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THE TWO ANGELS
by Susan |
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Back in 1989 when my little brother, T.J., was six, he got
real sick. My mom had been taking care of him for several
days straight with only short naps, no full night's sleep.
She got a migraine headache so she rested and I took over
watching him. I was fourteen at the time. Mom asked me
to watch him and if anything changed to wake her up. She
wanted me to make sure to wake him up every so often to
make him drink something to keep him from
dehydrating.
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I think it was about two in the morning when I went in to
give him something to drink. When I woke him up he
asked me if I saw "her"? I asked him who?
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"That lady."
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I asked what lady?
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"Isn't she beautiful?"
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He had me really scared so I asked him "what lady, T.J.?"
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"That lady at the end of my bed. Isn't she beautiful?"
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There were only the two of us there. I told him yes, she is
beautiful baby. Then made him drink something every
fifteen minutes. When mom got up a few hours later, I
told her about what had happened.
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When we carried T.J. back to the doctor at nine that
morning, his fever had broken and he was not as
dehydrated. I had done a good job of keeping him
drinking but I knew that I had not been the only one
watching over him. I just know that his angel was with
him throughout the night watching over him. | |
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Note from Susan's Mom, HonNee: | |
We went to visit my Mother for Easter in 1991 and I was
looking through an old photo album of my Mother's and
showing T.J. some old pictures of my self, when suddenly
as I turned the page he said very excitedly, "that's her,
that's the lady"
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I had forgotten about the lady at the end of the bed a few
years ago, so I was asking him what lady? When he told
me that was the lady that was standing at his bed when he
was sick, I got chills.
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You see the lady he was pointing to was my oldest sister,
Pauline, whom had passed away when I was nine years
old. I think she had come to help take care of T.J. for me. I
love you Pauline!! And I love you, my daughter, Susan
for being so wise and taking care of your little brother and
also of me!!!!
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Susan and HonNee
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Please find time to write Susan and HonNee to let them
know how you liked this story.
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MY GUARDIAN ANGEL
by Carol |
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I was raised by my grandmother. Neither my mom or dad
had wanted me when I was born. My mom was single and
said that she would put me out for adoption rather than
keep me. In those days being a young unwed mother was
a disgrace. Strangely it was my dad who brought me home
to his mother and I was immediately accepted and raised
by her. I was so loved and protected by her that her own
children often felt that she loved me more than them, but
I know it was not true it was just that I needed more love
then.
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As I grew up I knew who my parents were for sure, but
my father stopped seeing me when I was five and my
mother's visits were so sporadic that I didn't feel
comfortable with her. My grandmother was my ma and
that is what I called her even though I knew the
difference. My "ma" protected me all through my life and
she loved me like no one else ever could.
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One of my fondest memories of the times we spent
together was sitting down and watching Billy Graham's
crusades together and I always prayed that my ma would
admit that she loved the lord. She neither encouraged me
or discouraged me to go to church. From the age of nine I
started faithfully attending Sunday school at a mission for
about six years. After that I don't really know what
happened but I seemed to have drifted away from church
life.
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Later when I was married with a son, we attended church
as a family but then I drifted away from church life again.
In 1980 I was alone with my son. I had just divorced and
my grandmother had passed away at the same time. I felt
totally alone and isolated.
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After the funeral I wanted to know more than anything
else that my beloved ma was all right. I wanted to know
that she was happy and in heaven. It was almost an
obsession to me and I prayed for a sign, any sign, to know
that she was okay.
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I had a recurring dream at night where she would come
back to me to tell me something but I could not hear the
words and I could not reach out and touch her. The
barrier between life and the afterworld was still apparent
even in my dream state. The dream would only serve to
torment me further.
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So strong was this need to know about her happiness that
I decided to go to church with my young son and pray to
God for a sign that she was okay. I went to church for the
first time in years and just sat quietly in the pew listening
to the sermon. I had no clue what that sermon was going
to be and I don't even remember today what it was all
about except for one statement that the minister made
within the sermon. He said "and all of you out there who
are worried about your loved ones whom have passed on
do not worry for they are happy." I couldn't believe it I got
my sign!
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After that time in church I felt better, not only did I get the
answer I needed but the dreams stopped. Ma had found
her means of getting across to me.
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I began to talk to her in prayer and each time that I spoke
to her I would touch the emerald ring that she had left for
me. It comforted me. I always wore it and still do for it is a
constant reminder that she is with me now and forever
and she is looking out for my best interest and keeping me
safe from harms way.
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Not long after grandma's death we had a transit strike
here in our city. It was winter and I found myself freezing
on the corner of a busy intersection waiting for a stranger
to offer me a ride. Even while I was freezing and knew
that others had to do the same thing, I was afraid of
getting into a car with a stranger. My ma had often told
me about the dangers, but I was desperate. I needed my job
and could not afford to skip work. My option that day was
to pray for protection and try for a ride.
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Cars were not stopping for me and I was getting colder and
colder. I decided to touch the ring and asked my ma to
help me and within thirty seconds of touching the
emerald ring a car stopped for me and drove me to work.
It was then that I realized that my ma was watching over
me.
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There have been numerous other times that I asked for
my ma's help, when I was stuck or in a jam and each and
every time all I had to do was touch that ring and low and
behold I got either what I wanted or a compromise that I
could live with. Ma has become my guardian angel. She
protected me in life and she continues to protect me.
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Carol Roach
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Carol writes that her son Steven is now 24 years old. Carol
has a counseling degree (Masters). Write and let her know
how you like her story.
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WO WO (SOMEONE TO LEAD ME HOME)
by Eva Marie |
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One of the dearest friends God has ever blessed me with
was an elderly woman I affectionately called "WoWo."
Her given name was Lois, but a nephew began calling her
"WoWo" and the term of endearment stuck.
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During the last year of her life (she died at age ninety-one)
I flew from my home in Orlando, Florida to her home in
Atlanta, Georgia. For a week of each month I would live
with her, care for her, feed her, love her, and be loved by
her.
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WoWo had outlived all of her many brothers and sisters
with the exception of a baby brother, Huie. Her oldest
brother, Neil, who had been an enlisted man in the
United States Navy, had died at his home in Chicago at
least thirty years earlier. WoWo often told me that,
because of their vast age difference, they were not very
close, but she had always had a special place in her heart
for him.
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In May, 1998 WoWo suffered a massive stroke. From that
time, until her death in August, she was completely
bedridden and dependent on home health services,
family, and friends. It broke my heart to feed her "yucky"
strained baby food ("Eat, WoWo! Please!" "You eat it! It's
yucky!"), to have to bathe her in bed, to change her
diaper....As the strenuous days stretched to weeks, those of
us who were her caregivers sacrificed personal lives and
sleep for precious last moments. Early one morning,
somewhere between two and three, I held her hand while
she called out, "Neil! Neil! Come get me! I'm so ready to
die!"
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I knew the time was short.
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Toward the end she was hospitalized several times.
During one of the visits, her doctor stood in the center of
her room, with family surrounding him as he explained
her condition. WoWo, her eyes closed, rested nearby.
Suddenly her eyes opened, and looking beyond the doctor
and her family she said, "Hey!"
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Everyone turned, but no one was there.
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"Who do you see, WoWo?" her nephew asked.
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"A man. He just winked at me."
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"What does he look like?"
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"He's wearing a sailor suit."
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My last visit with WoWo was two weeks before she began
to dance with the angels. She talked to Neil a good bit
those last few days and I was left with the belief that God
sends angels in forms we can understand...in packages, if
you will, that we are familiar with...to bring us Home. The
fear of dying is therefore eliminated so that when we are
gathered to His Heart, we go gladly and without regret.
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Sometime later I was reading my Bible and came across
this verse: Finally, the beggar died and was carried by the
angels to be with Abraham. (Luke 16:22a)
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I firmly believe in angels, but not as creatures to be
worshipped. They were created by Almighty God for His
purposes. Like us, they serve Him. I also believe angels
come in many forms. Sometimes, as with Mary the
mother of Jesus, they appear in all their majesty and
splendor. Other times, as with Joshua, they appear as
humans. Still other times, they appear as our loved
ones who patiently wait for our arrival Home.
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Before she died, WoWo made a promise to me that she
would be the first person I saw when I entered the Pearly
Gates. Something tells me I will see her even before then.
I will see her on the outside of the gates; she will take
me by the hand and lead me into God's Glory.
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Eva Marie Everson
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A REAL LIFE ANGEL
by Maggie |
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Twenty-two months ago, I lost my eldest son James at the
age of 32. Within a week of his funeral I was back at work,
thinking that the sooner I tried to get things "back to
normal" the sooner I would I would recover from the
grief and heartache. Even though there were days and
nights when I did nothing but cry somehow I buried the
horror of it all. My job was extremely demanding
emotionally so I had to forget the pain at least in the
hours I was at work.
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Naturally, it caught up with me and in a very physical
way. I developed breast cancer six months ago. It was a
Grade three cancer and particularly virulent. The large
hospital that I am attending for treatment is doing a
survey at this very moment on the relationship between
stress and trauma with cancer. Once again I tried to bury
any kind of reaction but eventually it all became too much
for me. Not only was I battling with the devastating side
effects of chemotherapy, I was trying to cope with full on
depression. I felt like I was going to die and I truly wanted
to. It would have been so easy to join James and forget
about all my suffering and the suffering of the world in
general.
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Then along came a very special friend. Somehow, without
me even telling her, she knew exactly how it was for me.
Even though my friend leads a very busy, full life, she
found time to write to me and did so almost every day.
She sent me the most wonderful letters full of love and
encouragement. Sometimes I would get letters that made
me laugh so much and other times I would receive full
pages of prayers written just for me alone. These prayers
were incredible. She prayed for every part of my body and
my soul. My friend gave me faith, hope, laughter and joy
and they are such important things to each and every one
of us. We cannot survive without them. Just to know that
how I felt "mattered" to her lifted my spirits. She has
inspired me to try to carry on her incredible example of
love and "goodness."
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This friend, who is also a bereaved mother and knows the
pain like no other, also explained in perfect detail the
stages of grief that I would be going through. She made
me see things in a new light and I realized before
receiving the knowledge of her own experiences, I had not
been able to see the forest for the trees. It is all so clear to
me now and the days have become so much easier to bear.
I seemed to be in such a rush to come to terms with my
grief, but it is a very subtle change and takes time.
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I have just about come to the end of my treatment with a
few more weeks of radiotherapy to come. For the first
time in 22 months I am glad to be alive. I feel love
overflowing in my soul. I feel also that HOPE has the
greatest potential to heal, and my friend gave me that
along with her unstinting time and love. Hope improves
a person's quality of life and definitely aids in the healing
process, whether it is a physical illness or from the loss of
a very dear loved one. As Emily Dickinson so poignantly
wrote:
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Hope is the thing with feathers, that perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words, and never stops at
all.
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I am writing this to not only thank my friend, but to make
readers aware of the power of friendship and also that of
prayer. I am so very grateful to God for sending me a
"special" Angel in my time of greatest need. I have found
a poem to express what she has given me.
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THE HEALING WITHIN
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In wisdom, Providence allowed this illness,
To open wide the windows of my heart ‚
Wide enough that Love might come into the stillness.
Like a butterfly, Love landed by my side.
Imperceptibly, as if in a chrysalis state,
I saw its colors beautiful and clear:
Blue, green, yellow and even slate.
Love bade me let go of all my fear.
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Love suggested surrendering the past;
To see this as a sacrament of hope and healing,
Happiness, like a tiny lotus flower, came at last.
Wistful first, then quite wonderful, this feeling,
This surging tide, this energy wherein the Kingdom dwells.
(Written by Paul Kraus)
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By the way, this friend asked me not to use her name. I
love you, my friend, and thank you so much. You will
never know (but God does!) just exactly what you have
done for me. I thank you with all my heart.
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Maggie
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IN THE ARMS OF GOD
by Sharon |
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October is a month I have always loved. When the trees
are in full bloom, with the radiant hues of fall. Brilliant
maple leaves falling to the ground, watching the squirrels
sneak up and grab an acorn and run back to their winter
nest with it.
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It was October 23, 1977. I remember the day very well. My
son, Andy, was five years old and waiting for the first
snowfall, (which COULD happen in Michigan in October)!
He and I raked leaves that day, and I laughed as he
bounced into a big pile of colored leaves. He knew
Halloween was coming the next week and we laughed as
we thought about what he'd be that year for trick or
treating.
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After supper that night, he took his usual bath. I used to
put on a Fisher Price tape recording for him, and he'd
laugh and sing along with the songs on the radio. When
night time came, I went into his room, as was a ritual for
he and I, to read to him a couple of bedtime stories. He
and I shared something that meant a lot to me, and I
know to him. Every night, I would ask him if he had
anything to get off his chest so to speak. I never wanted
him to go to sleep with a heavy heart. That night, he
hesitated before he spoke. I knew something was
"bothering" him for him to react like that, so I tickled him
and said, "Out with it kiddo!"
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I had remarried 10-months before this night. So when
Andy said, "Mom, are you happy?" I thought he was not
happy with the marriage and his step-father. And so I
replied, "Are YOU happy?" He said, "No, mom, I have to
know if You're happy."
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I thought before I answered his question and then I said,
"I'm happy if you're happy." That wasn't good enough for
him. He then asked, "Mom, just tell me if you're happy."
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I said, "Yes, I'm happy, but if you aren't, you and I can go
it alone again."
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He said, "Oh no mom, I love dad, but I just want you to be
happy."
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I was looking at him wondering what was going through
his mind when he piped up with, "Mom, when little kids
die, does God just pick them up in his arms and carry
them up to heaven?"
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This question startled me. And I was afraid of it. And yet I
answered, "I've told you about our souls and how God
takes our souls to heaven and how our body stays here on
earth."
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He smiled then. Yet I was bothered by the question. And
then suddenly he reached under his pillow and handed
me a piece of school paper, folded and said, "Mom, this is
for you, but don't look at it tonight. Wait, ok?" I said, sure.
Then he said, "Take it out to the china closet right now
and put it up until later, ok?" I remember walking into
the dining room then and wanting to look at it, but
something told me NOT to look at it just then. I opened
the glass door of the cabinet and placed the folded paper
on the shelf and walked back to his room. I was still upset
about his question, and I sat back down on his bed and
started to brush his bangs to the side, something I did
every night. And then my heart stopped.
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He was lying there, his eyes closed, and the scene had
changed. His bed was then a coffin. I could see the satiny
pillow his head was lying on. I could see the casket lining
tinted a pale orange (his favorite color) and I saw a
peaceful look on his face. I blinked my eyes and still he lay
in the coffin scene. This "scene" lasted for about three
minutes.
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I became very afraid. I didn't want to leave his side. So I
decided to sleep with him that night in that little twin bed.
When my husband came in and found me in Andy's bed,
he asked me what was wrong. I told him I didn't know,
but I HAD to sleep with him that night. I spent the night
with my son in my arms.
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I remember the next morning when Andy woke, I was
lying there awake. When he opened his eyes, he looked at
me and said, "Mom, what are YOU doing in my bed? He
was giggling, and I said, "Oh, I just wanted to sleep with
you, that's all." He laughed and asked if I'd had a
nightmare, and I said, "sort of."
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All that day I was scared. I watched him like a hawk and
never let him out of my sight. Until around 5:00 P.M.
when he saw my dad pull up in the back driveway and
wanted to go see him. I told him to wait. I'd take him
down to the barn later. I went to throw a load of clothes in
the washer and that's when Andy got out of the house. He
wanted to see his grandpa. Ten minutes later, my life was
destroyed. A tree fell on him back behind the barn. He
died in my arms.
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I knew what the night before had meant. I believe God
spoke to my son and gave him an insight some of us
seldom know. I believe God prepared my son for the
departure from this earth. I also believe God gave me that
one last chance to be alone with my son.
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I feel after all these years today that I had my warning, or
"vision" of something to come. I felt it all that day. The
picture that was tucked away in the china closet was a
drawing Andy had made of a shark. He loved sharks. He
carried a little rubber one around in his pocket every
single day. I still have it. And that picture that he drew
........ has been etched into stone and now is on his
gravestone. When I ordered his casket, I had them tint the
lining in a pale orange. I will always feel God gave me and
my son that "special time" together.
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Sharon Bryant
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THE KEY TO TRUE LOVE'S DOOR
by Maria Urso |
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I am the deep desire
burning from within,
to help a friend in trouble,
or an enemy in sin,
to give food to the hungry,
the thirsty to give drink,
to give no thought at all
what others may or may not think,
to share my time
with those who need it,
to find the lost
and homeward lead it,
to bring a peace
like waters stilled,
to comfort hearts
with sorrow filled,
to pray with those
where healing's needed,
to speak God's Word
that they made heed it,
to all these things
and even more,
I am the key
to true love's door.
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copyright by Maria Urso
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