All sorts of things occur to help one that would not otherwise have occurred. A whole stream of events issues form the decision raising in ones favor all manner of unforeseen incidents and meetings and material assistance which no one would have dreamed would come their way.”

What I like about this statement is, it doesn’t say: When you do it “my way” then magic happens. It just addresses my commitment and states when I commit I will be supported. Period! The universe only says YES to our beliefs. There was no list of this is the only way. And in that sense of unconditional support, I felt a freedom that allowed me to hold on to my dreams even though I was running into disappointment and failure.

In my January 2007 email newsletter, I told the story of my friend Richard who grew his leg almost three inches in four days. We have all heard stories of miraculous demonstrations of power and healing. But how much power and authority do you have? Before you embark on the road to making your dreams come true you need to answer that for yourself.

As far as I’m concerned, for choice to be an inspiring process where we can get excited about the outcome, we need to have the freedom to choose what we want. Certainly we all have cherished beliefs that essentially create the reality we experience. The question to ask is: do my current beliefs and actions support me in having the kind of life I want?

Once you decide that you have the right and the authority to make your dreams come true you can get on with mastering the tools of choice. And through your conscious application of these tools you will realize you can create beliefs that support you in having what you want. When that happens, life stops being a problem to be dealt with and becomes an adventure you are creating. You really can move into your life from a space of “Oh goodie, another day!”