So Gideon said to Him, “If now I have found favor in Your sight, then show me a sign that it is You who speak with me.”
Judges 6:17
After my father transitioned, my siblings and I had just one day to clear out his personal belongings. Before he passed, my father and mother lived together in assisted living, and, due to COVID restrictions, we were only permitted one day to help my mother with what was an impossible task.
Beneath oppressive sadness, my brother, sister, and I did our best to sort through my father’s things. He was a nice dresser, so many of his clothes went to charity. He was a prolific reader of spiritual texts, so many books were donated to various nearby churches. He was an avid student of the Bible, so there were drawers full of yellow legal pads turned blue by the ink of his pens. He was also a bit of a pack rat, so it was unsurprising to find matchbooks inscribed with the logos of now-defunct restaurants or church bulletins dating back to the 80s. We sorted and discarded, packed and boxed, at a furious pace trying to use as much discernment as our limited time allowed.
Unfair. It felt unfair to be unable to pore over each item and to spend time appreciating that, no matter what it was, it was important to my dad at one time in his life. Mistakes in judgment were made.
One thing in particular that I regretted discarding was a stack of “Love Is” comics that my dad had paper-clipped together and tucked into the corner of his office drawer. There must have been thirty of them … little rectangles, yellowed with age and corners bent by carelessness. When I saw them, I heard myself say that they were precious and that I should keep them. Those tiny pieces of history were like breadcrumbs leading me back to childhood mornings at the breakfast table with my dad. I ate cereal and watched cartoons while he read the LA Times, cover to cover, giving the comics page the same importance as the front page. I’m not sure why he enjoyed the “Love Is” comics so much, but I love that as busy as he was raising three kids, working full time, managing the apartments that we owned, and trying to be a good husband, he took notice of a small pleasure, a simple sweetness, a profound truth that Love Is.
Yeah, I should have tossed that small family treasure into my purse, but my practical self got in the way and I tossed them in the trash along with salt and pepper packets from God knows where instead.
Even though it didn’t take long for me to regret that decision, it was still too late. The comics were gone. Just like my dad.
I relayed the story above to my youngest son and his girlfriend over a recent Sunday dinner. I expressed my regret and allowed myself to feel the resulting sadness. But, can I tell you something … something that’s, well, magical?
When I went to collect our mail the very next day, I received a card from my Aunt Bobbie, my father’s sister. It was an anniversary card, as my husband and I had just celebrated our 34th year of marriage together. Do you know what she included in the card? Four “Love Is” comics. Yes. You read that correctly. In her card she included the very comics my father used to collect.
Magical.
I share this with you to encourage you. Ancestors hear. Ancestors move. Ancestors act on your behalf when you ask them to, when you express your love and appreciation, when you respectfully come to them with a request.
The moment those four little scraps of paper fell from the card to my countertop, I just knew, beyond a doubt, that the spirit of my father had everything to do with it.
Keep the faith. Maintain your spiritual practice. Trust that your Ancestors and the Universe see, hear, and respond. Pray that you have the heart, ears, and eyes to recognize it.
Asé
P.S. Those four little comics are tucked safely away in my drawer so I can read them as often as I’d like.