Chosen As Witnesses
Stories
Sharing Visions
Divine Revelations, Angels, And Holy Coincidences
Our first grandchild died two months shy of his fourth birthday. Chad was a beautiful little boy who was severely handicapped, unable to walk or talk, and fed most of his short life through a tube connected to his stomach through his abdominal wall. He was also given four medications to control seizures. Chad could smile and laugh, though, and did that whenever anyone paid attention to him.
At Chad's funeral service, I shared that I truly believed that, in death, Chad's little body was whole again: he could now do all that he could not do in his lifetime.
The day after we laid his little body to rest, I had to fly to Nashville for a five-day event for which I, along with four other team members, had leadership responsibilities. During that week, I had two visions of Chad -- both at times my heart and mind were not dwelling on him or my sorrow.
The first day, as I was sitting in a classroom listening to a lecture, I glanced away from the lecturer for a moment and saw Chad standing and smiling at me. He was there and gone in a blink of an eye, leaving me to wonder if I had really seen him or just imagined him.
Several days later I was at worship, coming out of prayer and focusing on the chalice and the bread on the communion table. Again, momentarily, there was Chad. This time he was on his tiptoes, reaching up for some bread as he turned and sheepishly smiled at his grandmother. Again I disbelieved what I was seeing.
Later I shared with the leadership team what I had experienced and asked them if they felt my mind had created those visions, even though I was not dwelling on Chad at those times. As they responded to me, I came to realize that it didn't matter; I didn't have to understand what happened. I was given a gift: two visions showing me that what I truly believed was really so. Later, I shared my experiences with the rest of the family, including our daughter, Chad's mother, and saw how comforting it was for them to hear it.
I have never had such an experience before or since, nor have I ever doubted, after sharing with others that day, that what I saw was real. It was a gift I was given for some reason that I do not understand, but for which I am still grateful.
Lee Meissner
John was in his early eighties and was living in a nursing home because his wife couldn't care for him at home. His only problem was that, because of the loss of a leg, he had trouble getting around. And, for some unknown reason, he was getting weaker. His mind was as good as ever.
While he was in the nursing home, John's sister, who lived about 100 miles away, died. She died during the night and John's wife was notified early the next morning. She called me, her pastor, to go with her to tell John, because she didn't know how he would take the news. She wasn't sure how to tell him, but she knew that the pastor would know just the right words.
We entered his room at about 9:00 a.m. He had had breakfast and was feeling as well as possible. We began with the usual small talk, and then John said, "You came to tell me that my sister died last night." John's wife was stunned, but I was more interested in how he knew.
John said that his sister had come to his room during the night. She told him that it was her time to leave and she wanted to say good-bye. She wanted to tell him that she was okay.
Before leaving the nursing home, I asked the head nurse if anyone had called to tell John of the death of his sister. No one had called. John could only have known because he saw his sister, as he said.
At Chad's funeral service, I shared that I truly believed that, in death, Chad's little body was whole again: he could now do all that he could not do in his lifetime.
The day after we laid his little body to rest, I had to fly to Nashville for a five-day event for which I, along with four other team members, had leadership responsibilities. During that week, I had two visions of Chad -- both at times my heart and mind were not dwelling on him or my sorrow.
The first day, as I was sitting in a classroom listening to a lecture, I glanced away from the lecturer for a moment and saw Chad standing and smiling at me. He was there and gone in a blink of an eye, leaving me to wonder if I had really seen him or just imagined him.
Several days later I was at worship, coming out of prayer and focusing on the chalice and the bread on the communion table. Again, momentarily, there was Chad. This time he was on his tiptoes, reaching up for some bread as he turned and sheepishly smiled at his grandmother. Again I disbelieved what I was seeing.
Later I shared with the leadership team what I had experienced and asked them if they felt my mind had created those visions, even though I was not dwelling on Chad at those times. As they responded to me, I came to realize that it didn't matter; I didn't have to understand what happened. I was given a gift: two visions showing me that what I truly believed was really so. Later, I shared my experiences with the rest of the family, including our daughter, Chad's mother, and saw how comforting it was for them to hear it.
I have never had such an experience before or since, nor have I ever doubted, after sharing with others that day, that what I saw was real. It was a gift I was given for some reason that I do not understand, but for which I am still grateful.
Lee Meissner
John was in his early eighties and was living in a nursing home because his wife couldn't care for him at home. His only problem was that, because of the loss of a leg, he had trouble getting around. And, for some unknown reason, he was getting weaker. His mind was as good as ever.
While he was in the nursing home, John's sister, who lived about 100 miles away, died. She died during the night and John's wife was notified early the next morning. She called me, her pastor, to go with her to tell John, because she didn't know how he would take the news. She wasn't sure how to tell him, but she knew that the pastor would know just the right words.
We entered his room at about 9:00 a.m. He had had breakfast and was feeling as well as possible. We began with the usual small talk, and then John said, "You came to tell me that my sister died last night." John's wife was stunned, but I was more interested in how he knew.
John said that his sister had come to his room during the night. She told him that it was her time to leave and she wanted to say good-bye. She wanted to tell him that she was okay.
Before leaving the nursing home, I asked the head nurse if anyone had called to tell John of the death of his sister. No one had called. John could only have known because he saw his sister, as he said.
