It was a dark time in my life. My husband and I were having problems and in desperation we moved three hours away to a new city.
We moved into our new place on December 1, 2004. I began a new semester at the college in January and the children settled in at Avondale elementary. It was a lot more expensive to live there than we were used to, but we seemed to be doing ok. I didn’t know it at the time, but he had already been seeing someone else before we even moved. Apparently the plan was to move me and the kids there, ditch us after a few weeks, and move back to his hometown to be with his new girlfriend.
Anyway, the second week of January my husband’s aunt committed suicide and he was devastated. We both felt guilty for leaving such a short time before that happened. He wanted to go back home to the funeral alone, and I said I understood. What could I do? What I didn’t understand was why he insisted I did not tell the children that their favourite great-aunt had passed away. He was gone more than a week. It was bitterly cold out. and with no vehicle it was really hard to get the kids and I to school. We were running out of money and the bills were coming due when he finally returned home. He was different. Cold. Distant. It was bleak, and about to get a whole lot worse.
He wasn’t there more than two or three days when we had a huge fight. He frightened me so badly that I left with the kids to a motel for the night. The next morning he was gone. He called from his cell to tell me he needed some time to “think”, so he was going back home to his mother’s place. He never returned.
So there I was. Alone in a city with two children who were depending on me. I had no car, no job, and we had no choice but to survive on my student allowance.
I was pretty depressed, as anyone would be, but I tried hard to make that time in my children’s lives more bearable. I tried to turn our heartbreak into an adventure. I bought food my husband was allergic to. We watched movies he disapproved of. I listened to my music and danced around the house with my kids. We slept out in the living room like it was a camp-out.
Then there were the bad days. The days I would send them off to school, skip class for myself, and curl up with coffee and sad music. Those were the days of Yahoo’s Launchcast Plus radio stations in every imaginable genre. I would listen to the Christian station and pray for God to be with me, to give me strength to go on, to get through this. All of my dreams seemed a million miles away and I felt broken. Slowly, as I began reading the Word and drawing close to God, I felt Him draw closer to me. I felt His presence. I felt safe and comforted.
On one evening, as I was laying on the futon we used for a bed, with the children sleeping beside me, I felt particularly alone. I had the TV on, but I wasn’t paying attention to it. While I was staring ahead something happened that I will do my best to try to explain. It’s like a curtain was drawn back and I could “see” into somewhere else, and that somewhere was Heaven. The most amazing part of it was I was fully awake and I could see the edges of my television stand and the wall around the space I was looking into. In this place I saw someone I knew was an Angel. He was dressed in white, dazzling white, with gold accents. His hair was golden and he had the most serene smile on his face. I felt instantly peaceful, and filled with such incredibly sweet joy that I can’t even compare it to anything I’ve felt before, or since.
The Angel was holding a silver platter. On the platter was a bakery store picture perfect loaf of bread and a silver pitcher of beautiful ruby red wine. He then knelt before me and placed the platter in front of me, and just as instantly as this vision appeared, it was gone, and the television came back into focus again.
I was bewildered, almost second guessing, but no, I knew what I saw. I wasn’t sleeping (the very thought was laughable since I had bad insomnia since my husband had left us). The next day I was talking to someone on the phone trying to decipher what it might have meant, when my son (who I didn’t even realize was listening) said, “Mom, that’s Communion”. As soon as he said that it became clear to me, and I began to cry. I knew God was with me, and my children, and He would care for us.