I’m giving away a copy of the book! If you’d like a chance at winning, please leave a comment. I will pick a winner by next Friday using a random number generator. You must be over 18 years of age to enter.
Grand Central Publishing sponsored this post. Here is where I’m supposed to say that all opinions are my own, but it doesn’t fit since I’m not opining. I’m story-telling, FTC. Luckily, my stories are accurate and my own.
Two weeks ago we had the exterior of our house painted. It was a long time coming. Our painter and his crew was fabulous. They dug around the perimeter of the house and painted as far down as they could, so that if the soil ever shifted, no one would ever see the old paint. When it the paint dried, the put the soil back in place.
It was after they pulled back the soil, but before they put it back into place, that I found what I thought was a baby cockroach on my pillow. (My husband was, of course, out of town.) I tried not to give it much thought. I removed it and went into the family room to read–The Hand on the Mirror, actually! I read until it was almost 11:00 pm. I shifted on the couch and stretched out my legs, debating whether I should go to bed. I saw two baby cockroaches on my right leg.
I stopped reading. I cleaned behind every piece of furniture, put away every last bit of cloth, and scoured every flat surface in the house because burning the house down would be arson and no real estate agent would answer the phone so late at night.
Janis Heaphy Durham had a powder-white handprint appear on her mirror on the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd anniversaries of her husband’s death. Lights flickered. Doors knocked. Rugs moved. She decided to take pictures and interview the most recognized names in the field of medicine, psychiatry, and psychic phenomenon. This is how Hand on the Mirror begins.
Janis Heaphy Durham and I are very, very different. At the first handprint, the first knock, the first flip-flapping flickering light I would have draped myself in every rosary I owned. I would have made a knight’s armor suit out of torn Bible pages and made thigh sheaths for my crucifixes. I would have grabbed my holy water, and fled.
I would not grab my camera. NOPE.
And if 4 years after my husband’s death, when I was newly married, a footprint that moved appeared on the arm of my chair around the anniversary of his death?
God works in mysterious ways. I agreed to read and review this book last month thinking that, as a fan of stories of near death experience (NDEs), I would enjoy reading about a woman whose husband sent her messages from beyond. It’s in a similar vein, I figured.
I started the book two weeks ago, around the time of the baby cockroaches (they turned out to be regular garden bugs dug up while painting the foundation). One week into reading Hand on the Mirror we heard about an alumni who died in a car accident shortly before his high school graduation. Two days later, we heard that the woman who inspired me to volunteer and commit myself to the school entered hospice. She is an amazing, powerful, faith-filled woman who volunteered twice as much as I did, all while fighting cancer. I do not want to contemplate a world without her presence.
God works in mysterious ways, or I picked up the wrong (right?) book at the wrong (right?) time.
Heaphy Durham spoke with anyone and everyone, and therefore her book leaves no paranormal stone unturned. Ghosts, hauntings, mediums, out of body experiences, the scientific community, religion, atheism…she covers it all. I completely skipped the chapter where she talks to parents who received messages from their dead children.
Arguably, she became obsessed searching for answers. Her book is a memoir about spiritual revelation and scientific discovery. Kind of creepy, kind of not. (Depends on how you feel about hands on mirrors and spirits sleeping on your bed at night. Is there life after death? She believes she can answer that question. You can decide if you’re brave enough to read what she discovered.