“I believe in Angels” is the words from the famous Abba song, and I totally agree. I have always been fascinated by those beautiful winged beings that are sent as messengers of goodwill to mankind. From stories of protection, to stories of guidance, to stories of healing, the tales of Angels are as numerous as they are fascinating! It’s so wonderful to know that there are those greater than we are who are watching out for us, keeping us forever in their care!
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
He Pointed the Way
By John W. “Bill” Williams (Guideposts)
“Your grandmother packed enough turkey to last us a week,” Virginia said, smiling as she got behind the wheel of our two-door Chevy coupe.
“Pumpkin pie, too,” I replied. I put the large covered basket of goodies in the back and then climbed in next to my wife. “Grandma's the main reason I believe God will provide.”
Although I hadn't thought about it in exactly that way before, it was true. My grandmother raised me after my parents divorced when I was very young, and from the beginning I'd felt loved and protected. She knelt with me beside my bed every night to pray, teaching me that she wasn't the only one looking out for me. God was in His Heaven.
My wife an d I had just spent a few days at my grandmother's house in the southern US state of Virginia for Christmas. We'd been married only a couple years back then in 1967, but my wife Virginia soon felt as close to Grandma as I did, and neither of us wanted to leave. We had to get home to Greenville, South Carolina, though. We both had part-time jobs at a shop in town, plus classes were about to resume at the small college where I taught language arts and science.
I yawned, settling into the seat as Virginia pulled away from the curb. We'd been up since dawn. The trip would take only five hours, but winter days are short and we wanted to get back before nightfall. “If you get tired, let me know,” I offered.
“Thanks,” she said. “I'm fine.” The Chevy had been my wife's car before our marriage, and she liked to do the driving.
We crossed the state line into North Carolina. I was busy making course outlines in my head as we turned onto I-85 outside Greensboro. “Bill, I think it's going to s now,” Virginia said. Dark clouds were gathering on the horizon. We hadn't heard anything about a storm. Within the next hour, however, snow started swirling around us. Virginia and I had both driven through storms, so we pressed on, hoping this would let up.
Instead the snow came down harder and harder. Soon we were barely creeping along. Virginia and I prayed for God to get us through, with the trusting belief I'd been taught by Grandma. By noon the roaring wind had heaped massive drifts acro ss the highway. The snow was mixed with sleet and froze on the car. Even at full speed, the windshield wipers couldn't keep up. Virginia leaned over the steering wheel, peering through the cleared areas in the glass.
“Maybe we should pull off,” I suggested.
“Where?” answered Virginia, a worried edge in her voice. Both shoulders of the highway were buried in snow, and there wasn't a road sign in sight.
Where were we? We hadn't spotted a rest area for miles. Leaving the highway could be dang erous. We might roll over in a ditch. Or get stranded on a side road.
I sat forward, pressing my hands against the dashboard, trying to help my wife see the way ahead. We continued slowly, the wipers bumping across the ice on the windshield. I'd traveled this road many times, but I didn't even know if we were still on the highway. There weren't any other cars.
“Bill!” Virginia gasped, gripping the steering wheel, “I can't see where to go!” The wipers had stopped, frozen on the glass. Virgini a tapped the brakes, slowing us to a crawl.
I rolled down the window and reached around the windshield for the wiper on my side. Sleet stung my eyes. I tugged repeatedly at the wiper, my hand chilled to the bone inside my glove. The wiper wouldn't budge. I looked for road signs, but I couldn't see any through the blinding snow.
The wind whipped against my face. “God,” I pleaded, “only You can guide us through this storm.” As I started to roll up the window I heard an unmistakable command in my head: Hold on to your belief. Peace filled me, warming me from head to toe. Light streamed through the windshield, dissolving the ice. And then I saw him. A few feet in front of the car there was a being with shimmering wings, clothed in a flowing robe whiter than the snow. He extended his arm, gesturing to the road ahead.
I touched my wife's hand. She was inching us along, staring out the windshield, apparently seeing nothing but snow. “We're going to make it,” I whispered. “Drive in that direction.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. I nodded, pointing the way just as I was being shown. Slowly we proceeded through the blizzard, Virginia following my directions as carefully as I followed the angel's. He stayed with us for hours. Every time the car strayed, I saw him gesture for us to move right or left, setting us back on track.
As the storm gradually let up, our guide seemed to fade away too, until he was no longer with us. Had I really seen him at all? Obviously Virginia hadn't, an d I wondered whether to tell her about my vision.
Finally we spotted a rest area we recognized. We were about 20 miles from the Greenville city limits and stopped to stretch our legs. I wasn't ready yet to talk about what I had seen.
When we got back into the car, the engine wouldn't start. There was no telephone in the rest area. “How will we get help?” Virginia asked.
“Hold on to your belief,” I said, hoping I could give her the same sense of assurance those very words had given me.
Th en I saw a station wagon parked in the distance, and before I could walk toward it, a woman emerged from the passenger side. She and her husband were from Atlanta, traveling with another couple. “We'll be glad to take you to Greenville,” she said after I told her our predicament.
We got in their car, and she introduced us to her husband and friends. As we pulled onto the highway, the woman turned to us. “You know,” she said, “we passed you earlier. In that terrible storm we couldn't see any ot her cars on the road, but we couldn't help noticing yours.” The woman paused, then looked intently at Virginia and me. “There were bright streams of light circling your car,” she said. “Like a halo.”
“I can't imagine what it was,” said Virginia. But I could. Hold on to your belief, the voice had said out there in the storm. I squeezed Virginia's hand. God does provide. Now I would be able to tell my wife and my grandmother exactly how much.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Angel in a Bulls Jacket
By Kathy Oldaker, Lexingt on, Ohio (Guideposts)
The rumbling of a garbage truck awoke me before 7:00 a.m. Saturday morning in the garage apartment my 10-year-old son and I called home. A messy divorce had left me struggling financially, and I was forced to move with Levi into a less-than-desirable part of town. Drug dealers loitered out front late into the night.
God, will You be able to keep us safe here? I worried.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I heard banging on the front door. Who could it be so early? I threw on a sweat suit and unlocked the door, opening it only partway. There stood a hulking teenager wearing a leather Chicago Bulls jacket. “Yes?” I asked warily.
“Lady, you got a bad gas leak!” I opened the door a bit wider and stuck my head out. The stench of natural gas was overpowering, and I covered my mouth and nose to keep from gagging. “You gotta get out,” he said. His deep brown eyes pleaded with me. “The whole place could blow.”
Levi! I ran to his bedroom. “Wake up,” I said, sha king him.
“Mom, it's Saturday,” he groaned. “No school.”
“Honey, there's a gas leak. We've got to get out of here. Now!” I tossed him a pair of jeans, and Levi dressed quickly while I grabbed the cordless phone. We rushed outside, where the young man in the Bulls jacket was waiting. “It's gonna be okay,” he said. “Call 911.”
Of course! I was wasting time. The fumes grew stronger by the minute.
I dialed. “Emergency,” I said to the operator, giving all the information. Help was on the way.
“We'll be fine now,” I assured the young man, but he stayed to watch the street fill with fire trucks and police cars.
I was called over to answer questions while the rescuers shut the gas off and checked the area. One firefighter came out of the garage with a sniffer, a device that detects flammable vapors in the air. “The gas meter's punctured,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “It's lucky you woke up when you did, ma'am.”
The young man who'd warned me was leaning on our car talking to Levi. There are some good people around here too, I realized, walking over to join them.
“Time to get going,” the young man said. “Later, Levi. Take care of your mom.” He shook my hand and walked down the street.
“Come back anytime,” I called after him, waving.
The firefighter in charge told us it was safe to go back inside. “That young man probably saved our lives,” I said. The fireman stared at me blankly. “The one who was with my son and me,” I added. “You saw him.” The crew looked at one another uncomfortably. I tried again. “He was over six feet tall, a black kid in his late teens, wearing a Bulls jacket.”
“I'm a Bulls fan,” one of the policemen said. “I'd have noticed a kid in a Bulls jacket.”
“We didn't see any teenagers around here,” another officer insisted. “Just you two. And you're darned lucky you got out when you did.” I stood in the midst of the dispersing crowd, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Levi took my hand. “I saw him, Mom, so don't worry, ” he said. And for the first time in ages, I promised God I'd try not to.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Heaven's Messenger
Author unknown
Barbara was driving her six-year-old son, Benjamin, to his piano lesson. They were late, and Barbara was beginning to think she should have cancelled it. There was always so much to do, and Barbara, a night-duty nurse at the local hospital, had recently worked extra shifts. She was tired. The sleet storm and icy roads added to her ten sion. Maybe she should turn the car around.
“Mom!” Ben cried. “Look!”
Just ahead a car had lost control on a patch of ice. As Barbara tapped the brakes, the other car spun wildly, rolled over, then crashed sideways into a telephone pole. Barbara pulled over, skidded to a stop and threw open her door. Thank goodness she was a nurse-she might be able to help these unfortunate passengers. Then she paused. What about Ben? She couldn't take him with her-little boys shouldn't see scenes like the o ne she anticipated.
But was it safe to leave him alone? What if their car were hit from behind? For a brief moment Barbara considered going on her way. Someone else was sure to come along. No!
“Ben, honey, promise me you'll stay in the car!”
“I will, Mommy,” he said as she ran, slipping and sliding toward the crash site. It was worse than she'd feared. Two girls of high school age were in the car. One, the blonde on the passenger side, was dead, killed on impact.
The driver, however, was still breathing. She was unconscious and pinned in the wreckage. Barbara quickly applied pressure to the wound in the teenager's head while her practiced eye catalogued the other injuries. A broken leg, maybe two, along with probable internal bleeding. But if help came soon, the girl would live. A trucker had pulled up and was calling for help on his cellular phone. Soon Barbara heard the ambulance sirens. A few moments later she surrendered her lonely post to rescue workers.
“Good job,” one said as he examined the driver's wounds. “You probably saved her life, ma'am.”
Perhaps. But as Barbara walked back to her car a feeling of sadness overwhelmed her, especially for the family of the girl who had died. Their lives would never be the same. Oh God, why do such things have to happen?
Slowly Barbara opened her car door. What should she tell Benjamin? He was staring at the crash site, his blue eyes huge.
“Mom,” he whispered, “did you see it?”
“See what, Honey?” she asked.
“The angel, Mom! He came down from the sky while you were running to the car. And he opened the door, and he took that girl out.”
Barbara's eyes filled with tears. “Which door, Ben?”
“The passenger side. He took the girl's hand, and they floated up to Heaven together.”
“What about the driver?”
Ben shrugged. “I didn't see anyone else.”
Later Barbara was able to meet the families of the victims. They expressed their gratitude for the help she had provided. Barbara was able to give them somet hing more: Ben's vision. There was no way he could have known-by ordinary means-who was in the car or what had happened to either of the passengers. Nor could the passenger door have been opened; Barbara had seen its tangle of immovable steel herself. Yet Ben's account brought consolation to a grieving family. Their daughter was safe in Heaven. And they would see her again.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The following story is told by Frank Lloyd. His grandfather was pit manager of the local mine in 1926. Smoking below ground was strictly forbidden because o f the danger of an explosion, which would risk many lives. One miner had been brought before Frank's grandfather twice for having been caught smoking, but was allowed to continue with his job when he promised not to smoke again. Now he had been caught once more and Frank's grandfather had no option but to sack him. He did this sadly, since he knew the hardship it would cause to the family.
Frank Lloyd describes the outcome: “The following Sunday my grandfather was preaching at a Methodist vill age chapel over the hills, to which he traveled on horseback. It was dark when he rode home, and all the way he was wondering how he could help the miner who had lost his job. By the time he got home he had a plan. He asked my grandmother to take a message to him the next morning, asking him to come to the pit.
“When he arrived to see my grandfather the following day he looked very contrite. He was offered a job at the pithead, which would not involve him going underground. He accepted gladly.
“The miner turned to go, but turned back, saying, 'I want to make a confession and, when I have, you may not want me working here. I knew you were preaching over the hill last night, and I guessed you'd be on horseback. I hid with my shotgun and I was going to shoot you.'
“'Well, why didn't you then?' asked my grandfather.
“The miner continued, 'I always thought you went on your own to go preaching, and I never thought your horse could carry two, but just as you came into view and I was a bout to shoot, I saw the other chap in a white coat behind you on the saddle. I'm sorry that I ever thought of doing such a thing.'
“My grandfather insisted that he had been alone on the horse but, to his dying day, the miner swore there were two men on the horse that night.”
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Joyce, a trained nurse living in Devon, England, was worried about her husband who was seriously ill with heart and breathing problems. After a terrible night, the doctor came and warned Joyce that her husband was most unlikely to recover. Joyce, however, clung to a promise from God that she had recieved back in February, when her husband had first become ill, that he would make a good recovery.
At bedtime, Joyce made her husband as comfortable as possible, although his gasping for breath meant he had to sleep sitting up. Joyce describes what happened next: “Just then angels started to surround our bungalow, shadowy figures, all f acing inwards. There were so many I could not possibly count them. The chief one came and insisted I go to sleep; no harm would come while they were there. I slept amazingly well, waking only once to attend to my husband. At 8 o'clock the following morning, I was literally shaken from my sleep and, as I opened my eyes, the last few angels were departing.
“The chief one was by me saying, 'Hurry up, we have to go. All is well.' And he was gone. I sat up and could hardly believe how peaceful my h usband looked. He was pink and lying down, breathing easily, instead of blue and gasping. When the doctor saw him, he couldn't speak for amazement.”
Some time later the doctor said to Joyce, “Medically that was an impossibility. It was only your prayers and faith that saved him.” Joyce then told him about the angels. Her husband continued to make excellent progress.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
