White bird and parachute test

In the middle of November 2024, I was walking around a rural location with ancient tombs as an enthusiast-historian. I felt a deep anger over the many unfortunate events that had recently occurred. My thoughts turned to God, and I found myself swearing at Him in frustration. My discontent was accompanied by strong curses directed at Him. The day was bright and sunny, without a cloud in the sky, but to my eyes, the sky seemed like a vast, gray expanse. I looked up, straight into the center of that sky, and began to shout curses.

Suddenly, I saw a large white bird—perhaps a heron or a stork—high in the sky, at the point where I had been shouting. Almost immediately, the sky transformed into a natural blue, and I stopped cursing. It felt as though some invisible force had taken care of my mental state and given me a sign: I could not grasp the full extent of God's plan. Yet, through this symbol, the sky seemed to offer peace to my troubled soul.

In 2006, I experienced something similar. At that time, I was searching for answers to my personal struggles, to all my setbacks and failures. In an attempt to find clarity, I decided to test myself in something dangerous: a parachute jump.

Of course, I presented this choice to my colleagues and others as a journalistic endeavor, a search for professional insight. But in truth, it was a test—a conversation with God, to understand how much He needed me in His future plans. As you may know, parachutes can be unpredictable. Moreover, I knew that the parachutes and equipment were Soviet-era. In a way, I was testing my importance to God, trying to understand His plans for me. Naturally, I experienced a wide range of emotions, learned many new things, and gathered a wealth of material for my report after the jump. But the key lesson I learned from my "VIS-A-VIS" remains hidden from the public, who viewed my "feat" merely as professional curiosity.

What I felt during that experience I described here: http://proza.ru/2006/10/31-226. However, the only part I shared publicly from my "talking" was a small sentence in my report: "As a result, I landed somewhat hard on my butt, though on sand." My readers were never made aware of the true nature of my landing—that I had hit my tailbone extremely hard. It was as if God had given me a firm kick, telling me not to ask such foolish questions about His intentions for me.