Signs and Wonders
One week after my sister died, Mr. Pettit and I traveled to Hawaii.
There was no reason to cancel the trip. I told myself Zita would have urged me to follow through on plans made months ago. And although that sounds like a dodge, like a delusion concocted to make me feel better, I knew my sister well enough to know it was true.
As we prepared for our journey, I split in two. One Rita unpacked from our trip to South Carolina to attend Zita’s funeral. The black and gray dress was cleaned and put away, as were the other clothes I had tossed into my bag as we rushed out of town.
The other pulled a swimsuit out of storage, as well as shorts and pastel shirts and festive dresses. This person had a long trip ahead of her and a checklist to follow. So many items to cross off before heading to the airport.
The disconnect between what lay behind me and what lay ahead was more than I could process.
So, I didn’t try.
Instead, I kept striking through line after line on my list and praying. Asking God to watch over Zita’s husband, children, and grandchildren. Asking Him to carry me through the journey ahead. To give me some sign of His goodness.
I know how ungrateful, how disbelieving that sounds. If my brain had the capacity to recall every moment since my birth, it would be impossible to list all the gifts God has given me. He has blessed me since I arrived in this world, and I am certain His goodness will follow me until my final day here. That’s His nature.
When the religious leaders of His time asked Jesus for a sign, “He answered, ‘A wicked and adulterous generation asks for a sign! But none will be given it except the sign of the prophet Jonah.’” (Matthew 12:39, ESV)
Truly, that does not put my request in a good light.
But, unlike the Pharisees and their “show us what you’ve got,” attitude, I wasn’t skeptical of Jesus’s divinity or His power. Rather, I longed for a special manifestation of the Lord’s tender care for me.
I needed a hug from my Creator.
He gave me two.
To be accurate, God has been incredibly gracious and generous to me, showing His love for me through the love of His children, especially my sweet brothers and sisters of the heart.
But twice I felt His arms encircle me in an almost tangible way. Moments that took my breath and left me with tears. Tears of joy and “the peace that surpasses all understanding.” (Philippians 4:7, ESV).
When we arrived in Hawaii, I waited—patiently, I think—for the gift I was certain I’d receive. I didn’t find it in the vastness of the Pacific or the spray of waterfalls as they tumbled past lush rainforests, or even the blaze of a sunset. Those Instagram-perfect scenes left me open-mouthed and awestruck, but they did not speak to my spirit.
It wasn’t until we were in a small boat off the coast of Maui that I felt Jesus’s gentle touch. I gasped as a massive humpback whale broke through the waves, waving one of its pectoral fins. This massive creature was so graceful, so joyful, so exuberant, that I half-expected to see the Lord standing next to me, smiling. Yes, I know I’m ascribing human emotions to a whale, but I sensed God’s zest for His creation being expressed through His creature.
A naturalist had told us that scientists have never been able to decipher exactly what humpbacks are communicating in their otherworldly songs.
From now on, I’ll believe they are singing hymns of praise.
The other “hug” came to me in an envelope the day before we departed on our journey. It was a card created by our eldest grandchild, a seven-year-old girl.
On one side was a drawing of a multi-scoop, multi-flavor ice cream cone. (Clearly, this child knows me well.) On the other she wrote, “To Mimi. I am praying for you. I love you but you still have your teme (team) Us. Love you.”
I texted my daughter-in-law, asking her to pass along my thanks for this sweet gesture. She explained that when their children argue, she and our son remind them that they are a team and that one day they will be the only ones left to recall the events of their childhood.
So, when little O heard that my sister had passed away, her first response was that I had lost my team. Then she ran up to her room and made my card, to let me know I could be on theirs.
Oh, precious Jesus. I had been blindsided by the feeling of being the last one left, the lone surviving member of my parental family. I hadn’t expressed this to anyone but Mr. Pettit. But God knew. Of course, He did. And He used the empathy-filled heart of a second grader to tell me I wasn’t alone.
In the words of the old hymn, “My God, how great Thou art!”
“How Great Thou Art,” Carl Boberg, 1885
