Signs and Wonders

For years since Jon’s death, I have asked him for signs. Not small ones. Not subtle ones. I asked for bold clarity, something unmistakable that would let me know he is still near, still guiding, still witnessing my life as I live it forward without him. There have been bold moments as well as quiet reassurances and gentle nudges. Many of them. This past weekend, it happened again.

On Friday night, a Facebook friend sent me a private message. She told me she had been reading Theo of Golden and that it reminded her of me. She urged me to read page 100.

I didn’t think much of it at first. I thought, "I'll get around to that." The book had been sitting on my nightstand for months, having been recommended by several friends.

That night, I dreamed I received a clear instruction: Read page 110 of Theo of Golden.

Different page. Same book. Persistent. Interesting.

The next morning, as I made my coffee, the message stayed with me. I spoke aloud to Jon and asked, once again, for a sign. I told him I was healed now. That I was living our love forward. That I needed to know he saw that… and that he was still walking with me.

The pull toward page 110 returned. Stronger this time.

So I opened the book.

What I read felt like a direct response - not metaphorical, not vague, not imagined. It was a passage about grief ending not because love disappears, but because life must go on, changed, quieter, and still beautiful. It described exhaustion. Surrender. Rest. A moment when grief loosens its grip and peace quietly takes its place.

It was everything I have lived the past 3+ years.

Later, I turned to page 100, the page my friend had mentioned. Nothing resonated. Confused, I reached out to her and asked what passage had made her think of me. She quoted the beginning of a sentence, one that did not exist in my copy. I was confused. Pondering and confused, I wondered if she had a different version - perhaps a hard back, rather than my soft back version.

I reached back out to her to ask. Sure enough. She had a hard back version. I turned to the chapter she was quoting from. There it was. The exact same passage. Different pages. I sat stunned. Speechless, and yet comfortably reassured. I called a close friend who has witnessed my healing from the front row. She was speechless. We cried on the phone together, barely speaking words between us. I asked. I received. I'm blessed and humbled beyond measure by yet another profound message, urging me forward, carrying love with me as I go.

What I know now is this: healing doesn’t mean forgetting. It means integration. It means allowing beauty to exist alongside loss. It means trusting that love does not end. It transforms. And to know, without doubt, that Jon walks beside me in my healing, just as my Creator does, brings peace, comfort, inspiration and encouragement to live love forward in all that I do.

And maybe that’s the invitation here - not just for me, but for all of us. To ask, to receive.

Have you ever received a message you couldn’t ignore? A moment that felt timed, intentional, and deeply personal?

If so, I'd love to hear about it.

Live Love Forward. Namaste.