Monday, April 7, 2014

Believing in Angels

I cannot remember when I didn’t believe in angels.  I grew up Catholic; need I say more?.  Angels were everywhere.  Angels fill our literature, our art, our architecture, our music; but we weren’t the first to claim their existence. Long before Judaic, Christian, or Islamic beliefs mentioned angels, their existence is recorded in the monotheistic religions that preceded them.
The belief in angels has been with us through the ages of time, but have I ever seen one, with my own eyes?
I have encountered several unusual experiences, but my “angels” know I frighten easily, so they try to be a lot more subtle and subdued than those depicted in art or literature.
As a child, I suffered from night fears but a framed picture hung on my bedroom wall of a beautiful, benevolent, golden angel with a magnificent wing span protecting two small children. It kept my fears at bay. As a teenager, I carried a “holy card” with the likeness of the Archangel Michael on one side and a prayer on the other in my bible. He too had an impressive wing span, but this was a fearsome warrior angel.  With his stern face and righteous sword, he protected me from the evils of the world.
In the summer of 1998, I slipped and fell in an isolated parking lot.  I lay there on the scalding hot pavement with a shattered right kneecap. There was no one nearby, so I yelled for help. Before long a dozen people appeared.  One person retrieved a blanket from the trunk of his car and tucked it around me. A woman lent me her big, floppy purse to lean on while someone else called 911. A crowd encircled me to provide some shade from the blaring sun. They chatted with me and comforted me, some making me laugh. Later, as the EMTs lifted me onto the ambulance, I turned to thank them, but the crowd had disappeared.  When I muttered my disappointment, one of the attendants said only two people had been with me, but they took off as soon as the ambulance had arrived.  What about all the others?
Another time I woke from a deep sleep; someone had called my name. I remember feeling their breath on my face.  I was newly divorced, alone in the house, and it was late at night, but in the dark I saw a light down the hall in the kitchen area. I thought it was one of my kids, dropping by for a late night visit. As I approached, the light dissipated like when a car passes by on the street and its lights travel across the dark room inside the house.  I saw movement near the patio door, and I noticed it was unlocked.  This time I saw the form of a man standing outside my door. A stranger. I quickly turned on the patio light and the person fled. I double checked that all the doors were locked and set the alarm system. I slept on the living room sofa that night in case the person returned. That night has always baffled me. Someone called my name, wanted me awake and in the kitchen, and wanted me to know that I was in danger.

I have had too many such experiences to attribute them to luck or coincidence.  I give full credit to my angels. 

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