Can we be sure something exists just because we believe it does? Consider a picture of a meal — the aroma, flavor, and texture aren’t captured, yet we still understand they’re part of the experience.

Our vision is limited to three dimensions—much like how a camera captures only two.

So whatever animates life likely exists beyond what most of us can perceive. The force that sustains us operates outside the reach of our five senses, remaining a mystery to many.

Yet, despite not fully understanding it, we trust in it, believing it will carry us into the next day. Whether we recognize it or not, we all live by faith.

We place immense trust in an invisible force—that the earth will keep turning, the grass will keep growing, and our hearts will still be beating moments from now. We don’t know this for certain; we simply believe it will be so.

Some call this life force “God,” others speak of “Father Time,” “Mother Nature,” or simply “the Universe.”

What you name it matters less than your gratitude for its presence.

God isn’t something distant to chase—God lives within us, waiting to be realized.

I believe in God, only I spell it Nature – Frank Lloyd Wright

I approached it all with deep skepticism until an experience with a psychic medium six years after my mother’s passing challenged everything. The evidence she shared was impossible to dismiss.

Even more surprising were the personal signs she mentioned—small, meaningful moments I’d received from my mother’s spirit that I had quietly kept to myself.

The encounter turned my world upside down and gently ushered in a new understanding of life beyond this one. At first, I felt excitement and curiosity.

She spoke about how our loved ones in spirit are often nearby—especially when we’re thinking of them or need comfort.

Many of the stories she shared described surprising, deeply personal signs from the other side—meant to soothe grief or remind the living that love endures.

I couldn’t deny how powerful some of the stories were. Many echoed my own experience so closely that it was impossible not to feel a connection.

The signs my mother sent after her passing felt nothing short of magical—so vivid, so deeply moving that they often left me breathless or in tears.

A red rose blooming through the Idaho snow. SunflowerA lone sunflower rose in my yard, though none had ever been planted.

Each moment felt like a whisper from her soul. And yet, like clockwork, my logical mind would return later, trying to explain it all away as coincidence.

Was it a sign when I heard my mother’s voice calling my name in my room?

Or when I stepped outside, deep in thought about her, and found an exotic feather standing perfectly upright on the ground as if placed there just for me. Was it a sign when I spoke to her in what I assumed was a dream—only to realize I was fully awake, eyes open, and completely aware?

In each of those moments, I felt my mother’s presence so clearly and so deeply. Still, I hesitated to share those experiences.

I worried how it might sound—how unbelievable it might seem to anyone who hadn’t felt it themselves.

As I lay in bed, thoughts of my mom filled my mind. I wondered what she’d think of me and the struggles I was being challenged with.  She had always held a quiet, unwavering belief in the afterlife. The last day I saw my mom, she was wearing that gentle, knowing smile that seemed to say, “One day, you’ll understand.” That smile stayed with me as I drifted off to sleep.

I heard my name—“Doretta.”

For a moment, I was completely frozen, stunned into silence. The shock was so intense that I forgot to breathe.

Then I saw her—my mother—standing in the corner of the room.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move.

She smiled at me with that warm, familiar look, as if to say, “Yes, it’s me. This is real.”

I wanted to hold on to the moment for as long as I could, afraid she might vanish at any second. We shared a warm, wordless smile filled with recognition and love. My eyes brimmed with joyful tears. I laughed softly and said the only words that genuinely mattered…

“Hi, Mom.”

It’s perfectly okay if you don’t believe—I understand.

When someone doubts, I don’t judge.

I simply smile, quietly thinking, “One day, you might understand, too.“