They Still Pray For Us

Several years ago my biological mother who lived in London at the time, was diagnosed with Lymphoma. A malignant tumor had been found in her groin area. Chemotherapy had been chosen by her doctor to aggressively attack those cancer cells. The goal was simply to eradicate the bad cells.

So she made the trip from her home to the hospital every three weeks for six sessions of chemotherapy. My mother had her church also praying for her healing. During one of those weekly visits I accompanied her along with my sisters, Michele and Terri when I came to London for a visit.

Back from the hospital, my mother and I were sitting in her kitchen having a cup of tea over gentle conversation. To my surprise, I heard the name Nellie,' pop into my head. This had been her mother's name.

I looked at my mother and asked her if she had been thinking about her mother. She looked at me with surprise. "Yes, how did you know".

Smiling at her I replied, "Because I just heard the name Nellie pop into my head."

I closed my eyes for a few seconds, and as I did I felt this comforting presence engulf the room. I soaked in this peaceful feeling that now permeated the room, not understanding why this was happening through me. As I contemplated this soothing expression of unearthliness I began to feel impressions of words come to me.

I looked at my mother, and thought, oh boy, how will she take this'. Her mother, my grandmother had passed on, years before. Pentecostals believe the dead do not interact with the living, except through dreams.

But here I was, sitting with my mother in her house, and sensing my grandmother's presence. As I continued to feel her she continued to relay a message to me for her daughter.

"I don't know how you're going to take this, but not only did I hear your mother's name in my head, but even as we speak I hear words coming to me from her. And she has a message for you. She wants me to tell you that she loves you, and she is praying for you, and that you are going to come through this just fine. "

With these words, my mother started to cry, all the tension, the worry, the pain, it all flowed away with her tears. She thanked me for those kind words that came from her mother, and she believed that they were from her. She began to praise and thank the Lord for bringing her assurance that all would be well. Those that have passed on still pray for us.

My biological grandmother had looked after me, for a few short months of my life, before I was adopted out. In her later years, I was told that she never forgot the infant granddaughter that she looked after for a short period.

She always remembered my name, while she forgot the names of some of her other grandchildren that she had helped to raise. Was it guilt that she felt when I was taken from her? Was she trying to rectify past mistakes by contacting me? Why was she allowed to relay comfort to her daughter? Was it to let us know that the deceased still pray for us?

Why she came to me, I don't know, and I guess I'll never really know until the day when I can ask her myself. When I cross over that river of no return.

Today, my mother has remarried and lives in Brucefield, Ontario an hour's drive from London. She has become a great prayer warrior, giving back to her church community, friends and family. Whenever I am faced with an emergency concerning myself, or my children, I can call her up, and she will go right into prayer. Those prayers are always answered. What the enemy tried to take from her, her very life was spared to carry on in this world, as encouragement and to pass on her great steadfast love to those who need it.