Mother would sometimes have close personal talks with me about her own experiences and feelings. Not as often, I expect, as with her only daughter, Jeane, but more so than with other sons.
I was now 12 years old and we were talking about Clifford – artistic, smart, talented, strong-willed and venturesome. Mother told me that Clifford was her only child born in a hospital, and the only one involving a difficult birth. After delivery, she was in her hospital bed feeling terribly weak and ill. Then she felt herself rising above her bed, floating upward in the air, rising higher and higher above the earth. Then, ahead was a small light which grew brighter and brighter and she came to a beautiful building.
There was a person at the door who spoke kindly to her, “You are here too soon. You must go back. You have yet more to do on earth.” Then she felt herself falling away, all the way back to earth and into her bed.
She knew this was a true experience, but seldom told anyone for fear that they would not understand, nor believe.
I believed. Mother lived close to God. She did her best to do His will. When telling me about this experience in her life, she had confidence I would understand. Her confidence in sharing such a deep, intimate matter touched me in a way never forgotten.