Christians aren't supposed to believe in ghosts.
But one day, about twenty years ago, I returned to my house after a short walk. The front door was unlocked. As I put out my hand - the knob turned.
The house was empty.
Same house, same period of time...I was in bed, and suddenly the mattress creaked and moved, as if someone had sat down next to me. No one was there, but I could see a depression in the mattress.
What does one make of this? What did I make of it?
I figured it was a ghost. It wasn't unfriendly - quite the opposite. The presence was friendly, and even helpful. When I worked in my shop, I'd find tools I thought I'd misplaced, lying in plain sight.
That's not all. A few years ago, I saw an old friend in Wal-Mart. He walked past me, turned, and smiled, then walked on. The last time I saw him, he had been shot through the head.
My wife saw him too, that day in the store.
And finally, in the days after my brother died, there was a constant smell of cigarette smoke in the house. We don't smoke cigarettes. He did.
What does one make of this? I have no idea. But in each case, there was some measure of comfort, and perhaps the hand of God was moving across my days, using the best tools for the job, that I could see His love.
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