Introduction 

It was September 2000, and I was sitting on my bed in a rented room, meditating. Exhausted from a difficult day teaching seventh grade at an inner city middle school, I was praying for a miracle. I felt that my work with the children was spinning out of control. I wanted them to relate to each other in a more loving way, but too many children seemed alienated, aggressive, or indifferent. Deep loneliness filled me with a sadness that had no answer. My old tabby cat curled her body close to me and I muffled my tears into the pillow so my landlady wouldn’t hear.

I felt such a failure. At fifty-five years old, I was seriously questioning my faith in God’s plan for my life. My trust was evaporating and I felt abandoned. If teaching a group of kids from a rough neighborhood was my current assignment from the Universe, I wanted to give it back. It wasn’t working for me, and if God hadn’t noticed how defeated I felt, I was about to tell Him. I needed an explanation, an apology for sticking the wrong person in the wrong place. I wanted a way out. Holding the warmth of my cat close to my heart, I closed my eyes, and prayed for help.

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