The Message From Heaven
The funeral was over. The house was empty. I was alone—more alone than I’d ever been. Richard had always been there for me. We had been high school sweethearts, raised three children, and spent our time together whenever possible. He was my safe haven.
And God had always been there for me, too. He had been my companion during my early years and His presence had seen me through those difficult teenage months—during my father’s death and my mother’s depression.
God’s presence also gave me courage when I responded to the surgeon’s shocking announcement, “There is no hope. Your husband’s cancer has metastasized. He has days, maybe weeks, hopefully a few months.”
“What?” I stammered. “We are a family of faith. There is always hope.”
This man in the green surgeon’s scrubs does not understand, I thought. Our prayers will be answered. We’ll experience a miracle, and the cancer will go into remission. Maybe Richard won’t live to be ninety as we’d planned. But he is not going to die. Not my big, healthy, I-can-do-anything husband.
During the following weeks, I prayed. Our family prayed. Our fellow church members prayed. Our friends all over the country prayed. How could we not experience a miracle with all of these people praying?
There was no miracle and no remission. On a cold January morning, four months after the surgeon’s shocking news, we were back in the hospital, and I was sleeping on a cot in the corner of Richard’s room. I was awakened and led from the room while the doctor whispered, “Mrs. Johnson, your husband isn’t breathing—his heart has stopped.”
Stunned, I just sat on the stool and cried. Where is my miracle, God? How did this happen? I was sleeping right here, and I didn’t hear him. Did he call for me? I never told him good-bye. God, didn’t you hear my prayers?
Those questions haunted me during the first days, but I was too busy with friends and family staying with me, so I didn’t spend any quiet time listening for God’s answers.
Then came the night when I was finally totally alone. Tears poured from my eyes as I began to shout, “Where are you, God? Do you hear me? Please, please help me. I’m begging you. If you’ve ever loved me, if you love me now, somehow, some way, show me.”
Desperately I grabbed the booklet on my nightstand that my friend had brought to me the day Richard died.
“I was at Lisa’s house when I received the call about Richard’s passing,” Bonnie had explained. “Lisa’s husband died last year, and she said this booklet brought her great comfort. She sent it for you to read.”
I’d read pages from it the previous night and found a bit of comfort in its message. It prodded me to trust in God.
Tonight I wanted more than comfort. I wanted answers.
“Do you have a message in here for me tonight, God?” I sputtered between sobs. When I opened the booklet, a small card fluttered to the floor.
“Where did this come from?” I mumbled. “I didn’t see this in the book last night or the other day when Bonnie gave it to me.”
I picked up the card, noticed the picture of Jesus on the one side, turned it over, and read the words written on the back. It began by telling me that Richard was safely home in heaven.
“It’s a message from Richard,” I whispered. I continued reading, “He’s telling me that all the pain and grief is over and he’s at peace. God heard me. He heard my prayers.”
Then, the answers I’d so desperately sought began rolling out of the words as I read on. They reassured me that Richard was not alone as he passed through the valley of the shadow of death. Jesus’ love brightened his pathway.
“Oh, thank you, God. Thank you! Richard wasn’t alone. I believe Jesus was with him,” I cried. Now my tears had turned to tears of joy. I wanted to call someone, to share this wonderful news, but it was midnight.
A voice inside me broke into my time of joy. I think you need to savor this moment, hold these reassurances close to your heart. You need to deepen your faith in your Father’s will.
A feeling of peace I have rarely experienced settled in my mind and soul. Finally, I read on and was told that my work is still unfinished, and when it is completed and God calls me home, Richard will receive me with joy.
Wow! When God answered my prayers that night, it was an awesome experience. I did not know then, and I do not know now, where that little three-by-five card was hiding during the previous night’s reading. How did I not see it? And how did Bonnie just happen to be at her friend’s house on the day of Richard’s death? God knew what I needed, and He knew when I’d need it most.
God heard my prayers and gave me answers. It wasn’t the miracle I expected—the miracle of healing for Richard—but it was a healing miracle for me. It was a message for that night and for all of the days and years ahead.
The next time I cry out, and I’m sure there’ll be a next time, “God, do you hear me?” I know He will be listening and I know He will answer.