The Beginning

When I began to see prayers answered, and hear God’s voice, I realized he was protecting and guiding me long before I knew he was close. So that’s where I am starting, at the very beginning.

In 1995, I was 15 years old. I had a dad who was fun when he drank…not so much when he didn’t.  I had a hard working mom, three beautiful sisters, and a fun little brother.  I enjoyed riding my horses, and participating in 4-H. Life was good and normal, I thought.  Then one night I had a dream.  I was in a white dress standing barefoot in some grass. I was on a hilltop in the city, but it was so foggy, I couldn’t tell where.  The noise from the city was muffled and the sun was bright, so the fog was brightly lit. There were a few trees around me, and my feet were wet with the dew on the grass. I couldn’t help thinking, “Wow what a beautiful and peaceful place!” Slowly the fog lifted and I could see a rose colored marble headstone at my feet.  It was rectangular in shape.  I thought, “Oh sad. Someone has died.” The fog lifted a little bit more and I saw my dad’s name: Timothy M. Lynch, September 29, 1952 – .

I panicked. I began breathing really hard. I began crying. I swam and pushed and blew and flailed my arms, but as hard as I tried, I could not make the fog move anymore.  I could not read the date of death on my father’s headstone.  I woke up sweating, panting, crying, and scared to death.

That dream came back to me several nights. I did whatever I could to stay awake at night…or to make myself so tired I wouldn’t dream. That year, my sophomore year of high school, we learned in a class the difference between dreams and visions. What I had was actually a vision of something, not my mind dreaming to process or release stress like my mom suggested. Then one day, the visions left me, and I had peace.

Several months later, Mom found a mole on Dad’s back that was raised, purple, and leaking. After a week or two, the doctors said the test results were positive…melanoma skin cancer. One year later, dad died.  He was 1 month away from turning 45 years old. The very next day, August 30, 1997, Princess Diana died in a car accident. She was Dad’s favorite person and not-so-secret crush.  I always felt I should write a letter of apology to her family because I thought it was too much of a coincidence, her dying one day after Dad!

At any rate, I went with Mom to pick out headstones and make funeral arrangements.  I was numb from my grief and didn’t help her much.  Still, Mom ended up picking out a rose colored marble headstone, rectangular in shape.  She also picked out the grave site, but as we were in the car driving out of the cemetery, I looked out the window and immediately started crying and hyperventilating. She asked the funeral director to stop the car and asked me, “Is that it?” All I could do was nod…yes.  I stepped out of the car. I was on a grassy hilltop in the city. The noise was muffled and quiet. The trees around me were in the exact same spot. I was standing in the exact position I had stood in my vision two years before, surrounded by brightly lit fog.  Now, I see the rest of the headstone.

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