Year: 2023

I just returned home from a funeral.

I have become a sur-realist (as I unwind the knot from my necktie and concurrently attempt to untangle the corkscrew of my thoughts).

Often, there are those surreal moments of epiphany experienced at funerals—as you remember the deceased. But today I am a witness to the living.

Most of us only get to meet people that have died once. And we meet them before they die…

I met a man today that has died twice, and we both stood there living (and breathing) at the graveside of my great aunt, Edna.

It was shared at the funeral that both of my elderly great aunts, Edna & Emma, had loved on this young man named Johnny that began attending the country church there—the Church of God of Prophecy—just off Brushgrove Road, near Willisburg KY.

There was nothing quite like receiving a hug from Aunt Edna (She had arms that did not know their own strength and you could feel the warmth of Spirit). This was a truth that helped change Jonny’s life.

Johnny Hackworth was a coal miner, from Eastern KY, that had also spent some time driving a truck, and had developed some back problems. On the drive over to the cemetery he shared that he had died three weeks ago, during a back surgery that turned south—the second time he had died he lamented (the first time was due to a drug overdose nine years before).

One unraveling thought: what might God have in store for this year-10? Why is Johnny still here?

The medical team lost “J. Hackworth” for 15 minutes…had done everything they could, and the doctors were about to hit his chest with the paddles a second time (just for good measure) so that when they were to tell the family that they did everything they could it would have been the truth—and just before then is when his lungs spontaneously sprang back to life, and fully inflated with air. His heart began to beat, again.

The doctors had never seen the likes of this before. This sudden revival, without a second “jolt”. And the callus, labor-weary nurses that were usually numb to such occurrences had tears welling in their eyes when J. Hackworth opened his eyes and obliviously asked, “Is everything going alright?”

I had a question for Johnny, as we approached Edna’s, graveside on that brisk November day, in 2023. I asked whether he had anything “Prophetic” to report following his journey back from “the other side”.

“All I can tell you,” he said frankly, “is that the first time I felt a cold, dark…and pain, and the second time I died there was only calmness and peace.”

What happened in between, was Edna, and Emma, and a dude that Hackworth used to mine coal with, standing serendipitously in the pulpit…Brother Creech…talking about forgiveness and a guy named Jesus.

There is nothing meta-physically heightened about my state of being (that I know of)…I mean I did read an article last night on the nature of quantum mechanics and how it may relate to spacetime and consciousness, but I also choked on my bran flakes this morning.

I usually roll out of bed around 6:30am EST and proceed to get four kids between the ages of 6 and 13 ready for school—which is a challenge in and of itself—but the absolute first thing I do is check my phone’s lock screen for a text alert from my dear wife usually asking for a small favor (the proverbial straw that threatens to break the camel’s back).

This morning the alert was there, with the little green text icon, but the name next to the icon was not my wife’s name. The name was the name of a childhood friend, who I had only seen maybe twice in the last twenty years. A few years ago I saw him for for a few seconds outside a gas station and then I saw him again a couple years after that at a restaurant, three tables over. In both cases I did not say much more than: Hi—how are ya doin’.

After brushing my teeth, when I looked at the text again, it was my wife’s name next to the icon (and a message from her that appeared), not a message from Florian.

Strange. I knew what I had seen. And a feeling compelled me to contact him.

I knew that Florian’s father had recently—a couple months back—had a nearly fatal accident…so I figured I would offer some help, and send up a quick prayer. The feeling said, send a message now.

I sent a message through social media, since I could not even locate his number in my new cell phone. I told him that I was praying peace over his family.

One hour later he messaged me back. His dad was on the mend he had said, but his daughter was currently in an out-of-state hospital, having had a surgery the day before. He asked for continued prayers—for rapid healing…which I promised to give.

Perhaps we already know the name for the quantum mechanics happing at the subatomic level. His name is God (and He either has access to our cellular devices, or influence over our consciousness, or—probably—both).