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Communing with Departed Loved Ones
Written March 22, 2024


There have been times when I've been overtaken by fear and anxiety.  I couldn't cope, just couldn't cope.

Sometimes when I find myself in times of trouble, Mother Mary comes to me.  I was named after her, you know.  She called her little girl “Mary Junior.”

She's been gone for ten years now.  But though we may be parted, when the night is cloudy there is still a light that shines on me.  In my hour of darkness, she is standing right in front of me.

It's probably a dream, but Mother seems as real to me as you are right now.  She whispers words of wisdom:  “When the broken-hearted people living in the world agree, there will be an answer.”

I'm desperate to know what answer is coming, but she tells me not to worry.  “Let it be.”

I am comforted somehow, and I wake up to the sound of music.


Another wise person has left me recently.  I remember telling myself, “I don't know how to love him.  He's a man; he's just a man.  I don't see why he moves me.  Should I scream and shout?  He scares me so.”

But my innocent lamb was put to death.  He died and was buried.

I remember a promise he made to his friend Pete, the one we call Cephas.  He told Pete and Jim and John that when the troubles were past, they would all leave the city and return to the seaside where they grew up.  But now he won't be joining his friends up there.  At least I don't think so.

But again a light has shined upon me.  Before dawn this morning, I went to the cemetery to put flowers on the man's grave.  I had seen where he was buried, and I was sure I could find the place again, even in the dark.  But I couldn't.  You know how it is when you've misplaced something and can't remember where it is?  This was something important.  Where was his grave?  I began to panic, and tears came to my eyes.

I ran to find Pete and John and blurted out, “They must have moved his grave!  And I don't know where they've put him!”  They came to the cemetery, but all we could find was a hole, apparently prepared for another burial.  They went back into the city.  They left me standing by the empty grave, crying.

I could not simply “let it be.”

Someone came by to ask what was wrong.  My eyes were bleary with tears, and I assumed it was the cemetery's caretaker.  But he called me by name, “Mary,” and somehow I saw the man who had died!  He was standing right in front of me.  Perhaps my wishes were driving my imagination, but he seemed as real to me as you are right now.

I rushed to embrace him, but he wouldn't let me.  “No,” he said; “go to your friends and remind them what was promised.  We said we'd meet again at the seaside.”  And then he vanished.

I hurried back to Pete and John and told them what I had seen.  At first they didn't believe me, of course.  I'm a woman; I'm just a woman.  But I have faith that eventually the lamb who was slain will appear to them as he did to me.  And we can hope that he will appear to hundreds of others as well!

 

Quoting the Gospels and:
Tim Rice, Paul McCartney,
1 Corinthians 15:5-8, and Revelation 5:12

 

Click here for other Bible stories I've retold in the first person.

TBT

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