The following are experiences that various members of the community would like to express and share with others. Feel free to share anything you feel might be valuable to yourself and/or to others.

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This is a true story of the mysterious connections to miracles that may greet us in our lives.

Twenty years ago I was working in a health food store, in Duncan, British Columbia, Canada, and met Della Rice, a Cowichan's First Nation young woman. I asked her if she had any stinging nettle, to plant in my yard for its healing qualities, and she broke out laughing. Della said that stinging nettle is a nasty weed that grows all over their reservation. She told me people were trying to get rid of it, not plant it in their yards.

We became friends . . . soul sisters in the love that we both had for herbs and their medicinal qualities and our desire to help others.

One night I had a dream about Della. I dreamed she phoned me. As Della was very poor, had no phone, three small children, and no car, I drove over to her home the next morning to see if she needed anything because of the dream.

Della was upset, as it had been suggested over and over by her tribal members and her friends to go and see the ill Minister of their First Nation Shaker Church, Gilman Jimmy.

She did not know what she could do to help him. So, when I mysteriously landed on her porch, first thing in the morning, she knew that she was meant to go and see him. We drove over to Della's friend Doris's home and picked her up because she always goes with Della as a witness and a helper in accordance with their beliefs.

Then we drove over to Gilman's home and the neighbor said family had taken him to the hospital

We arrived at the hospital, not knowing what to find, or what we were doing there, or what we were supposed to do, now that we were there. "What can I do," was all I thought of but Della had such confidence in me that I went with her, into the hospital . . . not sure of what I would find . . . and definitely not what I had ever expected to find.

The entire second floor of the hospital corridor, out side of Gilman's room, was full of his family members. and his friends. There must have been seventy people. They were sitting in chairs, on both sides of the hall, it was eerie . . . as no one was talking. Just sitting . . . in silence.

We entered the hospital room of the dying man. I was shocked how young and good looking he was. He looked to be in his late thirties. And the room was like the hallways. There were people of the many different First Nations in the room, sitting along all the walls, in chairs . . . silently

I thought, gosh, why am I here, the only white person, it was a privilege and it was unsettling. No one talked to me. They only conversed in their native language. I still did not know why I was honored to be trusted among them in their time of grief.

I had taken a weekend course in reflexology and Della had felt this could help Gilman. She ran her fingers over Gilman's head and found a large lump. I showed her how to do a gentle manipulation of his head, then she showed a respected Native healer how to do it, and he did. Others in the room were sending Gilman prayers in their many languages.

This is the God's truth We knew the dying man was in a coma, and in reflexology a coma is connected to brain, to big toe, so I pulled back the sheets at the bottom of the bed and hit the brain point on his big toe three times.

What happened next caught me totally off guard! The man sprang to life! He sat straight up in bed! It was such a surprise . . . he was yelling . . . HI HI HI . . . Della said he is saying STOP! STOP! STOP! in his own language. So I did . . . with big bugged eyes . . . and a rapid beating heart.

The room immediately filled with Gilman's friends who rushed in when they heard his voice. I can't remember what happened next, but I knew I was not needed and left. I was startled at what had just happened. Everything seemed so dramatic.

I have not told many of my friends of this incident. It came to mind the other day and I called Della after these 20 years to get her side of the story. She also had not shared this day of her life with many others, and she was just as amazed at it as I had been. Della let her side of the story run out of her like a river that had been dammed up, and burst loose. She talked fast, letting the words, she had held in for so long spill out.

Della recalled that Gilman remained fully alert after we left. He said something about a stake. So all his friends, who had been sitting so quietly in the corridor, scurried around the hospital looking for a steak for him. But it turned out he had fallen on a stake, off his back porch, and hit his head.

This fall had given him epileptic seizures and the Doctors felt there was nothing to do for him, when we arrived at the hospital, and that is why everyone was so quiet. They were stunned that this handsome dynamic man, they loved, was dying before them.

After Della and I left the hospital, the man remained fully alert through the day and late into the night.

Gilman talked to his son. He apologized for not being there for his son, and told him he Loved him. Gilman told his wife he loved her . . . and he died in the morning.

Was it a Blessing? Was that a miracle? What was it all about? Is this how God works through us? It still remains a mystery to me after all this time.