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Now, before you read this story, I don’t expect anyone to believe it. For me, this is one of a handful of my own truths that have been gifts of hope.
As we prepare to celebrate the Ascension of our Lord, I can’t help but think of the synchronistic clues and miracles I witnessed surrounding the passing of my own father, assuring me that there’s a beautiful place called home waiting for us and that our loved ones will always be with us.
When my father was diagnosed with stage-four pancreatic cancer eight years ago, I rushed home from Puerto Rico to spend the next eleven months caring for him. I prayed fervently every day for God to heal him. I meditated every night, imagining his angels surrounding him, their light filtering his body of all its impurities. My faith assured me this would work. I found naturopathic clinics that offered alternative treatments and invited survivors to speak to my father. But it was too much for him…. He trusted the doctors and their treatments, and I had to accept this was his journey and be there to love him.
This, however, didn’t stop me from my obsession with prayer and meditation. I wanted healing and answers: Why was he sick? Why did he have to go? Where WAS he going? Was he okay with this?
One morning, as I slept next to my Dad in the hospital room, three angels came to me in a dream. I said to them, “Oh my God! I can’t believe you finally came! Can you help my Dad?” asking them desperately. The one angel embraced me with a long, warm, loving and tight, familiar hug, like from a childhood best friend. I looked at her and asked, “Have you come to give my Dad a miracle?” She said, “Miracles do exist, but….” In that moment I understood that it was my Dad’s will to go. A complete relief and loving acceptance washed over me. In fact, in that moment, I wanted him to go. I understood it was his time.
As the angels led the way, I dreamt that I was transported, walking with hundreds of recently deceased souls. Carrying the backpack of one individual, I turned to her, and she assured me that where we were headed, my Dad will be very happy. As we approached an arched threshold, I stopped to give the girl her backpack. The angels looked back at me, waving and in raised voices said, “We’ll be taking your dad home on the 13th!” I said in full loving acceptance, “Okay!,” and I woke up.
That day was June 6th. I kept my dream to myself and savored every last moment with my Dad.
June 13th came and went, and my Dad was still here! I was so grateful, but also sad at the thought that maybe my angel visitation was just a dream, nothing more.
It was June 19th, Father’s Day, at 1pm (1300 hours), that my Dad finally graduated this world, 13 days after my dream.
I pray that your senses may be opened to the mysterious ways God lives and communicates with us, and be assured our loved ones are alive and living through and around us always….
Love,
Liza
Director of Contemporary Worship
P.S. A few weeks later, my mother was rummaging through an old box, and pulled out an old birthday card my Dad gifted me when I turned 3. Being divorced, my father always wanted to remind my twin sister and me with this question: “Remember, What are we?” And we would respond, “We are a family.”
Even in his death, I was reminded….
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