A Spiritual Wonder

Sometimes something happens in life that gets engraved in our minds and we have total recall of the event, right down to smells and thoughts. Amazing things have happened to people across the globe at all different ages. The event that has shaped me as person happened five months before I turned two. People have scoffed at me for this, but this story is true. Nevertheless, the memory is as clear 37 years later as it was on that snowy Christmas Eve.

I awoke to the sound of angry wind howling against the window above my brother’s bed.  Condensation ran in rivulets down the glass pane and pooled on the wooden sill. Drip, drip, drip. The water fell to the floor, each drop sounding louder than the last. Something was wrong. The air around me seemed charged with energy.

The thought of cuddling up next to mom compelled me to slip out of bed. My pajama-clad feet touched the hardwood floor like the sound of sandpaper brushing lightly against wood. Suddenly a strange feeling washed over me. My skin prickled into goose flesh, in the living-room, the grandfather clock began to chime, informing the sleeping occupants that midnight was at hand.

Drip, drip . . . dong, drip, dong . . . drip, drip . . . dong.

I crept to the door and caught a glimpse of the Christmas tree twinkling merrily in the corner of dark living-room. The twinkling lights startled me for a moment because I hadn’t noticed them from my bed where I had a better view. Briefly my eyes fell upon the many wrapped packages spilling away from the base of the tree, but they did not interest me as they would in the years to come.

Turning away, I looked down the hall, where my parents slept. The lighting was wrong. My parent’s room should have been cloaked in fearsome darkness like so many other nights. As I stood there, my parent’s room continued to brighten. The light was not yellow or golden, but pure white. A breeze swept past me, it was warm and fragrant. Seconds later the light seeped into the hallway toward me, and small brilliant white lights zipped away from my parent’s room. A large oil painting hung above my parent’s bed, which is where the light came from. It continued to grow brighter as I watched and a form began to take shape in its depths.

It grew in size and shape until it took on definite edges and could be identified as a man. With a blaze of light, he stepped out of the picture, his bare feet hovering inches above my slumbering parents. He did not look down. He looked only at me!

My heart beat steadily against my ribs, my blood roared past my ears. Would I get in trouble for being out of bed? Tiny white lights darted about me in a frenzy, many of them I inhaled and came flying out as I exhaled. They never stood still long enough for me to see what they were, and they moved with amazing speed.

The man gracefully stepped onto the carpet.

I fled to my room, diving under my blankets.

Drip . . . drip . . . dong

My room began to fill with the white light, and as it intensified I could see through the blankets. The simple covering held no power against this force.

A minute later the man came into my room and looked out the window. He shook his head sadly, instantly the energy in the room changed, I could feel sorrow gathering around me like pregnant rain clouds.

I his gaze, my breath hitched in my throat. The window turned into a movie screen! A two-story house dominated the picture, but behind it I could see a lush forest. A black dog raced across the lawn. Then a boy riding a red bicycle sped passed.

A shadow passed over the house and the scene changed. Now I could see the sky, black clouds were boiling across the heavens, red lightning flashed down, stabbing at everything that moved. Something about the darkness frightened me. I knew something hideous lurked in the stormy sky. I knew deep inside that the clouds would give birth to something evil, and that the evil wanted me. The feeling shook me to the core of my being, never in my entire life have I ever been as afraid as I was that night! Tears leaked from my eyes. Suddenly the storm passed, taking the darkness with it, all that remained was gloom; gray and dreary.

The man raised his hand, and the picture in the window winked out. Once again I saw a stormy winter night with snow and frost clinging to the window’s corners. Amazingly my tears died up instantly, and feelings of peace and love washed over my confused thoughts. I stared at the man in awe.

He smiled down at me and such overwhelming love swept through me that I thought I would burst open. Just the opposite of fear, I have never felt so much love and peace as I did then. He spoke to me, but his words fell on deaf ears. A barrier stood between us and although his lips moved, my ears did not pick up any sound.

After a time he stopped speaking and smiled at me. In that moment in time I was consumed by his love. His smile grew larger and he placed his hand gently upon my head, then turned and walked away. I slipped out of bed and peeked around the door jam, watching him as he walked back to my parents room.

He stepped onto invisible stairs and walked toward the picture. The light left the hallway, as he vanished into the picture. All at once I was standing in darkness with the Christmas lights twinkling behind me as if nothing happened.

Drip, drip, drip . . . dong.


This for me has been the hardest thing for me to write, and I sincerely hope that I have conveyed my thoughts properly in order to give you, the reader, a clear picture of what happened.

When I was five, I told my mother about what happened and she told me that she had a picture of Jesus above her bed. I did not know who Jesus was, nor did I know anything about God yet. Those teachings would start the following year for me. I asked mom where the picture was and she said she didn’t know what happened to it. The last she saw of the painting was when we were moving from Babylon, New York to the eastern part of Long Island.

I did know that time of the event as my parents have always allowed the Christmas Tree to burn all night on Christmas Eve and no other. Additionally, I do recall seeing the presents. My parents only put them out after my brother and I went to bed, and that was a tradition up until I was about ten.

Like the vision foretold in the window, something dreadful happened to me the summer I turned eight. When that season passed I was left withered and empty, walking around like a gloomy, gray spirit. It was a grueling year for me, but what helped pull me through was the memory of that Christmas Eve, because I knew in my heart that he was near me, that his light was around me.

There were other events in my life that are mysterious as well, including the second time I saw him. Those are other tales that I will tell, but the one thing that troubles me the most, the one thing that drives me crazy about the whole thing. What did he say to me? Why couldn’t I hear him? Or were the words meant only for my spirit? I wish I knew.

Has anyone had something similar happen? I’d really like to hear from you if you have.


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