The message on the floor in the airport

Do you get messages? Weird, interesting, unusual messages? Messages that you know in your heart can only come from Spirit? I do.

Mine often come in the form of ospreys flying overhead as I walk in to speak or when I need a reminder that all is well. It seems that whenever I’m fretting about money, an osprey will fly directly over my car carrying a fish. Not just any fish. The size of the fish seems to mirror the size of my fears. Last December, the fish were enormous. To me that’s Spirit reminding me that everyone is fed, including me. I always laugh and feel blessed and sure enough, shortly after my osprey “shows me the money,” the human money arrives.

There’s another message that comes regularly. Pennies. You’ve heard the song, “Pennies from Heaven?” Well, I think, they are literally from heaven. The pennies started coming after my ex-husband died. They came in such abundance and at such odd times that I couldn’t miss the connection.

The wackiest time was the day I was in a furniture store. I’d fallen madly in love with a lime green sofa. I had just received the miracle check from my ex (the miracle story is in Writing Down Your Soul) and thought it would be lovely to have new furniture. But the sofa was shockingly expensive. So, much as I coveted it, I decided I should just buy a lamp. One lamp sitting on a desk looked interesting. I turned it on but nothing happened. So I crawled under the desk to plug it in. There in the middle of the floor under the desk was a shiny penny. I clutched it to my heart. Burst into tears. Whispered “Thank you.” And bought the sofa.

I know I can count on pennies as messages from heaven. They constantly appear on the sidewalk. They show up in my home–which is odd because I’m the only one here. The most amazing ones are the ones that show up in the car. The car that I drive all by myself. Hmmm.

Last August, BodyMindSpirit Expo invited me to speak in Raleigh. Now, the deal I have with God is I say yes. Spirit is in charge of the invitations. My job is to show up and share the joys of deep soul writing. So I say yes to an invitation and additional events always congregate around it and I’m able to make some money or at least break even on the trip. But this trip was different. No matter what I did, I couldn’t get any other invitations. This was a problem. Because BodyMindSpirit didn’t pay an honorarium. Nor did they pay travel expenses. So on my own penny (pun intended) I flew to Raleigh, stayed in a hotel and paid for the cab to the event. Oh boy!

As I got off the plane racked with doubt about my decision to come to Raleigh, I said to Spirit, “You have to give me a sign that I am OK.” The hotel van pulled up. It was immaculate. It must have just been washed and vacuumed. I was the only passenger. I sat down and put my bag on the floor. There at my foot, touching my shoe was a shiny penny. I burst into tears. The driver turned around. “I’m OK,” I said. “I’m very OK.” He had his doubts, but he drove me to the hotel.

Well, Cherry Lea, the owner of Dancing Moon Bookstore in Raleigh came to my talk, fell in love with Writing Down Your Soul and invited me back on Valentine’s weekend for not one but three events. We had a full house for each, including my first workshop on how to create your Intention Mandala.

The Intention Mandala was the last workshop I taught on Sunday afternoon. To convey the power of an Intention Mandala I waved my actual 2006 Mandala in front of the audience over and over again, telling all the magical things that happened that year. In 2006, anything and everything I wanted came to me effortlessly. In 2006 I attracted a national comun for UPI, Conari Press, a contract for Writing Down Your Soul, and even a love relationship. My 2006 Mandala was magical and I loved teaching the process so everyone can have a divinely supported year.

I headed to the airport filled with gratitude for such a luscious weekend and such a loving relationship with such a wonderful store.

I got to the airport early so I decided to treat myself to dinner–something I rarely do. As I paid the bill, I noticed a bright shiny penny on the floor in front of the only empty table. I almost didn’t pick it up. But pennies are always messages, so I pushed aside my embarassment, bent down and picked it up. A woman’s voice said, “Oh, I do that too.” I turned around and said, “Pennies are messages from my husband who passed.”

I smiled, put the penny in my pocket, and went to the ladies room. There, I took it out and really looked at it. And burst into tears. It was dated 2006. The year of the magical mandala I’d been talking about just two hours before. To me this penny was a little pat on the back from heaven saying, “Keep on teaching this. You’re on to something. We’re with you.”
As I dried my hands, I heard sniffling. I turned and the woman who had spoken to me in the restaurant was standing there sobbing. “I’m crying for you,” she said. “It’s so sad. Your husband died and it’s Valentine’s Day.” I gave her a big hug and said, please don’t cry for me. I’m completely happy and all is well. This is just a little message from him. “Are you sure?” she asked. “Yes,” I smiled. I’m sure. I’m absolutely sure.”

It didn’t hit me till I got on the plane that that evening was the first time I’d called my ex-husband my husband. I have long felt that he doesn’t like me calling him my “ex.” I’ve struggled with what to call him because legally of course he is my “ex” but the truth is our divorce was an invitation from Spirit. To go deep. To enter into divine dialogue. To open my soul to the messages stored there. It was an invitation that gave birth to Writing Down Your Soul. I am forever grateful for that invitation. So that means, I am forever grateful for my “ex-husband,” who from now on, I will call my husband. Because he was. And I know that my 2006 penny was a little thank you for acknowledging that.

That 2006 penny is precious to me. It now graces my altar. What’s on your altar? What messages have you received? How does heaven encourage you? Bless you? Comfort you?
I know your messengers are there. I know it. They are always there. We just have to open our eyes to see them, our minds to acknowledge them, our hands to receive them, and our hearts to be forever grateful.

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4 Comments on “The message on the floor in the airport”

  1. […] The Message On The Floor In The AirportI know I can count on pennies as messages from heaven. They constantly appear on the sidewalk. They show up in my home–which is odd because I’m the only one here. The most amazin… […]

  2. joy Borum says:

    Oh, yew. I, too, pick-up the pennies left for me. And it seems “funny,” but they’re so often by the pumps when I’m filling-up my beloved and trusty cross-over vehicle. Hmmm. Delightful to find you via “Daily Word.” Some time ago, my writing with my Higher Self told me to “speak my Name to the nations.” I continue to ask, wait, pray, and remain open about how I am to do that. Again, how lovely to find you (if, indeed, that’s how it happened!). Blessings.

  3. joy Borum says:

    Probably clear, but my comment should begin, “Oh, yes…” not “Oh, yew!” So, the Universe still has a sense of humor.

  4. Barbara says:

    Hi Ms Conner,

    I have more of a virtual story about pennies from heaven than a real one.

    Through a very long circuitous route I found myself reading about your book “Writing Down Your Soul” today. Eventually landing me here.

    When I was a child, an uncle who lived in the same house I did only knew one song as far as I could tell, maybe only a line or two, “Pennies from Heaven”. My recollection, the title phrase is introduced in the song as it ends one line. The only line my uncle sang, I think.

    Currently I am working thru some pain surrounding how music has and hasn’t been a part of my life. I’m attempting to reconcile what feels like tremendous loss. The snippet of song I’d hear my uncle sing was indicative of how much(little) music was available in our household. Strangely, the three musical words, “Pennies from Heaven”.

    I’m certain I’ve picked up all kinds of coins over the years, but none with a more impactful story than the song title and my uncle’s voice ringing in my ears.


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