VISITOR FROM THE OTHER SIDE

Kit and I met in eighth grade at the brand new Lynch Terrace Grade School. We were the tail-end of the “baby boomers”, and new grade schools were sprouting up all over Gresham, Oregon in those years. During the spring of ‘66 our eighth grade class walked the mile up to Centennial High School to watch the theater department’s production of “Camelot”. Kit and I were so thrilled by the musical we decided to join Centennial High’s drama club our freshman year the following September.

Throughout high school we were best friends.  We ate lunch together whenever we could manage it.  We didn’t always join the same clubs, but theater was our bond.  Weekends we shopped together since Kit’s parents allowed her to drive the family’s VW van into downtown Portland unsupervised.  We slept overnight at each other’s houses.  I was invited along on her family vacations.  And to celebrate our graduation from high school in 1970 Kit and I went camping for a whole week in the Mt. Hood National Forest by ourselves.  

Then, as often happens in life, we drifted apart.  The two of us went very different ways.  I became a wife and mother.  Kit went to college, and decided on a career in the Navy.

Twenty eight years later our friendship came to an end when Kit passed away at only 46 years of age in October of 1998. Although I hadn’t kept in close touch with her since high school I felt her loss deeply. A mutual friend, Alice, called to give me the news of Kit’s passing, and the time of her military funeral the following day. I drove through a torrential rain falling over the entire state of Oregon that morning to get to Kit’s service. Thick, dark clouds full of hard rain suited my mood.

I couldn’t pull myself together emotionally at the intimate (25 people at most) graveside service where the flag draped coffin lay with a solitary red, white and blue floral cross next to it. Why hadn’t I visited her when I heard the breast cancer had returned?  Yes, we lived seven hours apart, but why hadn’t I called her more frequently? Why hadn’t I tried harder to show my concern by writing?

Our relationship became complicated in adulthood. Kit was an alcoholic in the last years of her life. She was often inebriated when I called her during the day; frustrated that she hung up on me midway through a sentence.  I called right back but she often didn’t remember we’d just spoken. Frustrated, and clueless as to how to get through to her I gave up.  It’s that simple.  I just gave up.  Now, facing her coffin, I sobbed; unable to forgive myself.

During the weeks that followed back home in eastern Oregon I wasn’t about to give myself a break. If I felt guilt, fine. I should. I should suffer. I’d proven to be a worthless friend.  Guilt was always just under the surface of any other emotions I felt about Kit’s passing.  I couldn’t or perhaps wouldn’t forgive myself.  I didn’t deserve forgiveness.  I punished myself three long months.       

It was a snowy January night, and I fell into bed early with my husband. It felt good to curl up with my back pressed against my husband’s warm back. This marked the end of a long work week for both of us, and tomorrow was Saturday. Sleep swept over me.

I awoke suddenly, not sure what woke me.  My eyes opened to behold the youthful countenance of Kit just inches from my face.  She was laying on her left side while I lay on my right side.  I stared into Kit’s eyes in astonishment: the sight took my breath away.

The bedroom was illuminated with a bright, but not uncomfortable, light emanating from her body. Her eyes intently looked into mine with an incredible softness and love, and our mutual gaze couldn’t be broken.

Here was Kit as I remembered her in high school over thirty years ago; young, healthy, with bright eyes. The only difference was her perfect, creamy skin had no blemishes. Kit suffered from terrible acne in those days. Yet here she was looking at me, perfect. And more importantly at peace. The girl laying next to me had no troubles.

I couldn’t take my eyes away from hers. How could this be? I silently repeated that question twice, not really expecting an answer. In a twinkling I realized Kit heard my question telepathically.

She didn’t waste any time getting to the point of her visit. “You have nothing to be forgiven”, she communicated in the most loving way with those eyes, and her thoughts.

“I’m forgiven?” I inquired of her.

“No!  You have nothing to be forgiven” Kit repeated.

The peace I sensed in Kit filled me. But I was still in disbelief at her physical presence. "If I could just touch your cheek I would believe." I said to myself almost as much as I said it to her.  With that thought I reached over to Kit’s glowing face with my left hand, and laid my palm on her cheek. It was warm to the touch!  "You ARE here!"

The next moment Kit was gone, the room went black.  My left hand was raised in the air as if touching something. My mouth was wide open in astonishment. This wasn’t a dream. Kit had visited me.

I sat straight up, turned to my husband on my left side, and woke him. “I saw Kit. She was here.”

Jay awoke enough to sleepily respond, “What?”

“I saw Kit just now! She was in our bed! She talked to me!”

“Can you tell me about this tomorrow?”, Jay pleaded. He wanted to go back to sleep, and figured this could wait since I sounded fine, although extremely excited.

“I’m sorry. Go back to sleep. But I’m getting up. I can’t go back to sleep after seeing her.” I glanced at the bedside clock. It was 2 AM.  I threw on my floor length robe as I headed down the stairs of our home. I knelt on the couch that sat directly under the window looking out on the quiet, snow covered street.  Gazing out the window while on my knees, both elbows resting on the back of the couch, my fingers kept running through my long hair. I know exactly what it means to have your “mind race”. I replayed over and over what had just occurred, trying to burn every detail into my brain. I didn’t want to ever forget what I witnessed that night.  I couldn’t calm myself enough to put it down on paper right then. Several hours later I finally headed back upstairs to try and get back to sleep.

The next day I bombarded my husband with every detail of my heavenly visitor. This isn’t the first time I’ve had an unusual spiritual experience so Jay listened quietly, and didn’t say much. Although a science professor he’s very generous when it comes to listening to other’s experiences however beyond his comprehension.

During the week that followed God reminded me of an incident with Kit when we were 16 that I’d long forgotten. Billy Graham, the world renowned evangelist, came to Portland that year for a revival meeting. Our church youth group attended, and I asked Kit if she wanted to come along. She agreed, mostly out of curiosity, to hear this man of God speak. Billy Graham gave his traditional “alter call” at the end of this powerful service while the hymn “Just As I Am” played in the background.

“Do you believe the scriptures that have been presented this evening?  Do you recognize your sinful nature separates you from God?  Do you believe Jesus Christ is God’s only Son, and that Jesus died on the cross to take the punishment for your sins?  Jesus invites you to make Him your Savior.  Don’t put the most important decision you will ever make off.  Give your life to Jesus, just as you are.  Jesus is waiting for you.” 

Even before Mr. Graham finished his alter call men and women, boys and girls got up from their seats to begin the walk down to the front of the massive auditorium. I bowed my head in prayer for those making the most important decision of their life that night when I felt Kit rise from her seat.

She leaned over and asked, “Will you wait for me? I’m going to ask Jesus into my life.”

I couldn’t speak because of the lump that rose in my throat so I just nodded my head. All my prayers for Kit were being answered in this moment. I sat in quiet praise, tears flowing, as I watched Kit make her way down the isle to the front where folks with Bibles were waiting to pray with those who thirsted for new life in Christ.

Kit became a child of God that night; adopted into a heavenly family. She may have fallen away from God as an adult, but God never walked away from her. Scripture tells us “nothing can separate us from the love of God”, not even ourselves!  What a wonderful verse and it brings such comfort.

God brought this memory to mind after Kit’s "visit" to assure me Kit is in her heavenly home, in a heavenly body, and in peace at last. The message Kit carried to me was true; I had nothing to be forgiven.

Do I believe in “ghosts”?  Do I believe in “conjuring” up the dead, or seeking a “medium” to converse with dead loved ones?  The answer to all these questions is an unequivocally NO!  The Bible, especially the Old Testament, is clear about the practice of divination being forbidden, as well as enlisting the services of a “medium”.  (See the story of King Saul and the medium in I Samuel 28:8-14.)  I did not seek this late night encounter with my deceased friend Kit.  I did not look for a “medium” or any other go-between to assist me in communicating with Kit.

On the other hand, I do believe God can accomplish anything He desires in any way He desires.  God is not limited. His hands are not tied.  God delights in surprising us, and doing the unexpected; which is exactly what He did when he allowed my deceased friend Kit to show herself, and share pertinent information with me.  He knew I desperately needed to break free from unnecessary guilt.  And God used a dramatic measure to do this!  

Do you have something discouraging you, destroying you, defeating you?  Look to the Creator.  He has the answer which will be unique to you and your needs.  I promise!  God did it for me.