Learning How to Invite Miracles into Your
Life
©Sandy Peckinpah 2013
©Sandy Peckinpah 2013
I was raised in
the Presbyterian Church, and yet I am not sure what I really believed about
heaven. I never had to know. I know for sure, I believed if I was a good girl,
nothing bad would ever happen.
I was so very young when I formed my vision of Heaven. It was the great unknown city above the clouds where God lived. My Grandma told me God greeted all the people who die at the Pearly Gates of Heaven. And, my Grandma’s name was Pearl, so I thought she must have been someone really special.
Then she died, and
I felt like there was so much more I needed to know from her and now, I could
never ask. Like, how she made her applesauce and why did she want me to read
the Bible? I pictured her arriving at her gates…the Pearly Gates, and everyone
would know her because she was Pearl.
The image of
heaven I had created as a little girl, followed me as I grew into a woman, a
wife, and then a mother. When my beautiful boy died suddenly of bacterial
meningitis, the surreal image of the Pearly Gates didn’t matter because all of
my beliefs were thrown into chaos. I asked, “How
can I know if there’s a God? Where is heaven?” I demanded. “Is there really an
afterlife? Is my Grandma there?”
These are all
questions we, as intelligent adults may have at different times in our lives,
but never was it more profound than when my child died. My beautiful beloved
16-year old son, Garrett was missing from this earth and I wanted to know why.
Was I angry with
God? You bet. How could He have
allowed this to happen to me? I did
everything right and yet I lost my child! A child! How could that have happened
to such a “good girl?”
The truth is, why
not me? Others have lost children and they were “good girls” too.
I realized my perceived belief system
collided with real human experience.
We are not human beings having a spiritual experience. We are
spiritual beings having a human experience. -Pierre Teilhard de
Chardin, French Philosopher and Jesuit Priest
In this story I will be sharing with you a truly remarkable miracle that changed my life forever, but at this point in time, I had just lost my beautiful son and I was forced to re-examine my faith.
Step One: Did I
believe in God? Yes.
Step Two: Was I
open to the possibility that God exists and has a plan for my life? Yes.
Step Three: Was I
willing to acknowledge that sometimes the human experience involves getting
sick, sometimes dying, or having a tragic accident? Yes., reluctantly.
Step Four: Am I
able to survive such tragic loss? I didn’t think so, but, yes, yes, and yes,
because at that point in my life, it wasn’t about me, I would just as soon die
than feel the pain. But this was about love. Love for my husband and my living
children.
And so… I chose to
be open to and believe in the possibility that there really is something above
those clouds called heaven. A place where my beautiful boy crossed through the
Pearlie Gates and met his Grandma Pearl for the very first time and felt the
comfort of her soft squishy embrace.
Faith was all I had. When you lose your
child, you absolutely have to implement faith as a lifeline. I couldn’t do it
alone. I questioned God and Heaven and Creation , but if I believed in nothing,
I was lost.
The “knowing” that
there is a God, goes beyond intellect. As a mother, I could look at the miracle
that was created inside of me. Together with my husband, we created a child. Is that a
miracle explained simply by chance?
Sometimes we think…give me a sign. But
isn’t a child being born, sign enough that there is something much greater than
we can ever fathom?
Science can tell
you the story of how it happened, but how does it happen that the body is
formed from one chance moment in time, where tiny cells meet and become human.
Those little cells joyfully joined together and gave me a child. And that is a
miracle.
Just as birth is a
miracle, so is death. Just as you know someone is in the next room, even though
he’s not with you; God is present. And so
is my child. We are all made of energy, and energy never dies.
On the Friday
before my first Mother’s Day without my child, my heart was heavy with grief. I
picked up my young children from school and headed to Gelson’s for groceries. I
wanted to prepare a dinner that would involve a lot of “doing” in order to numb
myself from the pain. I decided on
Fresh Vegetable Pasta. It involved lots of chopping, grilling and sautéing.
As we perused the
grocery aisles, the kids were throwing things into the basket, and I was blind
to it. One bag of groceries turned into six, but I didn’t care.
A young man (who
was a friend of my son) carefully bagged the groceries, and offered to take
them out to the car. As we walked, I asked him about his college plans. He
talked about the entertainment industry. As he closed the trunk, I slipped him
a tip and thanked him. I watched him walk away with his dreams intact. He was alive.
His parents could watch him become a man.
I was embarrassed
to feel such awe followed by anger.
“I have to make a
stop, before we go home.” The children heard my voice tremble, and it made them
quiet during the ride.
I pulled into the
cemetery at dusk. I slowly drove the familiar road through the grounds. I
noticed lots of new flowers at some of the plots. Must be for all the Moms, I thought.
I parked.
“Why don’t you
start your homework in the car? I’ll be right back. I opened the trunk and
pulled out the basket, fully stocked at all times with paper towels, marble
cleaner, a scrubbing brush, plant shears, and a spray bottle of water.
It was a familiar
ritual I’d begun as soon as Garrett was buried. I was robbed of the years ahead
tending to folding his clothes, straightening his room, and picking up dirty
socks. I transferred my duties to keeping his gravesite impeccable.
Every day, I
brought my basket to snip, scrub, and clean his “new room.” It gave me time to
talk to him, alone, and to care for him.
As I approached
the grave, I could feel my teary eyes stinging against the cool night breeze. I
threw my basket down and fell to my knees in front of Garrett’s stone and began
to cry.
“Mother’s Day is
coming Garrett, and you’re not here, dammit! I’m so angry with you for leaving me! I don’t know how to do this.”
I tried to keep my
body straight so the children wouldn’t see how distraught I was. But sometimes
I was just exhausted from having to be so strong.
I sprayed water
onto the stone and used the brush to scrub the letters of his name. I wiped it
clean, then polished. The strands of grass were still neat and tidy from
yesterday’s visit.
“Please Garrett,
please let me know you’re with me. I gave life to you! Tell me, you’re here,
tell me…” I cried, hoping for a magical response. I waited, none came.
I shifted to see
the children watching me from the car. Call
to duty. Straighten up. Be your best for them. I packed up my tools.
I kissed my
fingers and touched his stone, stood up and walked back stoically.
We got home to a
dark house. I flicked on the kitchen lights and saw the message button flashing
on the answering machine. I pushed it. My husband’s voice played, “Hi Sandy,
I’m gonna be a little late tonight. Go ahead and feed the kids. Love you.”
Damn, a nice
family dinner was supposed to heal the wounds of today. I abandoned my plans
for the pasta and decided on tacos. I had everything left over from the night
before.
Trevor came into
the kitchen, “ I’m hungry, now.”
“I’m fixing dinner
as fast as I can, sweetie.”
“But I’m hungry, now. Can’t I just have a popsicle?”
“No Trevor, I’m fixing tacos.”
“Tacos? He
protested, “We had those last
night.”
Julianne came
bounding in. I sat Jackson in the high chair and handed him a fistful of
Cheerios. Patience.
“I have a good
idea. Both of you. Go clean your rooms! Now! They’re a mess! When you’re done,
dinner will be ready.”
They retreated
meekly to their rooms.
Sandy…Patience. I began to pull out
everything for tacos. I poured oil into a frying pan and waited for it to
sizzle.
Silly. I could
have bought the pre-made crispy tacos, they wouldn’t have cared. Garrett would
have, though. He was always my picky eater. Garrett…Mother’s Day…empty….my
thoughts spiraled out of control.
“Mom….Mom…”
I lifted myself from the daze to see Trevor beside me. He was clutching a hand
made card. I looked at him and touched his face. “I’m sorry, honey, I’m just
really missing your brother right now.”
“Mom…”
holding the card, his hand began to tremble. “I found this stuck behind the
desk drawer when I was cleaning it out.”
Trevor had asked
for Garrett’s old desk. We moved it into Trevor’s room a few days before.
I took the card
from his hand. It was Garrett’s
handwriting.
“What is this,
honey?” I asked. I began to read it aloud.
”Mom!
Happy Mother’s Day!”
I looked at
Trevor, dumbfounded. I opened the card Garrett had written and read:
Mom,
you are a very special person-you really are.
Who
else could write 2 books and raise 4 kids at the same time?!
A
big heart is needed to do both of those things,
And
a big heart is what you have.
Happy
Mother’s Day, Mom
I
love you very much,
Love,
Garrett
Trevor said in
disbelief, “He must have written it before he died, Mom.”
“But he died at
Christmas! “ I said in awe.
A feeling of peace
filled all those empty places in my soul. Garrett
heard me, he’s truly here, I thought.
“Trevor, thank you
for finding this, you’ve given me a wonderful gift.” Trevor smiled so sweetly.
I hugged him close.
“I love your
tacos, Mom,” he said sheepishly.
Julianne joined
in. “Me too! I could eat them every
night!”
My husband opened
the door…. Hey family! What’s for dinner? “
Tacos!” they all
replied.
“Good,” David
said, “I love tacos.”
The grilled vegetable pasta would
be just fine for tomorrow.
Miracles are postcards from heaven, and I
now know beyond a shadow of a doubt, there is,
in fact, a place above the clouds
where my beloved child entered through the Pearly Gates, and he wants me to
know, “Mom, it’s beautiful there.”
Stepping
Stones: Building Faith and Recognizing Miracles
“If you lose your expectation, you lose your
potential for a miracle.”
-Bishop T.D. Jakes, Pastor of The Potter’s House Church
Build faith by opening your mind and your
heart to miracles. You may have them in the form of dreams, nature, even a
song on the radio.
The Zen Buddhist Monk, Thich Nhat Hanh, says
death is like a cloud in the sky. When it disappears, it doesn’t mean the cloud
has died. The cloud continues in another form like rain or snow.
If you look up to the sky and the cloud is
no longer there, the sky is just showing you a new way of looking at the cloud.
Don’t be sad, the cloud is now rain that waters your garden.
So now you must plant a garden and watch the
flowers grow. When you see the flowers in full bloom, you gather them and make
a bouquet for your kitchen table.
The next day you can photograph them or
paint them. Frame your photograph or painting and hang it on your wall and know
that every time you look at it, it will remind you of the beauty of your child
in a new form.
Do you see how you are the creator of
your future, now?
Miracles will begin coming your way when
you commit to faith and start to believe they are possible. These exercises
will pave the way.
·
Invite
miracles into your life. When they happen, be grateful and say a prayer of
thanks. Then invite more miracles to arrive.
·
In a
quiet room, close your eyes and visualize someone you’ve lost, even a beloved
pet. Tears may fall from your eyes, but that’s okay. Those are tears of
connection.
·
Now ask
your beloved to give you a gift, a miracle.
·
Stay with
the picture in your mind, and tell them you will be fine. Tell them tears
are not a storm of sadness, but a shower of love.
·
Ask them
to visit in your dreams.
·
Now say
goodbye and open your eyes.
·
In your workbook/journal,
document this day.
·
Always
write down your miracles and express gratitude. Even as small as finding a
“penny from heaven.” They will begin to multiply.
Throughout the days ahead, start noticing
things like rainbows, stones, birds, and things that represent your loved one.
My son used to pick a single white rose for me on the way home from school.
Whenever I see a single white rose, I think Garrett? Is that you?
And somehow the rose seems to open out to me and in its beauty says...“I love you, Mom.”
And that is the power of a miracle.
