SermonStudio

Ralph Milton

Not long ago, at about 9:00 on a Sunday night, I had a call from my sister, Peggy, saying that our sister, June, had died. It was not an unexpected death. June was cursed with a tobacco addiction she was never able to shake, and so the last years of her life were spent in a half-life of emphysema, hooked up to oxygen, struggling to breathe. June was a vivacious, joyous, musical person, and it caused us much pain to see her living that way. Her death, when it came, was a blessing.

But, I grieved anyway. That night, as I went to bed, I suddenly found myself with June and Peggy, and we were singing together as we often did as children -- loud and high and clear in our childhood voices, the songs from Humperdink's Hansel and Gretel: "When at night I go to sleep, fourteen angels watch do keep ..." and the final line, "two to whom 'tis given to guide my steps to heaven."

This was not just a memory. It was far too clear and powerful, and I sang through the whole song, every word, with my sisters. I don't know if I was asleep or not. I don't think I was. I don't recall ever having a memory or a dream as clear and powerful as that one. It left me with a sense of joy and peace and thanksgiving.

I've told a number of people about that vision, and in each telling, and the feedback that it brings, I've understood it a bit more, and valued it more deeply, as my farewell to a much-treasured sister.

Lisa Lancaster


John and I were good friends. His wife, Katie, and I just remained acquaintances. Then I found out that Katie had cancer, and that it had progressed to the point that there was no hope for recovery. I was able to be a support to John, but Katie pushed me away, right up until the very end. I always felt so unsettled that I had been able to help him, but not her, or their three children. I had this nagging feeling for weeks that I had not done enough.

Then, one night, I dreamed about Katie. She walked toward me, with her hand outstretched for a handshake, and said to me, "I want to thank you for all that you did for my family." I knew it was actually a visitation, and I have always been grateful to God for this, and to Katie, for reassuring me in a way that finally enabled me to let go.


Ned Dorau


I recently baptized the second daughter of an Arizona couple, Kris and Mark. They had journeyed to Random Lake, Wisconsin, with the baby and their first daughter, Alexandra. Kris is originally from a Catholic family in the area, and her husband Mark, a Lutheran, is from Eau Claire. They are both active members of a Lutheran church in Arizona, and they thought that by having the baptism here, the whole family could be present for the joy that is always part of that special day. Many from the Catholic side of the family came to church that Sunday in late November, and we celebrated together during the liturgy and afterwards. I had the privilege of meeting Kris's dad, Tom, who, with his wife, had been a lifelong Random Lake resident before moving to Plymouth the previous year, for health reasons.

Several days later, Kris sent me an e-mail with a wonderful picture from the baptism, and the sad news that her dad, Tom, whom I had met less than two weeks earlier, had suffered a massive stroke and had irreversible brain damage.

The funeral was yesterday, and I once again connected with the whole family, this time at the Catholic church. As I greeted Tom's wife and daughter, Kris, they shared a special story about Alexandra. A couple of days before her mother called Kris in Arizona to tell her of her dad's death, Kris had noticed her little daughter Alexandra returning again and again to a wedding picture she had in the kitchen of her with her parents. Each time Alexandra came to the picture she would say, "Mommy, Grandma, Grandpa. Grandpa go bye-bye." The statement concerned Kris so much that she immediately called her parents to make sure her father was all right. She was relieved when her father answered the phone. He talked to her about what a beautiful day it was and how much he was enjoying it.

A couple of days later, the call came from Wisconsin, confirming what little Alexandra had already sensed. The family understands her experience as a special moment for them, reinforcing the belief that the Lord indeed works in mysterious and wonderful ways.