(Hand embroidered by Linda DuBos)
I say this with some reluctance and trepidation - but I will say it nonetheless - religion can, at times, be mentally and emotionally handicapping. When I was a little girl, I accepted everything I was told by my Sunday School teachers and by my pastor as the absolute truth. I was a little sponge - absorbing and believing. I never questioned anything. Why should I? These adults certainty knew what God wanted me to learn. Never once did I consider that these dear, loving individuals were interrupting scripture as they understood it or that they were just repeating what they had been told the scriptures meant.
When we lived in Texas, we were members of the Southern Baptist Church. They were very strict in their beliefs about what was right and wrong. Then when we moved back to Maryland there was no Southern Baptist Church near us so we joined the Disciples of Christ Church. A much more liberal thinking group of church goers. I wondered why the things that once were so wrong were now okay but it was just fine with me because now I got to do some of the fun things I couldn't before. At this new church, like at the old one, I listened, absorbed, and believed. And I felt great love and joy in my heart.
Then on January 18, 2010, my son - my wonderful, amazing, loving son - died by suicide and suddenly all those fire and brimstone messages I had listened to in Texas, messages which had been buried somewhere deep under and beneath all the other and more appealing messages of love and forgiveness, were now exploding to the surface of my conscious mind; and were tearing my already broken and bruised heart into a million bloody pieces. When, as a child, I heard all these frightening things, they didn't affect me one way or another because they had no relevance in my life. There were basically just words to memorize. Now all those things I had heard about those that commit suicide being condemned to the fiery pits of Hell overwhelmed me. I so wanted and needed a sign that Christian was okay. Then I remembered hearing that some considered "signs" as coming from a source of evil. Suddenly all that light and love and joy I had lived with all my life turned black and ugly and I struggled between what I had been taught and what my heart told me was true.
At the funeral service of my adoptive father many years ago, a sparrow few into the church. It flew low over the heads of the congregation and many people tried to bat it away but it lighted on my Mother's outstretched hand. Although it should have been frightened, she told me later than she could feel it's little heart beating against the palm of her hand and it wasn't racing. There was just a soft, steady beat. It set there a few moments allowing my Mother to stroke it's back before it took wing and flew out the window of that little Georgia church. Everyone said it was a "sign" and it was received with joyful, grateful hearts and many expressions of "Praise God".
Even in the memory of that beautiful, sacred event, ugly voices from my past whispered "signs" should be rejected and never sought after. Fortunately for me (and my mental and spiritual well being) my very spiritual and loving father-in-law, Robert DuBos, explained away my fears and in doing so gave me abiding peace. He will never fully understand what a great gift he gave to me. He gave me the ability to accept the circumstance of my son's death and begin the long, slow process of healing. Without his words and his love, I would have been stuck in a mire of fear and doubt that would have sucked the life out of me. I will be forever grateful and indebted to this humble, loving servant of our Father in Heaven.
Now that I had gotten over my paralyzing fire and brimstone fears, my heart was once again open and receptive. First of all I'd like to say that I was not looking for any "signs" or Heavenly messages. In fact I hadn't even thought about it. I was, at that point, just trying to get through each day without self destructing. So when it happened it was truly wondrous.
It was an ordinary February day. Quite unremarkable except that it was winter in the Pacific Northwest and the sun was shining. It was not the usual overcast, rainy day that we had grown accustomed to. Sadness and depression still sat on my shoulder like a pirate's parrot squawking it's sad, unhappy song - just as it had every day since Christian had left us - but the appearance of the sun lifted my spirits. The curtains over the living room windows were partially closed against the dampness and the cold making the large Victorian room with it's dark furniture and crystal chandeliers appear semi-dark and gloomy.
As I crossed the living room, I could see a soft glow reflecting on the walls adjacent to the door which connected the living room and the entryway. Sunlight was streaming in through the french doors. As I rounded the corner and entered the foyer, I froze in place. There in the brightness of the room and directly in front of the buffet was my Christian. He stood there facing me and on his radiant face was the most beautiful, peaceful smile. And as we stood there looking at each other, and although he didn't utter a word (nor did I), his countenance said, "I'm fine. I'm happy. I'm at peace and I love you."
I don't know how long we stood like that but it wasn't long. Just long enough for him to let me know he was alright but not so brief that I might wonder later if I had imagined it. I did not imagine it. He was there. Solid in form - just like he was when he was living. What a blessing! What an incredible, awesome gift! I drew in my first deep, cleansing breath since I heard those fatal words that told me my son had died by a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head. And I gave thanks to our Heavenly Father for allowing me to receive this visitation from my son. This affirmation that life continues on after death and that there is peace and happiness in the afterlife - even for those that die by suicide.
There have been other things too. The heady, warm spice of his cologne will fill the room and linger there for minutes before slowly dissipating. Christian had taken great pride in his appearance and felt that his cologne should also be a reflection of him and his personal style. It was very important to him. For him it was the whole package - how he looked, how he dressed, how he carried himself, and even how he smelled. The whole, complete package.
And there were the not so obvious signs. Not initially obvious anyway. We have down-filled pillows on our living room couches and whenever one of the tiny feathers would find its way to the surface of the pillow either Christian or I would pull it out and dispose of it. About two months after his death, I began to find white feathers all over the house. Not tiny feathers but rather large white feathers. At first I wondered where they coming from but didn't really give it much thought. There was no room in my heavily burdened and grieving mind for thought about something so mundane as feathers.
But then more and more and more feathers were appearing and I began to become a little annoyed. They were everywhere. Upstairs, downstairs, on the beds, lying on the carpets, even in the bathrooms. Everywhere. I as getting so tired of picking up feathers. Then a friend online happened to mention that finding feathers was one of the signs that a departed love one was trying to communicate with loved ones they had left behind. With a new perspective, these annoying feathers became sacred to me; and then just as suddenly as they had started, they stopped. It was as though as soon as I recognized what their purpose was, they were no longer needed. Now the only time they reappear is in times of great personal stress when I need a reminder that I am not alone and that Christian is watching over me and sending me his love.
There are those that feel they must explain away these forms of communication. They will say that the bereaved, in their desperation, will search for signs, imagine signs, confuse the ordinary with the extraordinary in our very great need to satisfy ourselves that our deceased loved ones are okay and are watching over us. It is true that we want nothing more than to know that our loved ones are okay; HOWEVER, I know for a certainty that not all signs are created or invented by desperate minds. A lot of signs are tangible - meaning we can reach out and touch them, pick them up. Some things defy explanation.
I believe that those we love do reach out to us from behind the veil. I believe God wants us to know the life survives the grave. I believe that our loved ones show this to us through the afterlife communication of "signs". These signs can be life affirming because they let us know that life goes on. While it is possible, I don't believe the purpose of signs is to convert people to the truth of religion but are given as a gift from a loving Father in Heaven and are given regardless of our belief system or our doubts. I believe that it is a validation that not only does life continue beyond the grave but that our deceased loved ones are alive in the spiritual world and continue to be of service to others on the earthly plane - especially to those they love.
While fear has its place in religion, there are times when fear must give way in favor of a kinder, more gentle, more accepting, forgiving, and loving philosophy. There are great lessons to be learned through "signs"..... that life goes on, that at death we only shed our physical bodies, that we will be reunited with those we love. But the most important lesson is that God is Love. It is through His love that signs are given and received. I believe that whatsoever we seek in pureness, we will receive in pureness.
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JOHN 3:16 For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him shall not perish but have everlasting life.
John 11: 25-26 I am the resurrection, and the life, saith the Lord, he that believeth in Me, thought he were dead, yet shall he live. And whoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.
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