i fond a fethr on dooorstep ah again 2 day 

it wz blak gray it wz

we went up to visit our oldest son and his family in MA.. a very long trip... just as we finally got to the exit that got us off the VERY long highway and onto the roads leading to their house the song "Rainbow Connection" came on the car CD player... this is a song that has been a family favorite and a sign between us all of the connection between heaven and earth for us... when my husband's mother passed away this song came on my computer one day and I knew it was from her telling us she was OK and in heaven with God.. I just KNEW it... and so we took part of the money she had left us and took the guys to the beach for the first time where we let them ride the waves in the pink rafts you see in my profile picture.. we learned to play the song on our instruments and convinced the guy who was playing in the Tiki Hut down below our room to play the song and we played along.. we even played along down by the Tiki Hut with him eventually.. we told him the story of how my husband's mom 'gave' us the song after she died and how our sons loved it too because they loved the muppets.. so it sort of became our song... a family song... that bound us together in a very special way.. and now in an eternal way.. for we KNOW that Brandon sent us that song on our trip to tell us he was WITH us TOO .. and just to make SURE we knew, just as we got to the DRIVEWAY to my oldest son's house, another favorite song of our family came on the CD player.. it was "Happy Adoption Day" by John McCutcheon.. from an old album of children's songs we used to play for the guys when they were little... again we KNEW that we KNEW that we KNEW it was Brandon telling us AGAIN that he was with us on the trip... and ALWAYS would be with us wherever we went... we miss you so much sweet son... so much...

i fond a fethr again dolly  i fond a few fethrs lty evn in frnt of my patg or door stp u cud say

do you make the feathers into anything? like maybe a mobile with bells or chimes ? I think it would be wonderful to do that and hang it in the window... maybe with crystals too so little rainbows would sprinkle over the room as the feathers flew about and the little chimes sang... like when the chimes sounded it would be like a little hello from heaven each time.... all things are possible with God so why NOT??

I think I'm going to make something like that to hang in my own window.. I don't find feathers about... not YET anyway... but I think I'll start looking around and thinking about what I could put into a little hanging for my window.. things that would remind me of Brandon and others I have lost... and some pretty bling to make it sparkle and catch the sunlight and the moonlight and the light from heaven... yep I'm going to do that...

iv juts kpt thm dolly its grt 2 fined thm it is 

I read a book where the girl collected feathers she found and put them in a little pouch she made and wore it around her neck... sounds like an idea.. its as if the angels are shedding feathers for you.... or dad is plucking them out and tossing them to you... I bet the angels don't mind !!

i fond anthr fethr agan f dollly i did i fnd ths on antr web foto web

i fond antr fethr agan i did yday 

2 day a samml fethr fell on me it did so iv ketp it i did  

Handprint from Heaven

Afterdeath Communication Story Posted on Guidepost

Heavenly Signs of Assurance

My husband, Max, died at 12:44 p.m. on a sunny Saturday in May, surrounded by friends and family in the living room of our Sacramento home. His last breaths were labored. He lay on a narrow hospital bed, his emaciated body propped up to face the patio doors so he could feel the warmth of the sun.

I held his hand gently—gently because it felt like all bone, not the hand that had held mine with such strength for the past five years—and read from the Twenty-third Psalm. “He makes me lie down in green pastures, he leads me beside quiet waters....”

A lovely melody suffused the room. Tones so resonant and deep, they could have been coming from one of Max’s classical CDs. I turned and saw the heavy wind chimes over the patio swaying. But the air was still. Not a breath of wind at all. There was no breath from Max either. His hand fell from mine. He was gone.

In late November, Max had received the diagnosis: esophageal cancer, late stage. He didn’t want to die in a hospital. We’d made him as comfortable as we could at home.

We’d sit overlooking our yard and talk. About Tanner, my son from my first marriage, whom Max treated as his own. About music, good food and wine, philosophy—his passions. About the trips we’d taken, like the one to Auberge du Soleil, a resort in Napa Valley, where he’d first told me he loved me. These things were easier to talk about than the future.

I was 53. I’d thought we’d grow old together. Now? “It’s easier for me,” Max said one day. “It will be harder for you because you are being left behind.”

“I don’t know what I’ll do,” I said.

“I will still be here,” he insisted. “My love will never die. It’s immutable.”

What did Max mean? He’d never talked like that. I was the daughter of a Presbyterian minister, but Max was an agnostic. The Twenty-third Psalm was music to him, not Scripture. The idea that anything but a memory of someone could survive death didn’t appeal to his sense of reason.

I couldn’t fault him for it. His intellectual rigor was one thing that had attracted me to him.

I’d met Max in 1999, a year and a half after I’d moved to Sacramento to become the publisher of the Sacramento Bee, one of California’s largest and most respected newspapers. I was divorced, with a nine-year-old son. I didn’t have time for love.

Then Max invited me to a meet-and-greet event held by the political-consulting firm he worked for. I declined—obvious conflict of interest for the newspaper— but agreed to a friendly lunch.

He was a true Renaissance man: an Air Force vet, a mathematician, an accomplished chef, a former college weight lifter. He played trumpet and piano and had even written his own symphony. He read at least a book a week. He astonished me.

In his final months, Max spent a great deal of time with our friend and his caretaker, Helen. He’d insisted that I continue working, so Helen was there when I couldn’t be.

One day she revealed the strangest thing. The two of them were in the kitchen when there was a brief sun shower. “We both stopped and looked,” Helen said. “I told him, ‘I know you don’t believe in God, but this is something God created for us today. If you can find a way, let us know that there’s something out there, that it doesn’t just end.’”

“I will,” Max said. “But it will be up to you two to see it.”

Max said that? I believed in heaven, as my father had understood it, a faraway place filled with love. Max never did. But the nearer death drew, the more cautiously open he became to the notion that there could be more, as if a force stronger than his reason were reaching through to him. He spoke with less certainty about the end. The day before he died, weak and fading, he asked for directions. “Where, Max?” I asked, confused. “To the place I’m going,” he explained.

The afternoon Max died, some friends took Tanner. I waited for the funeral-home staff. I retreated to the master bedroom to try to compose myself. I flipped on the light, but the bulb above the sink had burned out. “I thought these things were supposed to last forever,” I grumbled.

We held Max’s funeral at a church in downtown Sacramento. A friend conducted the service, and people filled the pews. Tanner and the other pallbearers carried Max’s coffin to the front of the sanctuary. I was set to follow behind with my brother and sister-in-law. Will I make it through this? I wondered. Will I fall apart?

Suddenly a sound boomed through the sanctuary. A heavy door to an anteroom had slammed shut. No one was near it. It shocked me out of the downward spiral I was in.

Only back home did I think about the music of the chimes on that windless afternoon. The burned-out bulb. The slamming door. What was going on? The newspaperwoman in me said, “Nothing at all.” A flying bird could have brushed the chimes. We hadn’t changed the bathroom bulb since we’d moved in. A draft in the church could be strong enough to slam the heavy door. Max was logical to a fault. He’d guffaw at “signs” like these.

It was grief that made me notice more little things. Lights flickering when it wasn’t even stormy. Noises coming from the guest bedroom, where Max had slept for most of the last month. One morning, I returned home after taking our yellow Lab for a walk, and glanced up at the large clock over our fireplace. It should have read eight o’clock. Instead, the hands had stopped—at 12:44.

Father’s Day. Tanner was with his dad. I was home alone, listening to Celine Dion’s “Because You Loved Me,” the song we’d played at Max’s funeral. I felt agitated. I wandered into the library, full of Max’s books. I randomly pulled one from the shelf. An envelope fell to the floor. On the front was a woman’s handwriting. It was a card from Max’s mother, from Father’s Day the year before. “I’ve never seen you this happy in your life,” she’d written. “It’s because you have a family.”

I could explain any one of these things, but all of them together? I decided to keep a list of every odd incident, weird feeling and comforting coincidence. Maybe if I saw everything on paper, I’d begin to make sense of it.

I gave away most of Max’s possessions, because that was what he wanted, but it felt like giving away parts of him. His albums and books I donated to the library. His clothes and shoes I gave to Goodwill, saving a few favorite ties and shirts for Tanner. The least important things were the hardest to deal with. His round tortoiseshell glasses, his worn black leather wallet, a tiny hairbrush that he used every morning. They seemed to bear his imprint, his touch. I was beginning to forget what it felt like back when his hands were still strong, when he held mine in his.

Tanner and I didn’t plan anything for the first anniversary of Max’s death. Just a quiet day at home. We sat at a table in the backyard; I caught up on work, Tanner read a book. After a while I went inside to make us a snack. On the way to the kitchen, I paused at the doorway of the guest-bedroom suite. Something drew me inside. I turned toward the bathroom and flipped on the light.

On the mirror was a handprint.

It was no ordinary handprint. Not something revealed by the steam of a shower or left behind by someone’s greasy fingers. It was made of a soft, powdery substance and perfectly formed: I could see every fingerprint, every crease, the life line and love line. It showed all the facets of bone structure, like an X-ray. I’d combed my hair in front of that mirror just hours before. The hand hadn’t been there.

I shouted for Tanner. He came running. “What’s wrong, Mom?” He saw it too. It wasn’t just my imagination.

“You didn’t do this, did you?” I asked.

“No,” he said. He held his hand up to the mirror, so small in comparison. “Where did it come from?”

I didn’t have an answer, any reasonable explanation. But I knew whose hand it was. The same hand I’d held a year earlier, except this was the way I preferred to remember it. The hand that had once pressed the keys of a piano and thumbed through the books in our library. Max’s hand.

I got my camera and took a picture, afraid the image would fade. But it didn’t. It remained until that Wednesday, when Helen came to clean the house. “Do you want me to leave it there?” she asked, astounded.

I did, but it was time to say goodbye. Max had already given me enough to hold on to. Just as he’d promised—if only we were willing to see.

Link to the photos of the signs, including handprint:

https://www.guidepos...ns-of-assurance

LAURIE.... what an amazing experience...or actually experiences.... we have also had two more amazing things happen .. a week ago we were on the mountain playing music and I noticed a brilliant swatch of rainbow shining on the wall of the kitchen next to where we were playing.. I traced it to a crystal in the kitchen window over the sink.. the colors were exquisite and some of you know about my history of seeing rainbows after Brandon died.. two FIRE rainbows which I didn't even know existed before I saw TWO on two different occasions the year after Brandon died... I know the kitchen rainbow was the sun shining through the crystal.. BUT that crystal has been lying in that window for probably 30 years and I have NEVER seen a rainbow like this one come through it.. in fact I don't remember ANY rainbows coming from it once it fell from the string it was hanging from... before that when it was hanging, it would send little bits of swirling rainbows around but never anything like this last time... it made me think again of Brandon being there for the music...or IN the music... with all of heaven.... singing an dancing in the trees, sending us rainbows.... does it help? I think it does... I do..

LAURIE that article just reinforces how close our loved ones are.... it always lifts my heart to hear theses wonderful things.... thanks for sharing...

i seam 2 be getn a lot of fethrs i am i fomd 1 on my dooor step i did

I'm going to go look for some pics of feathers... brb

heres some stuff

If you see this Laurie, thank you for posting the Guidepost story. That was really interesting.

thnx dolly

i got fethr 2 day agan im getn lots latlyy i am

i no iv bean bad wth a chst infeson wish toook ot of me 

i thng thes fethrs is presnt frm dad evry its gon 

hear sum pics of thm 2 dolly not 1s iv fond  1s off antr sit

I hope you get better soon JO... dad is probably comforting you with feathers....

hello I'm here to chat. my mom passed away last week. I miss her so much.

hello Donald... I'm sad to hear about your mom... we know how bad it hurts... you can unload in here and we will listen and try to help ... we all are so full of hurt and pain and those who don't understand can seem hard hearted towards us at times... but we all know what it feels like to have someone we love dearly ripped from this world... so feel safe here...

I rebuke this evil spirit NYAME in the name of Jesus and bind him from messing with anyone in here in Jesus name... AMEN

amen dolly

i mit be mad it god

pity thes spams scams muts hav a borin lifee dolly

Yes... and they can cause a world of hurt... with their fooling around with such bad stuff... I reported them but so far nobody is doing anything...

yep thy can dolly 

u cnt evn get on chat coz its coved in spam 

hears sum pics dolly 2 tak oorr minds of scam spam

Thanks to those who commented on the Guidepost story...I really like their web site. My grandmother always got their magazine for years...I also like it that you can submit prayer requests online.

Found this video today

Article I found in Yahoo News tonight that touched my heart:

Parents mourning the loss of their six-year-old son were discovered the boy had penned a heartbreaking goodbye letter.

After Leland Shoemake passed away from a rare brain infection, his parents, Tim and Amber, returned to their Pike County, Georgia home to select clothes for him to be buried in.

Entering the home for the first time since he had been hospitalized, they discovered a piece of paper with a note written in red marker on their living room table.

“Still with you,” read the handwritten note in red marker. “Thank you mom & dad.”

Below, Leland had drawn a red heart with the words “mom,” “dad” and “love” written inside. “Good day,” he added in purple marker.

“We have no idea when he wrote it but you can tell he was always a special child. We will love you forever Leland,” wrote Amber, who shared the photo and note on Facebook.

View photo



Little Leland was hospitalized after he contracted balamuthia mandrillaris, a rare and deadly amoebic infection, his mother said.

“I was over protective of Leland and tried my best to keep him safe. The one thing he loved most was playing in the dirt. I never imagined that would be the thing that would take him from me. He was my world. He made me a mother,” the heartbroken woman wrote, calling the boy that she and her husband had struggled to have “perfect.”

Leland lost his battle with the disease on September 25.

“Today sweet Leland went to be with the Lord. He fought so hard, but ultimately the sickness was too much for his body to handle,” read an update at the time on the Facebook page ‘Prayers for Leland.’

Retrieved from : http://news.yahoo.co...-223902767.html

For JO B's Image that was posted...it is a companion song for that passage by Rich Mullins. Recorded couple of weeks before his departure from this plane of earth.

LAURIE... while I was watching the video on Bonnie suddenly the toy horse beside me started to whinny and make a clomping noise... out of the blue.. literally I guess.. I had tried to activate it a few weeks ago without success .. so I have prayed that if this was truly Brandon or God for Brandon sending me yet another sign that it would be repeated... like with the lights that went on right after he died.. and then after I asked for a repeat they went on again by themselves several days later and then never again... I will tell you what happens... I suppose this time it could be some kind of sign of weak batteries.. but we shall see... this article was wonderful!!

What a sweet article Laurie. I love that. I wonder if he was trying to write Good bye instead of good day though. Maybe it was just a love note for the day. Whatever, it is precious. Can you imagine finding that afterwards? What a beautiful gift he left his parents

thnc laurie

hi conie dolly 

yday kelle in kisten trb it slf on lots of tims bleve it or not evn fottos movin by it slf coz my sistr sw ir she did 

bt ketl trn it slf on wz weid 

no 1 trnd it on it seam 2 trn it lf on aftr id be smokin it did i no dum wen u hav cpd u cud sat say

im so sytest coz of los bad thngs f goin on 

im brokn i am we all  r coz of loss

we all r on hear lk me doly conie laurie loss ucud say f us all up u cud say

Dolly, thank you for sharing Brandon's signs with us, I am sure he is reaching out to you. But we do miss their physical presence in our lives so much. Connie and JO B, I am glad that you found some comfort in what was posted. I search for what is most meaningful to me and pass it along..

My first experience was and still is feeling his presence nearby.  Hearing his voice in my head guiding me.  Asking me to do things, such as see about his best friend.  I feel his happiness at times, see his smile in my mind.  But one evening I was very upset because I had no money to get food for my daughters.  I washed my hands not 10 minutes before and when I sat down to eat, I smelled his cologne on my hands, very strong.  I hadn't been near his wardrobe where it's kept for days.  It was all over my hands.  Then, 5 minutes later, it was gone.  The "cologne" is a scented oil that once it's on you, it doesn't come off, even with washing, for hours.  I was lonely for him then and went to his wardrobe.  I got his wallet because I wanted to see the pictures in it.  I had checked it before to see if there had been any money and hadn't found anything.  This time, there was enough to get a few groceries.  He's been here with me since his death, only leaving for short periods, which I believe he uses to go see others.  I miss him so much.  I feel so dead inside without him.  A sorrow that never ceases or wanes.  Only continues and plagues me with time.

Copper I am sorry for the loss of your husband. It is very soon for you. Thank you for sharing the sign of your husband being near. Many people have experienced this and it brings some measure of comfort. Sending gentle prayers of comfort.

Im sorry JO... I know it hurts SOOO bad...

COPPER... how sweet is the scent of them.... I was wearing my son's poncho the other day and suddenly I realized how much it smelled just like him.... and I was all wrapped up in it and I felt like I was in a hug... and he could only hold my hand ... he could sort of lean against me if I was hugging him .. he couldn't do much moving at all... but INSIDE was so much love... and its still around me ... and you know what I'm talking about... and JO you do too.... I am so glad we can see and feel these things and don't let anyone talk us out of them...

yep dolly its sad we alll hear coz of loss/lossess 

dolly me u muts of bean sam footo web u cud say 

dolly hears 1 my dad wud of laft it he wud of

hears fw mre pics of sam web war be bth bean getin it frm

This post was especially moving to me, as it touches on the subject that brought me here. Someone I loved and lost many, man years ago appeared in my dreams every night for two weeks, and then, after a lull, returned this weekend. I feel profound love and peace, though there is no conversation or "story" to these visits. But I've been wondering what he's trying to say, even so. This does help. Perhaps the next time he'll give me a "clue." For now, as painful as it has been seeing him "alive" again, it has also been beautiful. It reminded me why I loved him so much and seems to prove that he loved and still loves me. That's an unexpected gift I cherish more than I can say.