“Dove in the Doorway” Part I

Entrance to the farm.

Part I




In a farmhouse on the lush rolling hills of a small town outside of Atlanta, Georgia, a woman by the name of Nancy Fowler had visitations from Jesus and the Blessed Virgin for eight years during the nineteen nineties.  When my father heard through his church, that the Divine Mother revealed that October 13, 1998   would be her last communication with Nancy, he was drawn to make a pilgrimage to Conyers.  My father’s devotion to the Virgin Mother was a daily practice of prayers, and the Rosary for as long as I could remember.  His deep humbling faith moved him through the harshest challenges, and his constant example changed many lives.

When my father expressed his strong and sincere desire to be present during the last visitation, he also fanned the flames of faith in my mother, myself and Bonni as well.  So, we made the decision to drive this gentle soul, and recharge the rivers of reverence that ran through all our souls.  As we made our preparations, it became obvious my mother had some doubts about Ms. Fowler’s claims, as well as the testimonies of spiritual, mental, and physical healings.  But, my father did not allow her somewhat halfhearted feelings to diminish his pure delight, and his radiance testified to his devoutness.

The word about our trip peeked the curiosity of the women in my meditation group, and each one handed over their precious rings, engagement and wedding bans for me to bring along.  We all believed the energies of the Virgin and the tens of thousands of faithful would bless these objects, and they would be infused with the love, compassion and peace that would flow on this sacred land.  I had a tiny satchel, that hung like a necklace, that we put them in for safe keeping.  And, before leaving I felt driven to take a statue of Mother Mary that a friend made and gave to me just months earlier.

As we journeyed north from Florida, the van was unusually quiet.  There was no doubt that the silence was a result of contemplating our intentions for heading to Conyers.  I remember myriads of thoughts begging for attention, and I suppose the four of us took time with prayers of petitions.  But, after a few hours we were in travel mode, maps opened, snacks being passed, pit stops and lighthearted conversations.  To be sure, our destination had a part of us stopping on occasion to reflect on the “heavenly” ~ as we made our way.

Seeing the skyline of Atlanta signaled we were near, and we mere mortals were hungry.  Due to the thousands of pilgrims coming into the area, we had to stay about thirty minutes away in Decatur, Georgia.   So, after checking into our hotel we visited a nice restaurant, and fueled our empty bellies, while enjoying a classical guitar player, some wine and spirited conversation.  We arrived the evening of October tenth, so we could check the wheelchair access on the farmland, and spend a day at Stone MountainState Park.

The following morning was clear and sunny, and we were dizzy with anticipation.  I recalled watching the movies as a young girl of Our Lady of Fatima, and the Song of Bernadette, and wondered if my heart and soul would be flushed with an expansive understanding of the Divine Presence as these children were.  Would I smell the scent of roses, or be given a message?  Would I receive a physical healing?  Would I be exposed to the “Light of God” like I was gifted twenty years earlier during a near death experience?

As we drove toward Conyers the questions never gave me pause, and each mile was filled with more anticipation.  When we reached the farm, we were directed where to drive through the open land.  The rolling green hills housed clusters of majestic live oaks in various areas, and we meandered through the field.  The property albeit beautiful did not speak of its sacredness, but once we parked and exited the van ~ it hit us.


Like an ancient cathedral, it helped to transport you into the most sacred space of all ~ your soul.  As a grand architecture would bring you to your knees, so did the earth with the elders of the oaks welcoming you with their swaying moss and branches reaching to embrace you.  When you looked up, the sky was vast, and the birds did there part to accent natures raw beauty.  There was a mystical feel, that was not understated.  It too beckoned you to find the center of your soul, and to operate from that spiritual command center.

As we slowly made our way to the farmhouse, each of us felt as though we were being fine tuned to be able to harmonize with the higher energies present here.  The breezes were calming, and anxiety this day had no space.  We entered into a hallowed site, and the doubt laid dormant for my mother ~ at least for now.  The Virgin had appeared forty eight times up until now, hard to doubt, when the soul’s compass points to the truth within us.

We reached the humble farmhouse, and on this day we were allowed to enter the room where the apparitions took place.  Being that it was two days prior to Mother Mary’s appearance, the crowds were lighter, and the line was not long to get in ~ a half hour wait.  As we stood in line others told their stories of physical, mental, and spiritual healings.  They showed us pictures taken right into the sun, that showed clear shots of Jesus, Mary, doves and Father Pio.  We stepped out of the line, because three of our crew needed the rest rooms.

As they were gone, I found a nice oak to sit under and basked in the glorious energy.  While my eyes were closed a bird started singing, putting a smile on my face.  In moments I heard someone speak softly and clearly.

“You are here to serve my children with joy, love and compassion.”

I knew it was the Divine Mother speaking, but I was somewhat in shock, and did not share my message at first.  But, when everyone returned, we proceeded to enter into the line.  While we waited, three of us looked at each other strangely at the same time ~ we smelt the roses.  The scent was powerful, and tears from there way down our cheeks.  The mystical was revealing itself, but my mother did not have this experience, and her doubts were beginning to show once again.

As we chatted with more people, we were told that before each visitation the bird sings announcing Mother Mary.  Chills went down my arms as I explained my message, and the accompanying bird song.  For me, the sacred adventure was already more than I expected.  We entered the small humble room next, and for a moment each could kneel at Nancy’s small altar and pray.  As my mother knelt, I rolled up behind her ~ asking that her doubt would transmute into faith.

The room inside the farmhouse, where the Mother Mary appeared to Nancy.

to be continued…


About anitaskocz

ANITA JOYCE SKOCZ is a storyteller who resides in Central Florida. She credits her passion to her father, who dazzled her imagination as a child with his gift to weaver a tale. After a diving accident in 1978, Anita left the travel industry to journey the inner roads of her soul. The riches found on those adventures inward come to life in her children’s books. Anita’s books, “Crystal Star Angel” and “Kite Tale,” were inspired by the loving relationships her father had with his grandsons. From Where I Sit is a blog where Anita shares her life’s stories, or comments on current events from her soul’s perspective. Her insights can evoke laughter as well as take one on a reflective journey. In any case she hopes you join her each Wednesday for a new adventure.
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