That should get people’s attention. As a Christian, I have been taught that we cannot communicate with the dead. We have an intermediary, Jesus, and we can pray to the Father in His Name, but we are discouraged from talking to the dead. I think it is to keep us from worshiping the dead or attributing any god-like qualities to the dead. Actually, I really do not understand that rule and I am making up my own explanation.
There are people who have “gone on” before me: my grandparents on both sides, family friends, and personal friends. And, then, my mother in 1995, and my little sister in 2000. I “see” my mom and my sister most often in y dreams and visions: my mom in dreams and my sister in day time “visions”. I put that in quotations because, honestly, I do not know what a vision is. I’ve had visions, and I have seen what they are like when they “come to pass”, but I still cannot define them. For instance, I knew what my oldest would look like as an infant, a two year old, and a five year old. Each time we passed the benchmark of the vision, I was given pause to realize I had “seen” that moment beforehand. Eerie. And awesome.
I had a dream/vision of my mother’s death which came to pass almost exactly as I “imagined” it. Was it imagination or a dream or a vision? How the heck would I know? I only know it happened and I “saw” it beforehand, so I was neither surprised nor distressed by the events. I did not have such premonitions of my sister’s death, but not long after she died, I “saw” her standing on the edge of the woods, laughing at me. She was no older than ten.
I only mention this as a precursor to what I am about to say: that I routinely feel the presence of the dead. Not ghosts and not like anything they show you on TV in shows like “The Ghost Whisperer.” Puh-leeeze, the logical side of my brain cries out. I have seen “ghosts” and “poltergeists” and this is nothing like that. Those are demonic manifestations, imitations of the “real” soul, if you will. I could write a long post on poltergeists, but I would digress.
I was standing in the laundry room, also known as my make up room because there is a mirror and sink, and shelve for the little bit of make up I use. And I “saw” or “felt” my sister’s presence. She was laughing, her black eyes sparkling and her dark brown hair full of natural red highlights. Something about, “you try too hard, Jaci. I was a flake in life and it was hard, miserably hard, but look at me now: I am so happy!” I knew she was in Heaven, with Jesus. Not because she lived to serve God – ha! Quite the opposite. Denise was a hedonist with no apparent spiritual compass.
In the moment that I felt my sister’s laughter, an unusual and spontaneous event; I also felt my mother’s laughter. My mom, I know, was a believer, although late to confession and rebellious against the organized Church. Their presence in my dressing room was incredible and palpable. And momentary. An instant and they were there; a blink of an eye and their presence was gone. Yet, the presence was so – palpable. Living. Breathing.
Okay, I do not pray to the dead nor do I worship the dead. But I have a very strong sense that the dead exist in a dimension close to our own. They are no more than an arm’s length from us, even if we cannot see – and more often than not, cannot sense – them: they are there.
And they are happily living in God’s presence, invitees of Christ. My sister never confessed Jesus during her living hours (that I know of), yet He has allowed me to sense her presence. My mother confessed Him long before I was born, then left the church when I was 10, disappointed and angry. I prayed with her on her deathbed. but the only acknowledgment I received was a cryptic note she wrote (“All right. Don’t worry.”) for the nurse to read me and the peace I felt in my heart upon her death. My sister has been harder to pin down because she did not leave an exemplary life of Christian devotion and I only have a six-hour window of opportunity given during her comatose state before she died. I truly believe – because of the apparition I “saw” on the edge of the woods – that she made some sort of confession in her dying moments. The “vision” I had the other morning of my sister – as an adult – laughing into my ear as I dressed, was only a further confirmation that God’s grace foes further than we can possibly imagine.
I’m not supposed to talk to the dead, but when I “see” such apparitions how can I not? I don’t worship them; I merely think they are trying to tell me they are all right, and I think they’re trying to tell me that it is all right.
