About me

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

I was about five or six years old, and the movie was the old, original Disney version from 1951. It was shown in an old movie theater in my hometown in Finland, and we had gone to see it with my mom, my sister, my mom's friend, and her daughter. It was supposed to be a special day for us; my mom had wanted to make it that way. She’d made all the arrangements.

Sitting in the dark auditorium that day, watching the images float past me on the screen, I suddenly felt a heavy Presence fall over me. I don't remember what was happening on the screen, but I remember the Presence commenting on the images. The Presence drew my attention to something there and said: This right here is God! And, Look! God is here, too! It was as if God played Peekaboo or hide and seek with me on the screen. He showed me that He was hiding around the movie in various places. That there was an alternative meaning to the public storyline, a secret one.

All the hair on my body stood up. 

It wasn’t the first time this had happened to me. It had occurred to me off and on throughout my childhood. I knew what this was; I knew the drill. I was familiar with it.

In my head, I went: Ok, here we go.

Two things I felt. Hand in hand. First, the wonder, the awe of whatever this was, and that itself is a chapter on its own; all the feelings I felt about what all this was; the magnitude of it.

But right after that — shame. Always shame.

I thought that everyone would think that I was weird. More so than what they probably already thought. I sensed it—the eternal wall between them and me. Soon, I wouldn't be able to make the wall go away. And then no one would play with me, and I'd always be alone.

I knew better than to talk to anyone about this. NO ONE could know. Because what would they even say?

Lisa speaks to the wind!  AND thinks it responds!

Wasn’t that an almost automatic ticket to the looney bin?

And what about the few people who still loved or liked me? The people with whom I felt some form of closeness? The people with whom I could share some little corner of myself? Wouldn’t they all run away if I showed them ALL of me? The magnitude of what was hiding inside me?

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

Who will comfort you in your loneliness? And when does that loneliness ever end? 

No one will be there for you except for the wind. 

And that was my childhood.

As I sat there in the dark movie theatre, the wind — God — said to me, not in words, but just as a very, very clear thought that was placed in my mind:

You are Alice in Wonderland.

I said, What now?! What does that even mean?!

And the voice repeated very clearly and insistently that I WAS Alice in Wonderland.

I looked around me in the dark theatre to see if anyone else had noticed this, but I didn’t see anyone looking in my direction. I wondered if people could tell, if it was somehow noticeable. I felt embarrassed. I didn’t want to draw any extra attention to myself. I wanted to sink into my chair and disappear. I wanted to be swallowed by the ground and go to sleep.

Later, when we walked out of the movie theatre to the sunny street, I remember staring at the pavement squares because I didn’t want to look at anyone in their faces. And, still, the Presence followed us along; it was right beside us the whole time as we walked home and kept repeating to me, almost cheerfully, that I was Alice in Wonderland.

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

And I think I finally understand why.