Readers, please enjoy this guest blog post by Ginny Brock, author of By Morning’s Light.
The spirits I know donâ€™t exactly go bump in the night. One of them did knock a book out of the bookcase to get not only my attention, but the attention of a couple in the room who weâ€™d gone on vacation with to Africa. The book fell without any provocationâ€”no one bumped into the bookcase, there were no earthquakes that night (anything is possible these days), no reason. It had been sitting there quietly for years. The name of the book was The African Giant, a travel log by the author Stuart Cloete.
That particular spirit would be my late husband Walt. Heâ€™s the noisiest spirit I know, but the closest thing to “bumps in the night” was the sound of his footsteps on the deck outside our bedroom one night. They walked about twenty yards along the deck and stopped outside the French doors. They never walked back, and when I looked, no one was there. He also smokes, and whenever heâ€™s around, I catch a whiff of cigarette smoke. He can find things, too. The week after he transitioned all kinds of things that had been misplaced started showing up. And even now, six years later, if I’ve lost something, I can say, â€śWalt, can you see it from up there?â€ť And within hours, Iâ€™ll practically step on the thing. Case in pointâ€”my favorite gardening tool, a three-pronged fork with a short handle (great for weeding), had been lost all last fall. When spring came (and I was getting really frustrated using the wrong tools), I said out loud, thoroughly aggravated, â€śPlease, someoneâ€”find my fork!â€ť And, lo and behold, I was on my way down a sloping path headed to the tool shed for one more hopeless look when I stepped off the walkway and into a large patch of ivy and (you guessed it) stepped right on the handle.
One young spirit very close to my heart, my son Drew, plays music for me. Drew and I had a music connection during his short life on earth, and sometimes Iâ€™ll get into my car, turn the key, and a favorite song of ours will be playing. This usually happens when I hit those low spots on this journey through the loss of a child. This song may play for three days in a row, every time I get into the car. There are so many ways he shows me heâ€™s around. Iâ€™ll talk to him and ask him for signs that show Iâ€™m not imagining things. Perhaps I ask him for a purple balloonâ€”I wonâ€™t just see one purple balloon that day, Iâ€™ll see three. Always three.
My book, By Morning’s Light, tells the story of that journey and the myriad â€śpatsâ€ť I received from Drew in spirit. They come through the high vibrations of music and laughter and they come in dreams that arenâ€™t really dreams but visits. Visions, signs and beautiful messages. Every one of them designed by Drew to walk me through the dark and into morningâ€™s light.
Our thanks to Ginny for her guest post! For more from Brock, read her article “The Fear of Death: A Great Illusion.”