It was the one and only time that I had a spiritual vision. My problem was that I didn’t know what it meant at the time. Years later, I came to understand the message that it brought.
By 1988, I was living in Lower Earley, Berkshire, a small bedroom town near Reading. It was just after New Year’s, which happened on the Friday that year. Memory says it was about 10:00 pm on the Sunday night. I had gone to bed early to get ready for work the next day. But I wasn’t sleepy.
There was a full moon that night, so I shouldn’t have been surprised at what occurred.
Staring off into the middle distance of the room, I was suddenly aware of a figure standing there, with head raised toward the ceiling in supplication, hands crossed at the wrists in front of its waist. It reminded me of an Native American warrior, for some reason. And the figure was not full sized.
To do a reality check, I shifted by eyes to the left slightly, and the figure shifted with their movement. That meant that the image was somehow inside my head, but projected out in front of me, like the laser recording of Princess Leia in Star Wars.
The image then faded into thin air, and I realized that I’d been holding my breath, while this was occurring. The whole sequence couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds.
What should I have done differently to engage the image?
Should I have quoted I Samuel 3:10 “Speak; for thy servant heareth”?
If I hadn’t moved my eyes, would it have stayed longer?
As you can imagine, I had a bit of trouble getting to sleep that night.
The Next Day
I contacted everyone I knew who might have had reason to ‘visit’ me that night. Even Kate, who would normally be the one to try something new, said that it wasn’t her. She’s had no burning issue that couldn’t wait until the next time we met.
My Mom wasn’t aware of anything either, so I really was stumped.
I then put the experience to the back of my mind, in case something should reveal itself subsequently.
In 2007, after my ancestry.ca searches, I finally met up with my cousin Doug in London. We talked a great deal about my Dad, as you’d expect. What struck me was how much my Dad enjoyed his nieces and nephews. Doug remarked that he felt there was a sense a sadness about him, because he’d not had any children of his own.
Later that summer, we had the first Miller Family Reunion. Someone (I suspect it was organized by my cousin Liz) had put together a memento box full of papers and photographs. That was when I first learned that my Dad had died in October 1987. It was also when I saw his ‘banker‘ picture which tied in with the Coral Polge session that I attended on the weekend before he was buried.
But then the last piece of the puzzle fell into place: just over two months after his death, my Dad had come to me to beg forgiveness for not being there when I was growing up.
There will be some of you that will doubt the veracity of this story. If I hadn’t been there, I would have doubted it, too. But sometimes, we have to put aside our doubts and just accept whatever we are given in humbleness and gratitude.
My Dad loved me, after all. He had returned for a very brief moment to let me know that he regretted the choices he made when younger. Knowing now what I learned after the fact, I heartily forgive him.
I think we were both healed by the experience.