Hear my prayer, O Lord, and give ear to my cry; Do not be silent at my tears

Not long ago I had a disturbing dream about death in the Catholic school where I taught for many years. It was a dream that stuck to me and made me very anxious. Details are not important but I felt the message was urgent. However, I did not tell anyone although I felt that I needed to share it with the principal, but I did not. We all fear being looked at as crazy people or lunatics when this happens. And so I kept it to myself against my better judgement.

Several days after the dream, there was indeed a boating mishap that took the life of one of the school fathers, although his daughter and niece survived. The two girls attended the school. I realized then that my dream had come true. I had been visited by death in a foreshadowing. It terrified me. I also questioned why God had to take such a decent, kind man away from his daughter and family. It made no sense.

I usually post very positive things on Facebook. I’m old enough to have some wisdom and I love to share my “glass half full” perspective on life. When I heard about the drowning, I posted “Why? Why? Why?” on Facebook. Several commented that they would never expect a person of Faith to doubt, to question. However, I responded that my friendship with the Lord was strong enough to weather this storm. I cried myself to sleep feeling the agony of the family who lost their loved one. I had taught his daughter and his niece. They had been part of my school family. I was fearful because I felt the dream brought part of the dark side to my consciousness.

I’ve been used to getting “funny feelings” or promptings of the Holy Spirit that send me to the right place at the right time. They are most often joyful experiences that lift my soul or help me lift the soul of someone else. I consider them commands to be of service to others. But this dream was different.

After lamenting all night, the next morning I awoke very heavy hearted. I ran an errand and planned to run another when the thought popped into my head to go to our parish chapel and just sit. And just like a scene from the movies, I entered the chapel and a priest was sitting there. Let me be clear, I’ve been to the chapel hundreds of times and no priest was ever sitting there. I prayed for a little bit and then asked him to talk with me. Fr. Mike was as kind and compassionate as any priest could be. It was almost as if he knew I was coming, and we had an appointment. We discussed my dream and my terror because of it. Father was comforting and gave me spiritual armour to defend myself in the future. He also let me express my grief. I left this conversation with a lighter heart. I was taken seriously and advised well.

The moral of my story is that God hears us. He listens to our laments. He places people in our path to comfort us and guide us. Sometimes we are too blind to see it. Sometimes it is as obvious as a neon sign. Sometimes it is like a blanket that enfolds us in His Presence. All I know is that He heard me. And I am grateful and joyful.