Chapelgate: My dream now is...

chapelgateangel28
5 hours ago
5 min read

Sent out in Messenger just now from one of our Dreamer friends, Chuck. I needed that. Changing moods today. Back to serious. My own dream and goal is to one day do again what I started at Chapelgate. I want a handful of friends who go there with me. I want us to be in this type of mood, like this song. I want us to think, to write, to dream. I gave my property to the Writers of God's songs. I dedicated Chapelgate to God. That type of heart wish never changes. It is always God's, it is his temple, his new Jerusalem. I kept it alive for us. I was allowed to because my work preexisted the change of hands of the physical land and buildings. I built the heart, I breathed in the spirit. God still owns Chapelgate. The spirit I breathed in still exists inside me.

Now, the property is completed, what I once dreamed, now physically exists. Places to sleep, dining, Conference rooms, I dreamed those. They are there. I took my property and saw the spirit there. I prayed and changed the spirit. Now it is safe and secure, guarded, closed, a private sanctuary like a holy temple. Look at their website. The spirit you will find says, no, you can't just come here at will, this is private land. I did that.

I am the one who took it from an overrun faux state park with drunks and vandals and bricks through windows and sex in the driveway. These two hands of mine went to the hardware store and bought materials for a fence. I put a ten foot fence around the perimeter. Closed. No more. Done. These hands, my hands, spent 6,000 hours making the property and land beautiful, me on my riding lawnmower, me with my hedge clippers, me picking up one hundred horse trailers, 30 foot long enclosed horse trailers full of the trash these hands of mine picked up one cigarrette butt at a time, one beer can at a time, one piece of trash at a time. These hands of mine filled 100 horse trailers and my late husband and I drove those horse trailers to the dump, over and over and over.

"Can we have a bridge?" were my words to my genius husband, busy, ever busy, on his genius level computers that we'd had special electrical and special phone lines brought in just so he could communicate with drilling oil wells located all over the world. Data Centers central to Irving, Texas, central to Houston, central to Lafayette, branched into the North Sea, into Africa, into Europe, into Texas and Oklahoma, the Gulf on platforms surrounded by waves, northern Nova Scotia and Canada platforms surrounded by ocean water so cold and so remote the workers had to wear full body suits to protect them from the temperatures when the helicopters dropped them down onto the oil platforms. Who guided them all? My husband. Who imagined it all? My husband. Whose two hands typed it into existence over the course of more than 20 years, this piece, that piece, this piece of a dream linking to that piece of a dream? My husband. They called my husband. They could, because he was sitting in our log mansion on a cliff at Chapelgate with special electrical and phone lines running over our 150 foot long concrete dam, 50 feet high, holding in the water for a Mill pond, the lines ran to him over that. He designed it from nothing, it didn't exist. He created it. 100 million dollars per year in value to the oil industry. His hands.

"Can we have a bridge?" A thirty year old beautiful, slender blue-eyed blonde with long blonde hair, beautiful, a jewel, his jewel, asked with all the sweetness, all the trust, all the faith God ever crafted. He'd stop typing his genius codes, sit me on his lap, run his fingers through my hair, look at me with all the love God ever put into a husband's heart, and he gave me what I asked him for, a bridge.

Robin's hands and my hands held the hammers, bought the wood, spread the glue. The story from both of our points of view on how we did it is in my book, "Chapelgate, a Spiritual Memoir." I wrote my version, why we needed a bridge. Robin wrote his version, how we physically accomplished building a 7500 lb. wooden bridge, 60 ft. long, 10' higher, over the top, of the 50' high spillway of our dam, with our two hands.

Back in the earliest years a Senator and a Congressman, back when that meant what it no longer means today, had brought that dam into existence, where none had been before, not of that type and size. They did it with working men paid .15 cents per wheelbarrow of cement, one wheelbarrow at a time. The design was so the water from the Mill pond could flow over a 40' diameter metal waterwheel, turn it, to grind wheat and corn into flour. It's still there. It's still there because I put up a 10' high fence around the perimeter, with these two hands and his, because I said, "This belongs to God now," because I put my spirit into my beloved home and changed it in ways that still exist today.

"I want to build everything I build so good that people who come along twenty years later will say, surprised, astonished, "WHO built that?" He did. They do. Next year will be 40 years since we restored Chapelgate, we did that starting in 1986 and the years following until God took Robin away from me on Christmas Eve so I could walk this journey I've documented for you.

We built our bridge. My dream, now, is for a handful of Dreamers, those with my spirit, my love for God, my ability to craft songs and stories, to meet together at Chapelgate, to write God's songs, to learn, to dream. That's what I'm working on. That's what I've been working on this entire time, from the first glimpse I had of my beautiful Chapelgate. It will happen. Chapelgate belongs to God. xo

Written November 29, 2025 at 2:09 pm

Written to the sound of the song my Dreamer friend, Chuck Byrd, sent out to his Dreamer friends today.

Heaven

I believe there’s pearly gates

And I can’t wait to see

The mansion He’s preparing

And building just for me

His kingdom is within us

His kingdom is yet to be

I want to live in Heaven

And let Heaven live in me

Heaven’s streets are made of gold