My Life with Robin
My name Robin McArthur I am a spirit guide! Many of you may be thinking, what exactly is a spirit guide? The easiest way to understand both who I am and what my job is here on earth is to envision the story of Pinocchio. Do you remember Jiminy Cricket, who served as a kind of ”conscious guide” for Pinocchio? Like Jiminy Cricket, I am that little voice in your head that tells you right from wrong. I remind you of those lessons that your mother taught you when you were young, and I accompany you when obstacles appear or when important decisions must be made. In no way am I complaining about my plight, you see, because being a spirit guide is considered a huge honor in the non-physical world.
It is important to know that I lived in the physical world centuries ago. In fact, all spirit guides have had the pleasure, or inconvenience, of living in a physical body for several important reasons. First, earthbound experience provides critical insight and understanding into the challenges faced by human beings. Second, spirit guides draw upon their earthly experiences to facilitate a deeper understanding and enhance the spiritual growth and the development of the humans we serve. In short, personal human experience makes us better listeners and better problem solvers. Also in an effort to broaden my experience, I have had the honor of serving a spirit guide to men and women for several hundred years.
“Spirit Guides are ascended masters—a group of spirituality enlightened beings, once mere mortals, who have undergone a process of spiritual transformation. According to these teachings, they remain attentive to the spiritual needs of humanity and act as superintendents of its spiritual growth.” This is the definition given in the book called, Is There More to Life Than What We Know? By Joseph LoBrutto III.
Over the last few hundred years, I have had my share of difficult cases. Without a doubt, the most frustrating part is to not be recognized by the Individuals whom I serve. I am happy to say, after complaining for many lifetimes, I was finally granted the joy and unique hardship of helping someone who could not only hear me, but could see me as well!
A non-physical entity never before seen by humans, this has been a unique and extraordinary experience, to say the least. I am blessed to detail this story, not only through my eyes, which are not far from the eyes of the divine, but through her eyes, which I have come to know. The person of whom I speak is Ruth Ann Hill. I call her Ruthie.
Her life began precisely at 8 o’clock at night in the middle of May the 22nd to be exact in the year 1976, and as it so happens she arrived very early. It was one of the few times in her life that she would be early. Many people saw her premature arrival (leading to the manifestation of cerebral palsy) as a terrible misfortune. For Ruthie, having Cerebral Palsy and being partially confined to a wheelchair has served as one of the many blessings in her life. Ruthie Ann’s story began long before her birth. Allow me to provide you with the background.
Brenda was a mere 125 pounds. Her protruding belly was the only visible indication that there was a new life within her. She vigilantly watched her weight and being pregnant was no exception. As luck would have it, her pregnancy did little to disturb her hourglass figure. She stood strong in support of the baby that had taken refuge amidst her tiny waist line. Her distinctive hips matched her full C-cup breasts to which her mother, Rita, frequently lamented, I don’t know where you got your chest because I sure didn’t get blessed with a chest like that.
Brenda‘s mother Rita was a strikingly beautiful woman in her own right. She stood at 5’9 and weighed only 130 pounds herself, she had legs that seemed endless, long and sleek. Looking younger than her 54 years Rita had gorgeous jet black hair without a hint of gray and on more than one occasion passersby understandably assumed Rita was Brenda‘s sister. Rita was obviously flattered by the attention. One aspect of her appearance that was very different from Brenda‘s was her choice in daily attire. Rita sported a perfectly pressed, black and white polkadot dress with a matching white belt that was strategically placed to contain what Rita considered to be her out of control waist line. The look was complete with matching shoes and white gloves. Rita believed a person‘s character should be visible through their fashion. Brenda, on the other hand, had far too many emotional burdens brewing to invest her energy in her clothing. When she looked in the mirror, she longed to appear as a carefree love child from the 60s, even though she was just a child herself when the hippie generation was born.
In the spring of 1976, the weather was unseasonably warm, which somewhat explained Brenda’s choice to wear an oversized peasant shirt that she found at Goodwill, which was intended to be worn by a pregnant woman three times her size. She look more like she was wearing a tent rather than a shirt. The shirt was so large, it consumed her petite frame making the cut off sweat-pant shorts underneath barely visible. She did, however, wear the matching, fashionable shoes of the day, white leather original Dr. Scholl’s wooden sandals. Brenda reached up to pull her sandy-brown locks into a hair tie, as her temperature began to spike making her fair skinned oval face rosy with color. Only seconds after it was as if her blood was boiling. She started screaming at her mother at the top of her lungs with a vengeance that can only be described as the epitome of rage. Only a woman who was raised by a part-time mother and a full-time alcoholic could relate to such a visceral response.
When Brenda was nine years old, her father left Rita when her alcoholism became unbearable. Brenda remained devastated by his absence for the balance of her childhood. Her face bore the evidence of years of worry and distress. If Brenda was anything, she was resilient. Her young face was wise beyond her years and distinguished with a deep sense of sadness. Despite obvious hardship, Brenda retained her beauty, which was accentuated by her striking green eyes. As Rita‘s alcoholism progressed, Brenda was sent to live with her aunts. Sadly, Rita no longer was capable of raising Brenda. Instead, Rita found the delusion of happiness in the bottle and gave up the love of her only child. In her alcoholic stupor, she felt comforted in the illusion of love and fulfillment. In the absence of Brenda, she sought comfort in the bottle with a greater sense of urgency and frequency.
When Rita was sober she was an impeccable mother who loved her child unconditionally. In the brief interlude between alcoholic fueled binges she was a devoted and loving mother to Brenda. However, due to her psychological deficits, Brenda failed to remember the positive aspects of her childhood. Instead, she was filled with immense rage and she held her mother solely responsible for the destruction of her family. In many ways she was still a nine-year-old abandoned by her father and tossed aside by her alcoholic mother. The penned-up rage within her exploded unpredictably which brings us to the most recent episode of rage unleashed upon her mother. It had been 12 years since the dissolution of their family Rita and Brenda argued over trivial issues not pertaining to anything in particular. Only hours later, as Brenda was visiting her very best friend, Mary, she began feeling terribly ill. Something was wrong. She was gripped by abdominal pain, which left her panting and breathless. Her water broke.