I lost my dad to a heart attack when I was 12 years old and I am postive that he has communicated with me many times since. I am a believer in ghosts, having had many experiences with things that I cannot quite explain. I also feel in my gut that it has been him, which I think is enough validation in and of itself.
I’ve dropped the fact that I am now going to church and I want to tell the story of how my father helped me to believe again after so many years of turning my back on God.
One of my hobbies is coloring. My husband went out and bought me a box of 24 Crayola pencils. I oohed over the sharpness of them and then put them away.
I had asked my father that day if he could somehow send me a sign that going back to church could be a good idea for me. He’s done this a few times before when I have asked, so I had been waiting for something odd. But what happened was even more amazing than shutting my cellphone on and off.
I got my book and was all set to lay out my pencils. But I noticed that the white one was missing. I asked my husband and daughter if they had seen it. No. I looked on the floor, in crevices. Everywhere. No white pencil. It was like it had vanished into thin air.
I didn’t think too much of it at first. I lose stuff constantly.
The next day, I decided that I wanted to color again. I took all of the pencils back out of the box and lo and behold, there was the white pencil. A bit crooked, but no worse for wear.
It hit me instantly. It was my father. I knew it. He somehow took my pencil, the one color we rarely use, yet always miss. Then, overnight, he put it back.
That was the day when I realized that perhaps I really could go back to church without it blowing up when I walked in. Almost like his hand was guiding me back, with his blessing.
It brings me so much happiness to know that my dad is not far away and that there is hope for me yet.
What do you think? Am I crazy or do you think it was him?