The Spirits Who Visit / Part 1 of 3

Pennies from heaven a brother’s message of love, reassurance

We can never change that life and death are part of being human. Yet, when someone we love passes, it can be hard to accept they’re gone. Even the strongest of Christians feel abandoned as they try to understand how a loving God could allow things that cause so much suffering. And with no concrete communication between heaven and earth, it can be easy to question our faith.

In my journey through grief, I’ve found solace in three extraordinary experiences, where I believe God sent messages to comfort me.

My first experience followed the passing of my brother Lou, a bachelor at age 59 diagnosed with tongue cancer. Lou had just finished his latest chemo treatment and received a promising report that his tumor had shrunk. Three days later, however, he called me. With the tumor restricting his vocal cords, I strained to understand his words. His face was swollen, he was in pain, and he needed treatment for what had become a common side effect to chemo.

I gave the doctor information as quickly as possible, so Lou could get treated. I believed if Lou could hang in there even one more day, we’d get the cure for which we were desperately praying. Lou was given a sedative for a CAT scan. It was 8:38 p.m. He finally looked comfortable and slept.

After the swelling dissipated, I gently lifted his head and placed a rolled-up washcloth under his neck. I arranged pillows around his head and frail body to keep him in that comfortable position. His breathing returned to normal, and the rhythmic beeping from the monitor signified a soothing sleep.

At 11:56 p.m., Lou was admitted for observation, so I felt comfortable going home, a short mile away.

At 2:05 a.m., I got the call. This was it. Lou was dying.

As I entered the hospital, a nurse approached, removed her mask, and stumbled as though someone had brushed up against her. She looked over her shoulder, then, seeing no one there, turned back to me. She reached for my arm, holding me tightly and said, “I’m so sorry. Your brother just passed.”

Devastated, I entered the hospital room where Lou’s body lay. The room felt empty. I touched my brother’s arm. It was obvious his spirit was gone. As the staff directed me to the conference room to make calls, I felt sadness turn to anger. I asked God, who seemed to have abandoned me, why? Why Lou? I couldn’t understand why a loving God would allow such pain, yet I couldn’t entirely let go of the belief I once trusted.

I was sickened that my brother died alone. I was angry Lou hadn’t waited for me.

I sat in the waiting room, not knowing which way to run. That’s when I experienced something unexpected.

Lou’s nurse returned with my brother’s belongings. Her face expressed more awe than sympathy. She said, “Look what we found in your brother’s sock.” She handed me a penny.

I wanted to believe the penny was sent to me from Lou in heaven, but I was also too heartsick and angry to believe in anything so unsubstantiated.

Later that day, I went to Lou’s house to dispose of his lifesaving supplies: feeding tubes, formula, endless bottles of medication. At the early stage of his cancer, he vowed he would never have to rely on such things; yet in his battle for life, he was forced to use them.

I started collecting his laundry. Lou never allowed me to wash his clothes, though I had wanted to do that for him. For me, it would have been a task of love. For him, it signified his losing battle.

When I opened the clothes washer lid, I froze. I found myself staring at a dime.

I began to notice coins everywhere then. A quarter by Dad’s recliner. A penny by Mom’s chair. I found five coins in a med bag, and, like solving a puzzle, I concluded there was one coin for each remaining sibling.

When I got home that night, I Googled “pennies from heaven” and found numerous stories of people who believed coins were signs from loved ones, messages of love and reassurance from the afterlife.

I began to consider the possibility, which opened my heart to another possibility: It was the nurse stumbling from nothing in the hallway. What if when Lou’s earthly body died, his soul rushed from his room, toward the light, his energy literally pushing the nurse aside as she approached me?

As my belief strengthened, I began to see those coins as a reminder of Lou’s enduring love and the presence of something greater. I found peace knowing that love transcends even in the most heartbreaking of goodbyes.

I chose to have faith.

–

The Spirits Who Visit / Part 2 of 3

‘I don’t need fear. … I need peace!’

Death is an inevitable part of the human experience, and the profound suffering caused by the death of even a stranger can catch you off-guard and leave a deep-rooted mark on your soul.

In 2020, my faith was deeply shaken following the death of my brother from cancer but later was restored through meaningful tokens I believed my brother sent me.

Two years later, another traumatic event left me questioning how God could allow such pain.

I witnessed a horrific traffic accident, a scene that seared itself into my memory. One of the images that haunted me was the paramedics reaching under the blown airbags hanging like limp, white curtains. They reached into the shattered front and back seats, moving from one side to the other. Watching this, I felt frozen in place and prayed with every fiber of my being that the people inside the wreckage would survive.

When I got home, I learned a young mother and her child died.

For two weeks, grief consumed me. I couldn’t stop thinking about these strangers who lost their lives before my eyes. Sleep eluded me. My days were spent obsessively recounting what happened, trying to make sense of it.

By the second Friday following the accident, I was unraveling. Desperate, I prayed God would grant me peace.

That night, I found myself in a nightmare. In the dream, I lay both mute and paralyzed. My left side hugged the screened wall of a pop-up camper. I could hear footsteps pounding on the gravel outside. Fear gripped me. A man stopped just beyond the screen. He reached in, grabbing my left arm. I was convinced he was going to kill me.

I turned my head and watched my husband leave the camper. The screen door slammed shut behind him. Silence followed. I turned my head back and the man outside reached for my arm again.

With no means to defend myself, I turned my head away, not wanting to watch what was going to happen next.

I glanced toward the center of the camper and saw my daughter, age 5 or so, rise from the couch bed. Without hesitation, she left through the camper door. She didn’t look back.

The man outside continued to grab my arm, but, oddly, I was no longer afraid. Instead, I felt a profound calm wash over me. I turned my head back toward the door and woke with a start.

Shaking and drenched in cold sweat, I stumbled outside, desperate to find some fresh air. “Why, God?” I asked. “I don’t need fear.” Fighting back tears, I pleaded, “I need peace!”

Sitting alone, I Googled the meaning behind nightmares. I was surprised to find an article suggesting that sometimes nightmares are designed to help us. The reading said to look for a possible connection between something in your life and the characters or circumstances in the nightmare. Then, like a thunderstrike, I understood His message.

I was the young mom in the little black car. The man outside the camper was the paramedic. The man inside the camper wasn’t my husband; he was the late woman’s brother, who had died tragically a year earlier when an impaired driver struck his car. It wasn’t my daughter in the camper, either; it was the child who passed away.

God showed me that the brother’s spirit came to guide the child to her heavenly home. The child, in her innocence, rose quickly, and with her heart pure and full of wonder, followed her uncle into the arms of Jesus.

The young mom was immobilized by grief and fear, tethered to a world that would be unbearable without her loved ones in it. She chose to follow the light, placing her trust in God’s loving embrace and the promise of a joyful reunion in heaven.

Though it felt impossible at first, the dream’s value became obvious and resonated deeply. I felt overwhelming gratitude for the reminder that God was with us on that terrible day. Though my heart ached for the family, His presence brought peace, assuring me we would be OK.

The Bible’s book of Job reminds us that God speaks to us in many ways, including, often, through dreams and visions in the stillness of the night. It is in moments of reflection and meditation, however, that our hearts open for understanding.

God’s love is an endless source of care, compassion, and mercy, reaching beyond the limits of human understanding. In times of deep suffering, prayer can be a gentle refuge, offering comfort. When we allow ourselves to embrace the stillness within, sometimes in dreams, we may discover whispers of divine guidance and find the peace we seek.

–

The Spirits Who Visit / Part 3 of 3

Even in the painful loss of loved ones, there’s hope

Death is a painful reality, particularly when it feels unfair or untimely. We may experience feelings of anger and confusion about how a loving God could allow suffering, especially in the absence of clear communication between heaven and earth. This leads to questioning our faith and how to believe in something intangible.

Previously, when my faith was shaken by a painful death, I received messages of comfort. After my 95-year-old mother passed, I was honored with not one but two spirit encounters.

Losing someone who has lived a long, full life brings a unique kind of grief — a complex mixture of sadness, acceptance, and gratitude — yet it doesn’t lessen the deep ache of their absence. No matter how old we are, losing a parent leaves us feeling like a lost child, uncomforted in our tears.

The first encounter occurred during Mom’s burial service.

On a warm fall day, our family gathered near the gravesite. With hearts heavy, we stood shoulder to shoulder, saying our last earthly goodbyes. A soft breeze began to stir, gentle at first, brushing against our backs and sending colored leaves drifting from the tree above us. As though demanding our attention, the wind grew stronger. I looked around, but no other leaves danced in the wind, and no other trees swayed. It was as if time had paused everywhere else but underneath our tree.

I looked toward the sky and felt a quiet heavenly presence encapsulate us. The wind that caressed my skin seemed to carry a deeper meaning: a gentle, divine caress. At that moment, I knew it was a sign. Mom’s spirit was there with us, comforting our broken hearts, whispering that she was at peace. Her love surrounded us, a tender reminder that she would always be with us, in every breeze, in every leaf that fell.

The first holiday without Mom was Thanksgiving. It had only been two months since she passed, and yet, I posted on Facebook about how blessed I felt that day. Of course, I missed Mom deeply, but I also felt the absence of Dad, who had passed in 2013. In a way, I felt it would have been selfish if I had mourned for my mother, knowing that she and Dad were reunited in heaven. Instead, I focused on feeling grateful for my memories and the blessings still around me.

But then, guilt crept in. Three days later, I found myself revisiting the words I’d written, wondering if I had somehow disrespected Mom by not acknowledging her passing. That night, my parents came to me in a dream.

In my dream, it was a typical day in my parents’ kitchen. Mom and I chatted while she moved effortlessly around the room, her energy and grace a refreshing sight I hadn’t seen in years. Then Dad walked in, sat at the table, and smiled warmly at me.

“Hi! I’m so glad you made it home!” I exclaimed. It felt as if time had folded back some 20 years. “Wow, you look great!” I was amazed. Mom and Dad radiated happiness. Though Dad didn’t speak, his smile filled my heart with a deep, unspoken warmth.

When I drifted awake, I thought, I can’t wait to tell Mom about this dream. And then as I reached consciousness, I remembered. Mom was gone.

In the second encounter, the comfort I needed came to me through my dad’s smile. It was a gentle, gracious confirmation that Mom and Dad were together, in their heavenly home, just as I had always imagined.

Through the painful loss of loved ones, I found that faith can be both tested and strengthened by the mysterious ways in which God reaches out to us. Whether through tokens of love, dreams, or profound moments of comfort, these experiences offer hope and the reminder that we are never truly alone. The messages I received confirmed my belief in God and the enduring connection to those who have passed. It is through faith, peace, and the grace of God that our loved ones remain with us in spirit, that we can continue to live, cherish the time we have, and embrace the beauty of life.

This holiday season, let us embrace the true meaning of Christmas and let us celebrate the love, hope, and boundless grace revealed through the birth of Jesus Christ. As the Bible reminds us in the gospel of John, “For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

May this timeless truth fill your heart with a renewed sense of wonder. Merry Christmas, and may the blessings of God, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit be with you always!