About me

The first time I saw the Disney movie "Alice in Wonderland," God spoke to me.

I was about five or six years old at the time, and the movie was the old, 1951 Disney version, showing at a little theater in my hometown in Finland. My mom had planned the whole thing—she wanted it to be a special day for all of us. She had brought my sister and me, plus her friend and her friend’s daughter. She’d taken care of all the details to make it nice for us. 

Sitting in the dark auditorium that day, watching the images float by on the screen, I suddenly felt a heavy Presence settle over me. I don’t remember what was happening in the movie at that moment, but I remember the Presence commenting on what I was seeing. It drew my attention and said things like: This right here is God! and Look! God is here, too! It felt like God was playing hide-and-seek with me on the screen, showing me how He was hidden in different parts of the movie. Like there was a secret layer to the story, an alternative meaning running beneath the one everyone else was watching.

All the hair on my body stood up. 

It wasn’t the first time this had happened. It had come and gone throughout my childhood. I knew what this was—I knew the drill. I was familiar with it.

In my head, I went: Okay, here we go.

Two things came, hand in hand. First, the wonder, the awe of whatever this was. And that alone could be a whole chapter: all the feelings I had about this, the magnitude of it.

But right after that — shame. Always shame.

I thought that everyone would think I was weird. Probably even weirder than they already did. I could feel it—that invisible wall between me and everyone else. And I knew that soon I wouldn’t be able to make the wall disappear anymore. Then no one would want to play with me, and I’d end up alone.

I knew better than to talk about it to anyone. NO ONE could know. What would they even say?

Lisa talks to the wind! And thinks it talks back!

Wasn’t that a one-way ticket to the loony bin?

And what about the few people who still loved or liked me? The ones I felt close to? The ones who knew just a tiny corner of me? Wouldn’t they all pull away if they saw everything—the full magnitude of what was inside me?

Who’s your mother, and who’s your father, when God speaks to you? Who do you run to and talk to about it? Who’s there to calm your worries, to carry part of your load? Whose lap do you hide in, who wipes your tears—when the intensity of what’s inside you would consume them too?

Who comforts you in your loneliness? And when does that loneliness ever really end?

No one is there for you — except for the wind.

And that was my childhood.

As I sat there in the dark movie theater, the wind — God — spoke to me. Not in words, but as a very, very clear thought placed directly into my mind:

You are Alice in Wonderland.

I thought: What now?! What does that even mean?

But the voice repeated it again, very clearly and insistently: You are Alice in Wonderland.

I glanced around the dark theater, wondering if anyone else had noticed anything. But no one was looking at me. I wondered if people could tell—if somehow it showed on my face. I felt embarrassed. I didn’t want to draw attention to myself. I wanted to disappear into my chair. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me.

Later, when we stepped out into the bright street, I remember staring at the pavement squares as we walked because I didn’t want to meet anyone’s eyes. And still, the Presence followed us. It walked right beside me, gently, almost cheerfully, repeating over and over that I was Alice in Wonderland.

It’s been about 45 years since that day. And now, after endless trial and error, giving up and starting again, walking away and coming back—I’m finally writing this website.

And I think I finally understand why.