The death of her son Jeremie in September 2012 left her searching for answers. Her extraordinary familial history of spiritual events gave her the strength to seek and realize the very things that would give her hope. SACRED MESSAGES is the remarkable true story of a mother's loss, grief and epiphany.
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A True Story
By Linda Kobler
AuthorHouseCopyright © 2014 Linda Kobler
All rights reserved.
My first memory in life was that of being held in my father's arms. The second was going to Sunday school and hearing the song "Jesus loves me". My belief in GOD has been a constant in my life and I believe that HE works in mysterious ways.
I believe that my faith has opened spiritual doors in my life. I am convinced that similar experiences occur to all of us. Sacred messages are a gift.
My father was Spanish and my mother Scotch-Irish. They were a delightful Luci-Desi romance and as a result, offered rich cultural and religious diversity for my sister Judy and I. My father and mother were both Protestant in faith. Mother brought a long history of Irish legends and lullabies to my life. She also brought an unshakable belief in GOD. She would often have dreams or "special thoughts" that she believed to be admonitions or predictions from a celestial place.
I believe that she was second sighted. It was a normal part of life for me from the time I was born.
My father was also very spiritual, knowing that GOD was always near, in the wind, sky and nature. He would sit pensively, remarking that "GOD is all around us sweetheart, can you feel HIM?" He also believed that birds were spiritual.
And so it would be that as a child into my adulthood, I would always feel GOD about me and pay close attention to HIS messages.
"In all thy ways acknowledge HIM and HE shall direct thy paths."
My father would escort my sister and I to Sunday School each Sunday when we were small. To our mother's distress, he would buy us chocolate afterwards.
We would happily devour it while wearing our little white lace gloves. We would return home with chocolate covered gloves and faces and the adoration of Daddy in our hearts. Needless to say, the gloves required immediate rescue.
Mother would chastise him only to have the same crime repeated on the very next Sunday. It remains a sweet memory.
I was once awarded a special recognition for having attended Sunday school for five years without an absence. It was a small blue gold-gilded children's bible with a portrait of JESUS and children in a garden on the cover. It remains a precious treasure. My faith began as a very little child and remains my strength today.
My parents married after my father returned from WW2. They spent five long years trying to have children while my father finished his college education.
I was born while my father was a student at the University of Houston. He had delayed his college education until he had finished his commitment to the military.
He had returned from war well decorated and eager to complete school.
Our family lived near the campus of the University of Houston while my father focused on his education. My mother longed to return to her home and parents in Illinois.
Daddy promised that once he completed his education, we would return. He was a man of his word. After his college graduation, our family happily settled in a small town in Northwestern Illinois. My mother was finally home.
Once there, our family became familiar with the community. My fondest memory was the church next door to our home. It was an enchanting old white church with sweet smelling wood and the fragrance of roses growing outside the large wooden doors. It became a sanctuary to my sister Judy and I. On Saturday afternoons we would sit in the pews and play with our dolls. Often we would pretend to be the Sunday choir and sing bible songs.
We would skip rope on the front sidewalks or play hide and seek in the storage rooms. My mother would chastise us but we continued throughout much of our youth to make the church our second home. I was no stranger to GOD, nor HE a stranger to me.
As a little child, it must have come to me in a dream. It may have been a premonition or a vision, perhaps a knowledge that one is born with. Whatever the source, I always knew I would be the mother of three sons.
From the age of five, I happily circled the neighborhood with my three contented baby boy dolls in their purple squeaky toy buggy.
So predictable were my daily orbits that the neighbors would await my arrival with cookies and milk or a tickle of my chin. My mother was my largest enthusiast. "Motherhood is GOD's finest blessing" she would say. She was so extraordinary, I felt inspired by her example.
My family could not have known that my childhood behavior and dedication to motherhood would one day be realized. I would be the mother of three sons. My premonition would be validated.
I also knew from an early age that I would be called to the healing profession. Our family home quickly became my hospital for febrile teddies and imaginary patients.
As I matured, the call to nursing became very clear. I began taking Latin and other courses in high school that were appropriate for a future medical career.
I read any medical book available and applied for a position as a candy-striper at our small local hospital. The experience was a small glimpse into my future.
Caring for others would become my mission. Nursing was to be my destiny. This is the way I would spend my life. Healing is an ancient art and once educated, I would be able to help others in a significant way.
My life was a safe and loving one. I have had wonderful parents and as my mother would often remind me "you have everything you need and most of what you wish for."
My parents encouraged my dreams and future plans and at the age of seventeen I left home for my nursing education. Nursing was demanding and required complete focus. As a young adult I needed to learn professional sacrifice. The hours of study were long and intense, yet I realized that this was the perfect direction for my life. I recognized this journey as a healer would not be so much a gift to others, but moreover to me. Nursing is my calling. It remains my dedication after forty three years.
My beginnings bequeathed me a strong religious faith and an amazing legacy in the gift of sacred messages. Blessings are many. Miracles happen every day. One need only open their eyes to see.CHAPTER 2
My Mother the Watchful Eye
So the question is posed, are psychic abilities inherited, developed or simply a gift? One often hears of the individual who becomes psychic after a tragedy, an accident or a near death experience. In my mother's case, none of those explanations apply. I believe the ability was either inherited or GOD sent. Her skill was unpredictable, sporadic and mystifying.
My mother was a tender green-eyed auburn haired beauty who adored my sister Judy and I. Her Scotch-Irish roots endowed her with a rich collection of songs and stories which she shared throughout my youth. So sweet was her singing voice that I hear her voice still on quiet afternoons or as I am drifting off to sleep. My mother had a gift of "knowing things" before they happened. She was not only intuitive but could feel the coming of events prior to their happening, often years in advance.
One cold winter night she dreamed that her youngest brother Bud had been shot in the arm. At the time of the dream, he had been on active duty in the Army.
At the exact hour of the night that mother had dreamed of Uncle Bud, he had been involved in a car accident and had broken his arm. Her episodes of knowing were plentiful and our family simply accepted it as the way things were. She taught me to watch for miracles and messages "they happen every day".
My mother often dreamed of my father when he was deployed during WW2. She was terrified when the Army advised her that Daddy was missing in action. He had been missing for six long months, yet her dreams assured her that he was alive in France. Several months later, the letter arrived. My father had been discovered wounded and emaciated, but alive in Europe. Miracles happen every day.
One cold winter night with sub-zero temperatures, my husband David and I were wall papering the nursery. Our youngest little Kobler (Jason) was soon to arrive and we were happily decorating. The phone rang and my Mother asked "is your furnace working?" David checked the furnace which had just ceased working minutes before as the house was still quite warm. Her watchful eye to the rescue again. These psychic events and knowings would repeat themselves over and over again. My mother was extraordinary, yet reserved and humble about her gift.
She always took the time to do the caring, kind things. Many times she would collect rainwater to shampoo our hair, remarking that it was heaven sent and pure. When our babies were born, she would wait anxiously at the front door for the homecoming, rocking chair warmed and ready. Her favorite thing was a baby's fuzzy head tickling her chin.
On the last day of her life, my mother spent the day baking pumpkin pies. It was the day before Thanksgiving. Her long battle with cancer had ended. Our family decided to celebrate the holiday despite our loss, as mother had given her last hours baking. During all the chaos, someone had let our Shetland Sheep dog, Socrates, out of the door.
Regrettably, Socrates had an unfortunate history of wandering away and becoming hopelessly lost. It was a frequent occurrence for me to drive around the neighborhood into the wee hours of the morning searching for our dog. On the evening my mother died, Socrates sat on our back steps howling like a wolf. I know that my mother had shown him the way home.
It would be a full year before mother would visit me in my dreams. The dream began in a quiet stream where I sat, relaxing. Suddenly I was aware of others around me and realized that I was no longer alone. The stream had filled with a crowd of people, faces which were familiar to me. One was a neighbor, a teacher and another, my great aunt.
Suddenly it occurred to me that these were the faces of people who had died. I immediately began searching for my mother, desperately calling out her name. After what seemed hours, she appeared. She seemed much younger to me and her face glowed with a brilliant light. She was smiling and I continued to call to her" mother can you hear me?" She would respond by showing me her hands and placing them under the water. I continued to weep and call out to her as she persisted in submerging her hands underwater. Finally, I followed her example by placing my hands underwater. With this one simple action a flood of loving thoughts and greetings enveloped me. I now understood that language was no longer necessary in her spiritual communication. The language is non- verbal and inaudible.
One needs to interact with the spirit ... with the song of the soul. My mother proceeded to share with me her joy and her love for me. She was blissful. I had received a precious gift from beyond. SACRED MESSAGE DELIVERED.CHAPTER 3
Daddy was so overwhelmed at the death of his younger brother, Oscar, that he joined the army at the age of 17. It was the beginning of WW2 and my young father was off to war.
While on a military leave, my parents met and fell in love. My father was soon to be deployed to the European front and time was short. It was understood that my parents would marry upon my father's return. Letters would be the only bridge between the two young sweethearts.
Once in Europe, he was quickly engaged in combat and his parents were notified shortly afterward that he was missing in action. His loved ones feared that he had been taken prisoner, or even worse, was wounded or dead.
The family prayed and hoped for a miracle. All along, my mother and grandmother dreamed of him, knowing without question, that he was alive.
Six months later they would be proven right when he was discovered wounded, but alive in a French Army hospital. He would happily return home to his parents and to marry my mother. Miracle accomplished. Message confirmed.
My father had suffered grave wounds during the war and it required years for him to reach a point in his life where he was medically stable. Repeatedly he was advised that he would never live a full or long life. Despite this gloomy forecast, Daddy lived to finish college, marry and have two daughters. He was an amazing husband and father and his life, though fraught with some difficulties, was a very full and happy one.
After a long and productive life, on a chilly day in February, my father purchased birthday cards for my sister Judy and I. Our birthdays were in May and September yet he had a "feeling" that he should do this soon as he "may no longer be here." For several weeks Daddy told us that he had heard his father calling his name, calling him to come home. On one occasion, he was so convinced that he had passed on that he pinched himself to prove himself alive. He would also dream of our mother who preceded him in death. "I smell her perfume mingled with roses and I see her beautiful face". Several weeks later, Daddy died. His death preceded our birthdays as he had believed and predicted.
"Dreams are todays answers to tomorrows questions".
On the day my father died, three clocks in our house stopped. David's watch stopped and an unwound clock in the den began to chime. The clock in my car also stopped and required repair. Daddy loved antique clocks, old pocket watches and the enigma of time.
He would continue to express himself in clocks many years after his parting.CHAPTER 4
She was the kind of woman who never ate a meal without a baby on her lap. There was always an endless line of little mouths waiting to share Grandma's plate. It made no difference if it was a neighbor's child, a grandchild or a great grandchild. Grandma humbly took the back stage and the second bite when it came to the needs of others. The family and little ones first, always and forever.
Grandma Sanner had a life rich with tradition and historical Sunday family dinners. Her eight children would polarize promptly at noon every Sunday, all exceptions barred. The family farm beckoned with its menagerie of barns and buildings, its wide-eyed animals and clucking hens, warm homemade bread and apple pie.
Each sub-tribe would bring a dish to pass and their copious collection of offspring (providing many cousins to add to the happy chaos). Sundays on the farm were unforgettable.
As we grew, Grandma would share her famous quotes, "nothing good happens after midnight" or "don't sweep your troubles under the rug".
She loved us and was fervent in sharing her wisdoms.
Occasionally, my mother and aunts would harmonize after dinner, singing old Irish favorites. The music was magical.
After I married and was expecting, my grandmother became quite ill. Only two weeks before Jeremie's birth, she touched my arm saying "it is a boy, tell him that I love him". The amazing piece of that message was the fact that Grandmother had been unable to speak, yet the precious words were distinctly whispered to me. Additionally, in those days, the sex of an unborn baby was a guess at best.
Ultrasounds were vague and unpredictive of sex, bar an educated guess by a seasoned obstetrician. Grandma's Scotch Irish roots and her "gifts of knowing" these things would be accurate once more.
I am told that she shared this skill along with other family members. Grandma Sanner died twelve days later.
During her funeral, I went into labor. Standing in the cemetery, the promise of new life was soon to manifest.
Even at her burial, Grandma would share the stage with the newest little addition to the family. Hours later, our first born son, Jeremie, entered the world.
Years later I would discover the amazing spiritual link between my son and his great grandmother.
My father's mother was also intuitive. Grandma Marquez had a magical aura about her. Having taught classical piano for forty years to countless fingers, both large and small, she felt life passionately. Having suffered the tragedy and loss of children herself, her adoration and dedication to family was exceptional. The loss and despair had left her with a "second sight". Grandmother had special dreams and would frequently advise the family accordingly.
She dreamed of my father when he was lost at war. Like my father, she believed strongly in "spirit" and always told me that angels are "all around us".
She remarked that animals and birds are spiritual. Her beliefs were valued by the family.
My father's mother was a sweetheart. She would kiss and hug intensely and when you left her you knew that you were much loved.
I remember the first time my husband, David met her. He was showered with kisses dramatically including his face and hair.
Excerpted from Sacred Messages by Linda Kobler. Copyright © 2014 Linda Kobler. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1 My Beginnings, 1,
Chapter 2 My Mother the Watchful Eye, 7,
Chapter 3 My Father, 11,
Chapter 4 The Grandmothers, 14,
Chapter 5 David, 18,
Chapter 6 Judy, 22,
Chapter 7 Jeremie, 31,
Chapter 8 Matthew, 36,
Chapter 9 Jason, 41,
Chapter 10 A Love of Nursing, 50,
Chapter 11 Angels Everywhere, 54,
Chapter 12 The Holy Land, 59,
Chapter 13 The Tragedy, 63,
Chapter 14 Miracles in the Mist, 72,
Chapter 15 Rainbows in the Dark, 79,
Chapter 16 Sacred Messages, 87,
Chapter 17 The Last Pages, 91,