“Oh, honey, I’ll be fine!” said Renee’s mother over the phone.
Renee couldn’t help fretting about her mother’s health issues. Her mom, Darlene, was only sixty-six, yet she worried and called her every day. Whenever possible, Darlene would drive down to Clinton, about an hour and a half from Kansas City, to check up on her.
“I wish you could make it for Christmas, Mom,” lamented Renee.
Her mother lived in a small single-story apartment for the handicapped, so it made sense for everyone to gather in the Kansas City area, often at Renee’s more spacious home or sometimes at the home of Maegen, Renee’s niece. For several years, Darlene’s older sister, Betty, had driven the two of them up for Christmas dinner.
“Oh, honey, I wish I could come, but you know what the doctor said: avoid travel. And the weather doesn’t look good. But, honestly, Betty and I will be fine. We’ll have a little Christmas spirit right here by ourselves. Don’t you worry about it.”
When Renee hung up, she was resolved: she told her family that she had a very strong feeling—almost a sense of urgency—that they should all go to Grandma’s house this year, perhaps arriving at different times, even on different days, in order to accommodate the space limitations of her small home.
Renee left it to her three grown children and her niece to work out the schedules so everyone could lift Grandma’s spirits for Christmas.
Renee and her husband, Jim, arranged to go down on Christmas Day, and over the holidays literally everyone went to Clinton and spent time with Grandma Darlene.
Renee’s grandkids conspired together and decided to surprise their great-grandmother with plaster imprints of their hands. It was a very special gift, and she was tickled.
Four weeks later, Renee was awakened by the dreaded sound of the phone ringing in the middle of the night. It was Aunt Betty with sad news.
“Renee, your mom has gone home to be with the Lord.” She broke into tears, trying to control her voice.
Renee was shocked. “What? No!”
Even though everyone had known her mother was in poor health, no one had thought it was that serious.
Her aunt went on, “I was sleeping in the spare bedroom and heard her call out my name—‘Betty!’ I jumped up, got to her bedside—and she was struggling to breathe. Then she was gone.”
Renee’s own sobs melded with those of her aunt, who continued, “That was the last word she spoke: ‘Betty!’ ” She cried some more.
Renee was crushed. “My mom was my best friend, my rock, and my sounding board.”
Three days later, in the evening, the family was invited to gather at the funeral home in Kansas City for a visitation.
Renee was making last-minute arrangements. She telephoned Aunt Betty in the morning to ask her to stop by her mother’s apartment to pick up some things before driving up. She asked her to gather whatever photographs she could find so they could be displayed at the visitation and then at the funeral the next day.
“One more thing: the grandkids had their handprints imprinted in plaster as a keepsake for their great-grand-mother. They thought that would be a nice remembrance, along with the photos. Could you see if you can find them, please? I don’t know where Mom kept them.”
It was just after nine when Betty arrived at her sister’s home. She wanted to have plenty of time to find everything Renee needed, but she was running a little late and she was feeling out of sorts that morning. It was a cold, bleak day. Just plain dreary, she thought.
She pulled up to the apartment, walked to the door, put the key into the lock, and entered the dark and empty home. On second thought, she mused, it doesn’t feel dreary, it feels eerie.
Why it felt that way, she didn’t quite know. She’d actually been living in this apartment for the past four months, watching over her sister. But, she rationalized, when a loved one graduates to Heaven, the spaces left behind seem extra empty.
I feel empty myself, she thought.
In Darlene’s bedroom she picked up several photos from her sister’s dresser and placed them in a tote bag. She looked around but saw no other pictures and no sign of the kids’ plaster handprints. She checked the closet. Under the bed. Behind the door.
Leaving the room, she moved on to check the utility closet near the kitchen. She saw the ironing board but no sign of the children’s plaster artwork. Now she began to worry that she might disappoint the kids.
She tried to keep herself from crying. Why shouldn’t I cry? she thought. My dear sister just died.
Suddenly she was startled. Sounds were coming from her sister’s bedroom. Music! A familiar Christmas hymn, playing faintly.
She took a few tentative steps back toward the bedroom. With all of her senses on alert, she slowly walked toward Darlene’s dresser. The music got louder.
There in the jewelry box sat Darlene’s pin—the one she had worn every Christmas, shaped like a brass trumpet lying on a green background, with gold flowers and a red ribbon.
“I haven’t heard that pin play for years,” whispered Betty. “How could that be?”
In an instant she felt a peace flow over her. She knew that God was sending her a very special message directly from Heaven—that her sister was there, with Him, at His side.
When Betty arrived at the funeral home in Kansas City, she apologized profusely to Renee that she’d been unsuccessful in finding the grandchildren’s plaster handprints. But she couldn’t wait to tell Renee about the special Godwink that she had received: music from Heaven.
Renee was astonished by the story. She, too, knew that the old pin hadn’t made a sound in years. There was no reason to doubt her aunt. She just wished she could have heard it, too.
A few weeks later, Renee’s unarticulated prayer was answered. She was cleaning out her mother’s home, packing things up.
She felt melancholy for her mom. That’s when she heard it.
“The sound was coming from the broken pin, just like Aunt Betty described; mimicking a toy whose batteries had long since faded but struggled to play anyway,” she said.
Somehow that sound from her mother’s special pin, worn every Christmas, brought her a measure of closure. “I’m so glad I got to hear it myself. I looked up and said, ‘I love you, too, Mom.’ ”
She has since kept her mother’s favorite Christmas pin on display in her curio cabinet. That way she can have it close to her year-round.
And who knows, maybe it’ll mysteriously play its music again one day.
“I hope so,” says Renee with a smile.
Some experiences are simply inexplicable.
God has no boundaries, and His presence can be seen and heard in many different ways.
Look how He used a sentimental musical pin, hidden from sight in a dresser, to connect Renee and Betty to their beloved Darlene supernaturally, giving both of them an inexplicable comfort.
God communicates with each of us every day, everywhere, and in everything. We just need to open our spiritual eyes and ears to discover the hidden treasures He has promised us.
Each one is a gift.
I will give you hidden treasures, riches stored in secret places so that you may know that I am the Lord.