Pay Attention to the Signs

signs combo2

 

Pay Attention to the Signs

 

Depending on your belief system of life and death, you may or may not believe that souls communicate from the other side of the veil once they’ve passed on.  If you doubt the fact of after death communication, I would invite you to keep an open mind and pay attention to the signs.  Heck, don’t just pay attention to them – ASK FOR THEM.

I am reminded of a time in 1993 when I’d been married for two years and my husband and I were trying to conceive our first child.  After one year of trying, I was getting pretty hopeless and down, doubting my physical issues and thinking that I was the cause of our seemingly infertile state.  I joined a prayer group at church, and we began to pray for one another’s goals.  As I repeated my prayers and affirmations, I asked my grandmother, who had crossed over, to help give me a sign that I was pregnant.  About six weeks went by, and as I was counting a deposit at work, I found my sign.  I had asked for a twenty dollar bill with my birth year on it (1969) to come into my life.  Anyone who deals with money knows that most bills in circulation are quite new and older bills are pretty rare.  I bought the $20 out of the deposit and stopped at my doctor’s office on the way home from work.  You guessed it – I was pregnant!

Much of the time, those signs show up for us when we’re not expecting them.  They are a little reminder from our loved ones that they are okay and that they are thinking of us.  I’ve been experiencing those instances quite frequently since the recent deaths of my father and father in law.

My husband and I were out to lunch last week when a Santana song began to play over the sound system at the restaurant.  Not out of the ordinary for a Mexican restaurant, but then the following song that played was the one that came on our IPod in the hospital right after George, my father in law, passed.  We took note of it and then a short time later, the song that plays in the background of the online memorial I created for George began to play.  I looked at Tim, my husband, and told him that I thought his father was trying to tell him something.  The ever doubting skeptic looked at me, smiled and laughed it off.

He then received a phone call from the minister that was performing the memorial service to go over details.  As they planned and spoke together with my mother in law, I could feel George’s presence very strong.  Tim was tasked with finding music for the ceremony.  As we returned to our meal, the song, “Somewhere in Heaven” began to play.  This is the song that plays during the memorial video we made for the service.  It is a very obscure song, beautiful in fact, but never a hit and I’ve never heard it played in public anywhere.  Tim gasped in amazement and said, “You’ve got to be freaking kidding me!”

Coincidence?  Is there even such a thing?  Is it coincidence then that after that song as we discussed music to play at the service other songs began to flood through the sound system we’ve never heard before that were spot on perfect for his father – a flamenco guitar rendition of Stairway to Heaven followed by a Latin version of Dust in the Wind.  And even more so, was it coincidence that the restaurant sold this CD?  We’ve been dining there for seven years, since it opened, and we’ve never seen music for sale.  The waiter told us about the artist and when we checked the CD label it was recorded in La Mesa, CA, a few miles away from where George lived much of his life.

Other signs appeared.  George’s ashes arrived a few hours before the service while both his sisters were at the house.  We were not expecting them to be delivered till the following week, but in true form, George was never late for a party!  The technical system went crazy at the service – mics came on and shut off, music was played while other songs were supposed to play.  The video was delayed.  But it was all divinely orchestrated and perfect in it’s own right – just like George.

I remember standing at the pulpit, waiting for the background music to begin to play so I could sing the song, “My Way.”  The song did not start right away, but it was nice to have a few moments to catch my breath.  As I did, I could feel George right next to me.  The first few verses went fine, and then I began to shake.  I had to hold onto the podium because I thought my legs might give way.  I could fully feel his energy all around me, whirling around like the tornado he always has been.  He chose that song to convey to everyone what his life meant to him.  I began to cry through the second half of the song, but finished strong as his energy moved through me.  I’ve never experienced anything like that before, but as you read the lyrics to the song, I think you’ll understand what George wanted  everyone to understand:

“My Way”

And now, the end is here
And so I face the final curtain
My friend, I’ll say it clear
I’ll state my case, of which I’m certain
I’ve lived a life that’s full
I traveled each and ev’ry highway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way

Regrets, I’ve had a few
But then again, too few to mention
I did what I had to do and saw it through without exemption
I planned each charted course, each careful step along the byway
And more, much more than this, I did it my way

Yes, there were times, I’m sure you knew
When I bit off more than I could chew
But through it all, when there was doubt
I ate it up and spit it out
I faced it all and I stood tall and did it my way

I’ve loved, I’ve laughed and cried
I’ve had my fill, my share of losing
And now, as tears subside, I find it all so amusing
To think I did all that
And may I say, not in a shy way,
“Oh, no, oh, no, not me, I did it my way”

For what is a man, what has he got?
If not himself, then he has naught
To say the things he truly feels and not the words of one who kneels
The record shows I took the blows and did it my way!

 

Allow your heart to be open to the signs.  Watch for them.  Ask for them.  You’ve loved ones, guides and angels are always near, lovingly waiting to make known their presence.

 

 

Advertisements