Our prayer group in Kingston usually met on a Sunday. For some reason we decided instead to meet on a Friday possibly because too many of the group couldn’t be there on that day. We all sat down in our front room and shared prayer and thought.
In my imagination I saw a hand reach out to me from the darkness and gently touch my cheek. I shared this with the rest of the group and joked, “I’m not sure whether it’s my earthly or heavenly father”.
Early next morning I had a phone call from one of my sisters telling me that my father had died. The next night Francis, my son, and I caught the B.E.A. flight to Malta and attended my dear father’s funeral. The Lord had allowed him to say goodbye to me.