Was this a message from heaven?

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Answered by: Laura , An Expert in the Christianity - General Category
To understand the true mystery of this story, one must first understand that my husband Fred very rarely wears suits, nor does he play golf.

My friend Deb's father was dying from Pancreatic Cancer. Needless to say, it was a very difficult time for her and her mother. As an only child, if fell to Deb to be there for her mother; to see that all the right questions got asked, to be sure that her mother was eating, and that her father was getting his medicine.



She and I would meet for lunch about once a week, just as we had before the cancer. It was good for her she said, to be able to get away and relax for a little while. Cancer not only takes a toil on the patient, it also takes a toil on the family.

One spring afternoon Deb mentioned to me how much her father anticipated spring time. As soon as the snow started to melt, he would be on the golf course.



"More than anything he wishes he could play a round of golf right now," Deb said with a sigh. "Of course once he gets to heaven the first thing he's going to do is get St. Peter into a game, you wait!"

"Yea probably," I said laughing. I could just picture George at the pearly gates; "Sure I want to come in and meet my maker, but how about if we hit a few balls first!"

On April 1st, Deb's father passed away. She asked my husband Fred to be a pall-bearer. Fred of course was honored to do so.

On the morning of the funeral, Fred pulled his blue suit jacket out of the closet. As much as he hated wearing a jacket and tie, he felt that as a pall-bearer it would be more appropriate than his usual dress slacks and nice shirt.

I was down in our living room when I heard him say, "Huh, where did that come from?"

"What?" I asked entering the bedroom.

"This," he said, holding a white golf ball. "It was in the pocket of my jacket."

Neither of us could figure out where the golf ball would have come from, nor could we recall the last time he'd worn that suit.

He set the ball on the coffee table and we went on the funeral, thinking no more about it.

During the service the priest talked about how much George loved a good game of golf.

"In fact," he said, looking at the pall-bearers. "He probably played with each of you from time to time.

"Not with Fred," I mused to myself.

Suddenly, I felt like a light when on in my head. I put my hand over my mouth and looked at my daughter who was sitting next to me. "The golf ball!" It was a message from heaven it had to be.

Right after the service I ran up to Deb and said "Your dad sent you a message. He's in heaven right now, playing golf with St. Peter."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"He's playing golf!" I said. "And he hit one so hard that it landed in Fred's pocket!"

Now some might say that Fred must have picked up this stray ball the last time he'd worn that suit. But as far as we could remember, he'd hadn't worn that suit around any golf courses. Because he does not play, we don't have any balls in our house.

In my heart I know that that golf ball was nothing short of a message from heaven. A message for a grieving daughter that her father was happy and enjoying his favorite pass time.

A few weeks later I tried to find the ball again so that I could give it to Deb. I couldn't find it. At some point George must have come back for it.

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