I often have instances of odd coincidence. I always have. When my mind dwells on something (good or bad) for a period of time, that something often materializes. I’ve been aware of the “thinking it so, makes it so” phenomenon since I was little — long before I knew about the theory of the Law of Attraction.

As a child, I was half afraid of this witchy power I possessed (or possessed me — I wasn’t sure which) and would be careful of what I allowed myself to think about. I had no idea that I was naturally and subconsciously engaging in the powerful practice of manifestation.

While coincidences happen often and are usually easily explained, every now and then something remarkable happens. Something that can’t be easily explained and causes us to wonder anew at the mystical force of Universal Intelligence.

Such a situation recently happened. Those of us involved were so moved by the spirituality of it, I thought I’d share it with you.

Coincidences?

A couple of months ago, my teenage daughter, Kinsley, was rummaging through my closet looking for her favorite pair of black jeans. She said she’d looked everywhere and couldn’t find them. A search through every drawer, closet, and laundry room crevice yielded no missing jeans.

Jeans don’t just disappear. And they don’t just fall off of you as you’re going about your day either. If they weren’t in our house then she must have left them somewhere else. The only place she had been during that time was to visit my brother, David. After a call to him and a search of his house, the whereabouts of the missing jeans were still unknown.

David is one of my five siblings. He’s outgoing, loves to laugh a lot, and has a heart of gold. He also has a gift . . . dead people often visit him in his dreams.

Visitation Dreams or Big Dreams

“Visitation Dreams”, as they are known among dream specialists and psychologists, are vivid and memorable dreams of deceased loved ones. Carl Jung referred to visitation dreams as “Big Dreams”. These are the dreams we remember for the rest of our lives. Jung believed, through years of his research, that dreams of deceased loved ones reflected the dreamer’s insight into different spiritual levels.

David has experienced visitation dreams throughout his life. There are, after all, plenty of deceased visitors to come calling — death is no stranger to our family.

Our father died of a massive heart attack in his sleep at the age of 43. He left my mom and six kids behind with four of us still at home. In 1977, when women were considered homemakers — not breadwinners — our mom took on the monumental task of caring and providing for us. She did this alone; she never remarried.

We’ve lost several aunts, uncles, grandparents, and a young cousin over the years. And then, in 1995 we faced the heart-breaking death of a child. Brent, my sister’s oldest son, was killed in a motorcycle accident. He was 19.

Hidden Cash and Post-It Notes

Not long after Mom died in January 2017, she appeared to David in a dream. In the dream Mom wanted David to help her look for money in the walls of our former childhood home. Mom led him down a hallway in our old home, and on the walls were tons of yellow Post-It notes. Behind those sticky yellow squares, Mom told him, cash was hidden.

Our childhood home had been sold years before Mom died. So there was little hope for the new owners to let us knock holes in the walls to look for Post-It marked loot.

About eight months later, on my mom’s birthday, I was missing her so badly, and grief settled over me like a cold, wet blanket. I desperately wanted (needed ) to have some connection with her. Mom had been absent in my dreams and I felt so alone and lost in my life and in the world.

I remembered her purse hanging in my closet. The black leather satchel had hung in the same spot since I brought it home from the hospital the night she died. I had barely touched the bag. We were taught a woman’s purse is private and personal. Just handling it felt like a violation of some kind. Filtering through its contents seemed like an all-out betrayal — like reading her diary without permission.

But on that night — desperate and lost — I lit a candle in her honor and slowly and lovingly went through the black bag. Her eyeglasses were on top. Followed by a bag of inhalers and COPD medications, a wallet and small makeup case, a printed list from her physician of her meds and allergies, a scrap of paper with handwritten phone numbers of her six kids and a few neighbors from our old neighborhood.

Tears flowed as I pulled each item out of the bag. Each piece reminding me of the incredibly strong woman who was the only parent I’d ever known. Then, I pulled out her wallet. Hidden in a side compartment was $200 along with several yellow and orange . . . you guessed it. . . . Post-It notes.

It gets better.

In the make-up case, I found $300 wrapped in, of course, Post-It notes. On the notes were all of her kids phone numbers, handwritten again by her. She had six or seven Post-Its with the same info. I don’t know why she had so many. Maybe she was afraid she’d be out and need to call one of us and wouldn’t remember the number. Then she’d forget she already had a phone list and kept making new ones . . . who knows.

To my mother, who was born during the Great Depression, and worked hard for everything she had, 500 bucks was a lot of money. And there was no reason for that hard-earned cash to stay unknown in her purse because I was too depressed and grief-stricken to look inside.

I had completely forgotten about David’s dream several months earlier when I told my siblings about finding the money. He pointed out the “coincidence” of the Post-It notes, and we were smacked with the reality of what had just happened. It was as if (just for a moment) we had been given a glimpse, a reminder, of another dimension. Of something infinite, ever-lasting, and much, much bigger than us.

Whether that sounds ridiculous or simply hopeful happenstance, finding that money wrapped in Post-It’s saved me a little that night. I had been given exactly what I needed at that time. Confirmation that I wasn’t, haven’t ever been, and never will be alone. And that there is a power so much greater than my own at work and that I was going to be alright.

Back to the Missing Black Jeans . . .

The missing black jeans had been all but forgotten until last Saturday. Kinsley and I were driving to the mall when she remembered her beloved pants. She asked if we could buy another pair while we were there. I said no, that we needed to find the jeans instead of buying new ones. I reasoned that they had to be somewhere in our house. We just needed to keep looking until we found them.

First thing Monday morning David calls me. He said that in a dream the night before, Mom showed him that Kinsley’s black jeans were in a closet (he thought it was my closet) and with a bag of what looked like Goodwill donations. He said there was a bunch of denim and old-looking clothes in the bag.

It had been well over a month since we’d talked to him about the black jeans. The fact that Kinsley and I had a conversation about them two days earlier was interesting. Then, I remembered that I did actually have a bag of clothing donations sitting in my garage.

With David still on the phone, I went out to the garage half expecting to find the jeans in the donation bag. But the jeans weren’t there. He told me to call him when I found the pants because they were somewhere in my house — he was sure of it.

I went on another search through Kinsley’s closet with no luck but I felt the jeans were in our house. Walking through her bathroom, my focus fell on a rarely used linen closet. That closet holds sleeping bags, mismatched sheets, and other stuff we never use.

On opening the closet door, there, in the bottom of the closet, in a laundry bag, along with a bunch of dirty clothes, were . . . of course . . . the missing black jeans.

We could only assume the cleaning crew had put the bag of dirty clothes in the closet while cleaning. And we didn’t think to look in that closet because we never use it.

Finding the jeans in a bag of old clothes, in a closet, in my house — just as David had dreamed the night before — was just too coincidental for me. But, I didn’t understand what it meant. Why did Mom, the Universe, or whatever, care about a pair of silly black jeans? What did it mean? Was it simply just another reminder?

Turns out there was a reason — a surprising reason.

While thinking about finding the jeans, a friend that’s going through a very difficult time kept popping up in my mind. So I called her to relay the jeans story. I asked her how she was doing and she said, “I’m waiting for the day to end.” It was 9 o’clock on Monday morning.

She tells me that she spent the day before crying in despair and praying for guidance. She had been very close to her mother that had passed away some years earlier, and she was desperately missing her mom’s guidance and support.

On hearing her pain I immediately knew the purpose of finding the jeans. It wasn’t for me, my brother, or my daughter — it was for my friend. When I recounted the story, her outlook instantly changed and her spirits soared. It was her confirmation — her reminder — that she wasn’t, hasn’t ever been, and never would be alone. And that her prayers were heard and she was going to be alright.

I also deeply understood a reality that’s been slowly sinking its truth into my consciousness: we are all connected and we are all the same. My friend’s need to feel connected was answered through a chain of divine love: her mother — my daughter — my mother — my brother — me — and then to her. All via a pair of stylishly slashed black jeans. Why? Because her pain is my pain. Her need is my need. WE ARE ALL CONNECTED.

A Spiritual Reminder

When my mom died in 2017, it was the final nail in the religious coffin for me. Dad was dead. Mom was dead. God was dead. And spiritually, I was dead, too. I had lost touch with my Higher Self and who I really was, and became the person I believed I was. And I suffered.

The Post-It note experience stirred something deep and true in me. A subtle reminder of a much deeper and meaningful truth. A reminder that set me on a course to recover the person I was always meant to be.

My journey has seemed to be delayed and derailed over and over again. But I’m still traveling, still uncovering and recovering, and I likely always will be. And I’m cool with that. And so very, very grateful to be on the trip.