My First Real Signs from The Other Side

I booked a little mini-vacation for our family to go "camping." I use quotations because my idea of camping is in a small cabin with a full kitchen and bath... on a campground. My husband and two children traveled 45 minutes away from our home to a relatively local KOA campsite in Lillian, Alabama.

We arrived around sunset. It was beautiful, peaceful, and quaint. There is a long steep downhill that leads to the bay, there's a playground, your very own fire pit, and other fun little things to do. It's not too much or too little, but it's just enough to get away. 

We rented a Deluxe Cabin. One bedroom, futon couch, full kitchen, full bath, a television with basic channels and air conditioning. You know, classic camping.

I brought along the book I'd been reading, Signs by Laura Lynne Jackson. I was about halfway through and started to read it while the kids played outside. I read a specific sentence that surprisingly stuck with me. Nothing profound. Just a date, January 31. The number 31 held my energy for what felt like forever. I felt it in my body. I thought to myself, "is this my first real personal sign from Dad?"

My dad had sent signs to me through other people. All the way down to a friend picking up her bag at the gym where she comically found a t-shirt that read "Chuck Taylor." That is my Dad's name. However, he is not the same Chuck Taylor that created the iconic brand Converse. She sent me a photo and we were both shocked. 

After feeling that shift in my energy, I believed 31 was my next sign. "Dad, can you show me the sign 31 for affirmation?" What happened next was so profound that I wrote it all down.

6:23 a.m. 10/16/22

Last night, Dad used the number 31 to speak to me. It first came in the book Signs by Laura Lynne Jackson. She listed someone's death date as January 31. Dad's death date was July 31. My daughter's birthday is December 31. I told my husband I thought my dad was using the number 31 as a sign. Moments later the number 31 appeared on the Jersey of an Alabama football player on the TV as we were watching the Alabama v. Tennessee football game.

This morning, I was scrolling Facebook and the verse Isaiah 40:31 was shown as an advertisement for a t-shirt with an eagle on it. It did not show the whole passage in the ad, so I looked it up: 

“but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

            ‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭40:31‬ ‭NIV‬‬ 

Ok, cool. I like that verse. Maybe I am just reaching? Maybe not. 

11:30a 10/16/22

I'm home from the trip and I can't believe what happened today. I called my friend Whitney to tell her all about it the minute I left the campsite and talked to her the entire 45 minute drive home. Soon after, I called my Mom, too. 

The story goes...

Saturday evening I decided I wanted to drive the kids around in a golf cart. You have to go to the KOA front office to rent one. I had been there at least four times since we checked in. But this time, I noticed something that I hadn't before. On the front entrance door, I came across this simple sheet of printer paper that had a woman's photo printed on it. No words or description, just the photo. She was smiling, had striking blue, kind eyes. She was wearing a black Jeep hat.

My immediate connection with her was the hat. My husband and I own a Jeep and when you join the Jeep family, it's just that, a special kind of club. This woman pushed through and I felt something. I knew she had passed away, crossed. It was raw, like I was feeling something familiar. 

I walked into the door, feeling a little somber, but I was on a mission to get a golf cart. Again, her photo was hanging behind the checkout desk. The same photo was taped against the wall but now there were words written on the top, "Always & Forever," written in script with a black sharpie. No name. No date. The feeling I had was stronger to show comfort to those who loved this mystery lady.

The woman working the front desk had short hair, studded glass bead earrings and she was also kind. I looked her in in the eyes and I let the push come through and  I spoke up, "I'm really sorry for your loss. I noticed this beautiful woman's photo outside and I can see she was important to all of you who work here."

I had caught the cashier off guard. Her eyes started to draw tears. "Thank you. It's been really tough." I told her that I had lost my dad on July 31 and I was also going through the process of grief." Just then a man walked in. We tried to change subject until he left the building." She picked up where we left off, "I'm sorry for the loss of your Dad, also." I continued, "I am reading this book called Signs and if I finish it tonight, I'll drop it off here for you in the morning. Will you be here?" She explained that someone else would be manning the office but whoever I left it with would pass it on. She gave me my golf cart key and thanked me for acknowledging the loss of her friend. 

Of course, an hour or so later I did what any millennial does, I tracked this mystery woman down. I was feeling her presence so strongly. This has never happened to me before. 

I visited the local Lillian KOA Facebook page and there she was. The same photo. I connected with a woman named Phyllis. She had crossed just 8 days earlier. She was a family member of the KOA. I looked at the comments of the picture that was posted—the same photo taped to the front office door. There were 6 comments and I clicked on one that said, "this is a huge loss for the KOA family." 

That friends name was Shelly. Shelly was who I spoke too. She was clearly so broken hearted of the loss of Phyllis. I could feel her pain. One I know all too well. 

The next morning it was time to checkout. I hadn't finished the Signs book, but something–I'm assuming Phyllis–gave me a heavy nudge to give the book to Shelly anyway. I went in and dropped off my key. The person at the front desk was busy with another customer but noticed I was carrying a key. "Are you just checking out? I'll take your key!" I said thank you and I asked for a blank sheet of paper. She politely handed over a single piece. 

I walked outside and I sat at a picnic table on the playground as the kids got their final swings and slides in before we headed home. It was there I wrote Shelly a note. Something began to happen. I kept getting this push to call Shelly, "Shell." I was convinced I was crazy. This woman is going to think I'm crazy. I don't know her. We are not on nickname terms. I'm writing Shelly. That seems safe and formal. "Shell. Shell. Shell." It was insistent. 

I signed the letter, Your sister in grief, Bri Snellgrove. I bookmarked a poem in the book and placed my letter with it and brought it back inside. I handed the book to the attendant whose name was Bonnie. "It's Shelly that works here?" "Yes, our Shell Bell!" she replied. (Apparently I'm not crazy and Phyllis is using me to send messages). I am officially freaked out. 

I shared that I could feel Phyllis and that I'm supposed to share this book with Shelly. That I'm supposed to bring some sense of comfort. Bonnie then asked me, "can I tell you about Phyllis?" "Of course, I'd love that," I replied.

Phyllis had crossed after an aggressive battle with cancer. Bonnie told me about how infectious Phyllis was and how she loved her friends and family. "We are incredibly close. We text each other after we leave the campgrounds and it's just different." She showed me photos of Phyllis and she was adventurous, bold and so happy. "Normally she would be here today with me," Bonnie said. We just shared a sad smile. Bonnie asked me my name. I replied, "Bri." It took her aback. "No. Way." she replied. 

Apparently, Bri was the name of a friend of Phyllis that they had lost but not to death. I wasn't sure what that meant, but it clearly held a very strong significance. I explained that I wasn't sure why I felt her so strongly but maybe I'm here to affirm that she is here with you. It somehow connected me deeply to them. I left the book, and said my goodbyes. "You're a blessing," said Bonnie. "This has never happened to me before, I'm just glad I could be one," I replied. I walked outside and the morning sun was bright and I felt warm. I whispered, "thank you." I read that's what you are supposed to do when you get messages from someone on the Other Side.

Before we pulled off the property, I saw Bonnie one more time. I motioned to my husbands Jeep. I said that vehicle right there is what connected me to Phyllis. Bonnie exclaimed, "Oh gosh, yes! She loved Jeeps! Come back and see us soon!" 

I made a little video of our trip. 

Am I becoming a medium? Channeler? Messenger? What is this?

As I started to drive home I was reeling. I immediately text my girlfriend Whitney who told me about the book Signs, "Girl. Holy Crap. Call me." The same Whitney who gets Chuck Taylor t-shirts. 

I was telling my mom this story. She's still been skeptical and weary. She said she'd been asking my Dad for signs. "I've been asking your Dad to send me an eagle. He loved eagles." 

Holy Shit. 

"Mom, I have to share with you a verse that I felt dad send to me with the number 31 this morning. Hold on, I felt it so strongly that I wrote it down. Oh, ma. I am going to cry. Let me read this to you." 

I recalled the same verse that I had come across that very morning. Isaiah 40:31. 

“but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

We both began to cry. 

Signs are real. I can affirm that they aren't just coincidences. Signs. Wonders. Messages. They all exist. The more open you are, the more you receive. 

I visited a medium today but I need more time to process before I share the details of how that unfolded. A small tidbit which I found fascinating is that the Medium's father had passed just a year before... on July 31. Yeah, it's bananas. 

Thank you for reading along and following my journey of grief, but more importantly my journey of healing. Until we meet again.

Your sister in love,

Bri Snellgrove