Excerpt: Miraculous Moments: True Stories Affirming That Life Goes On by Elissa Al-Chokhachy
Signs
Our lives are filled with a multitude of occurrences overseen by a force greater than ourselves. Events, which may appear random, sometimes have a much higher purpose. Signs are sent by Spirit to assure us that we are never alone. These messages come in a variety of forms. Occasionally, nature sends us the sign, as in the appearance of a beautiful rainbow at a particularly significant moment in the life of the bereaved. Sometimes, animals, who have a relationship with the deceased, present themselves as the messengers. Still, at other times, events that have no logical explanation will occur and directly pertain to the loved one who has died. These synchronistic occurrences are messages. To the casual observer, they may seem insignificant. However, the bereaved experience them with an inner knowing that this is the sign they have been waiting for.
Special Delivery
Jane Harris
The tide was going out and sheets of water were left on the low, flat places near the water’s edge. Sunshine touched these places like stretched plastic, wrapped over the sand. As I paused in mid-stride to admire this remarkable scene, I felt transported into a world of my own.
The day was perfect for a walk on the beach with little to distract me. It was semi-deserted and a perfect opportunity to reminisce about my mother, who had died several months earlier. I had conflicted feelings of missing her and not missing her. Grateful for the many gifts she had given me, I called out to my mother so I could thank her. The connection in my heart felt good, as did all the feelings that flowed from it.
I remembered how my mother loved to fish off a jetty in Martha’s Vineyard. I was very young and too young to fish with her. In my mind, she was far away, out at the very tip of the island, catching flounder and, sometimes, those unfortunate-looking sea robins. She would bring them back to the beach in a bucket and then bury them in the sand to stop their frantic flopping. I remember those fish being flat, appearing like worn out flapping slippers. I believe this was my first taste of death. We ate those fish for supper. At least, Mom and Dad did. I hated the taste of fish for years.
As I walked along the beach remembering my mother and her fondness for fishing, I witnessed a seagull dipping into the sea for a fish. Then, unexpectedly, he flew towards me and dropped his fat, silvery catch right in front of me! He had just plucked that fish from the sea! I was astonished and knew, somehow, my mother had petitioned the seagull to do her a favor.
I had lived by this beach for twenty-five years and had never seen any seagulls pluck fish out of the ocean. Seagulls don’t usually feed in that manner. And, oddly, he never came back for his catch. I walked up and down the beach a few more times. Still in a state of shock, I thought about the possibilities that this event signaled. Life after death! The fish had been delivered to me as a special gift from my mother.
Jane Harris and her husband live by the ocean in New England and have raised two beautiful children. As a ceramic artist who merges play, spirit and skill, Jane’s work and play have now become one with unlimited creative possibilities.
(end excerpt)
Copyright © by Elissa Al-Chokhachy. All Rights Reserved.
Available at Elissa's website or Amazon
Our lives are filled with a multitude of occurrences overseen by a force greater than ourselves. Events, which may appear random, sometimes have a much higher purpose. Signs are sent by Spirit to assure us that we are never alone. These messages come in a variety of forms. Occasionally, nature sends us the sign, as in the appearance of a beautiful rainbow at a particularly significant moment in the life of the bereaved. Sometimes, animals, who have a relationship with the deceased, present themselves as the messengers. Still, at other times, events that have no logical explanation will occur and directly pertain to the loved one who has died. These synchronistic occurrences are messages. To the casual observer, they may seem insignificant. However, the bereaved experience them with an inner knowing that this is the sign they have been waiting for.
Special Delivery
Jane Harris
The tide was going out and sheets of water were left on the low, flat places near the water’s edge. Sunshine touched these places like stretched plastic, wrapped over the sand. As I paused in mid-stride to admire this remarkable scene, I felt transported into a world of my own.
The day was perfect for a walk on the beach with little to distract me. It was semi-deserted and a perfect opportunity to reminisce about my mother, who had died several months earlier. I had conflicted feelings of missing her and not missing her. Grateful for the many gifts she had given me, I called out to my mother so I could thank her. The connection in my heart felt good, as did all the feelings that flowed from it.
I remembered how my mother loved to fish off a jetty in Martha’s Vineyard. I was very young and too young to fish with her. In my mind, she was far away, out at the very tip of the island, catching flounder and, sometimes, those unfortunate-looking sea robins. She would bring them back to the beach in a bucket and then bury them in the sand to stop their frantic flopping. I remember those fish being flat, appearing like worn out flapping slippers. I believe this was my first taste of death. We ate those fish for supper. At least, Mom and Dad did. I hated the taste of fish for years.
As I walked along the beach remembering my mother and her fondness for fishing, I witnessed a seagull dipping into the sea for a fish. Then, unexpectedly, he flew towards me and dropped his fat, silvery catch right in front of me! He had just plucked that fish from the sea! I was astonished and knew, somehow, my mother had petitioned the seagull to do her a favor.
I had lived by this beach for twenty-five years and had never seen any seagulls pluck fish out of the ocean. Seagulls don’t usually feed in that manner. And, oddly, he never came back for his catch. I walked up and down the beach a few more times. Still in a state of shock, I thought about the possibilities that this event signaled. Life after death! The fish had been delivered to me as a special gift from my mother.
Jane Harris and her husband live by the ocean in New England and have raised two beautiful children. As a ceramic artist who merges play, spirit and skill, Jane’s work and play have now become one with unlimited creative possibilities.
(end excerpt)
Copyright © by Elissa Al-Chokhachy. All Rights Reserved.
Available at Elissa's website or Amazon