Saved by an Angel (40 page)

At that very moment, I looked into the sky at the beautiful sunset, and I saw an angel—plain as day, clear to my human eyes. It was a beautiful cloud—a beautiful angel. There was my answer.

I ran inside, got my mother, and grabbed a camera. We both sat there and wept. I took a picture of the angel; then she disappeared. My father passed away ten minutes later. The angel had come to take him home. At that point I knew, I really
knew …
that he was okay. My father was not alone, and he was with that beautiful angel, going home. I have the picture of the angel and will send it to anyone who doesn’t believe. I believe. I will
always
believe.

H
APPY IN
H
EAVEN
by Helen

My 24-year-old son died on August 14, 1999. His presence is sorely missed, as he had lived at home with us while he was attending college. Thoughts of my son consume my mind almost every moment of every given day, even though I am wholly functioning.

One evening shortly after Thanksgiving, I was having a very difficult moment while alone in my home. I was drawn to the window, since the container holding my son’s ashes was sitting on the window seat. (We were going to be spreading his ashes over the ocean soon.) As I put my fingertips on the container, missing him and talking to him while softly crying, I noticed that the moon was very low in the sky and extremely bright.

I suddenly became aware that a cloud had appeared; and in the short time I was standing by the window, the outline of a complete angel formed, with large rounded wings on each side of a delicate body wearing a flowing gown, and footlike clouds that hung below the gown! It was a most comforting sight for me, and I felt momentarily at peace. I had a sense that my son, who probably feels for me, was trying to relay that he is with the angels and that they are taking good care of him in heaven.

A S
IGN FROM
U
NCLE
F
RANK
by Angie Chiste

Frank, my uncle, died in 1984, and my son was born in 1991. My son has had a longtime fascination with his deceased great-uncle. When he was about four years old, he would tell me how Uncle Frank would come to him at the playground at his day-care center and push him on the swing or talk to him.

I decided to give my son a little test. He had never seen a photo of Uncle Frank. I showed him pictures of all my other uncles first; then I showed him one of Uncle Frank … and my son knew exactly who he was! I thought he must have a special bond of some sort with him.

When my son entered first grade in 1996, we would drive past the cemetery on our way to and from school each day. He would ask me questions about Uncle Frank, and then one day he told me that he wanted to visit his grave. I asked my mother where he was buried, and she could only give me the name of that corner in the cemetery.

One day I picked my son up from school and we headed to the cemetery. We walked up and down among the headstones, looking for my uncle. It was a cool fall day and very still. After about 45 minutes of searching, my son started to whine; he was getting hungry. I was losing my patience. We were both growing tired and cranky. I finally looked up to the sky and said, “Sorry, Uncle Frank, I just can’t find you today. We’ll come back another day.”

Just then, a huge gust of wind stirred the leaves behind me, which caused me to turn around. The moment I turned, the wind stopped. I looked down and there was my uncle’s grave. Right at my feet!

T
HE
M
ESSAGE FROM THE
R
OSE
P
ETALS
by Bonnie Suzanne Koester

I was having some difficulty at a small college where I worked. There was a lot of politics among the employees, including my boss, and things got so bad that I considered quitting my job. I prayed for guidance.

As was my routine, one morning I went to the convenience store next to the college for breakfast. On this particular day, I found some red rose petals lying on the grass between the campus and the store. I picked one up and smiled, inwardly asking,
Is this from my angels?
But then I concluded that someone must have thrown the petals there. I took one back to my office and placed it on the base of my lamp.

The next morning I came in, and the petal had shriveled. I went to the store, and there on the grass in the same place were fresh pink rose petals. There was no sign of the red ones. I furrowed my brow and thought,
How could I have missed these yesterday, and who is doing this?
And why would someone be throwing rose petals on the ground? I was trying my best to think of a logical explanation.

I picked up one of the pink petals, and as I walked across the parking lot, returning to my office, I smelled the scent of roses so strongly that it made my eyes widen. I thought,
A single petal would not give off this scent.
I raised my hand to my nose and smelled the petal. I smelled nothing but the scent of my hand. I took it away, and again there was that strong smell of roses!

Pasadena, Texas, where I live and work, has oil refineries. The air here
never
smells like roses. I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that these were signs from my angels.

I took this petal and placed it alongside the withered red one. The next day, the pink had withered as well. I returned once again to the spot … and there I found both red and pink petals, and they were fresh. With a smile, I said, “Okay, okay, I’ll tough it out. I’ll stay here a bit longer. Thank you. You guys are too much!”

The angels were right—I now have a new position at the college and have almost doubled my income. And I still have the petals.

A S
IGN OF
P
ROTECTION
by Micci Debonis

My mother, Katherine, had just purchased a new car, so for good luck, I gave her an angel clip that went on the sun visor.

On this particular day, my mother was watching my six-month-old daughter while I was at work. While on an outing in Mom’s new car, they stopped for gasoline.

They were waiting in line at the gas pumps, and my daughter was making a fuss in the backseat. My mother turned around to see what the problem was and noticed that my daughter needed her bottle, so she turned to get it. Right then, she saw a car coming straight toward her! The man hit the front of Mom’s car, completely totaling it. The air bag deployed, and luckily she wasn’t hurt and neither was my baby.

After the police reports were completed, Mom went back to the car and noticed that the angel clip was missing from the visor. Looking all over the car, she finally found the clip: it had landed in the backseat where my daughter was in her car seat. I truly believe that angels played a part in assuring the safety of my mother and daughter. The police officer said that if my mother had been a couple of feet closer to the gas tanks, the outcome would not have been very good.

There were angels around my mother and daughter during that ordeal, and Mom and I thank them every day.

A C
ALL FROM
M
Y
A
NGEL
by Suzanne Goodnough

My husband and I attended Doreen’s seminar at the Whole Life Expo in Chicago in October of 1999. At one point during the seminar, Doreen took everyone in the audience through a meditation, where we asked the guardian angel on our left to say his/her name to us. Then we proceeded with the guardian angel on the right. She instructed us not to judge what we heard and not to let our egos get in the way.

Doreen told us that if we didn’t believe what we heard, then we should ask for a sign of validation from the particular angel and wait to see what happens. After the seminar, I asked my husband if he had gotten any names. He said, “Yes, the names Michael and Philip. Did you hear any?”

“Yes,” I replied. “The angel on the right said her name was Grace.” I loved it—the name was so spiritual and angelic that I never questioned it. But the angel on the left had said his name was Maurice. In my mind, I said,
Maurice! What a stupid name for an angel!
It made me think of Maurice Gibb of the Bee Gees, and I imagined a
Saturday Night Fever
disco angel, with a strobe light, white suit, and the works. I thought,
This can’t be! I don’t want a disco angel!

That night during my evening prayers and meditation, I asked the angels for a sign. I said,
Please give me a sign that I just didn’t make up the name Maurice.
The next morning at 8 o’clock, the telephone rang. We were still sleepy, so I didn’t answer, and the answering machine picked up the message.

When I retrieved the message, a male voice said, “I am looking to speak with Suzanne Goodnough. My name is Maurice. If you call this number and ask for this extension, I will be able to help you with your problem and get it all cleared up in two minutes. Looking forward to hearing from you.” I saved the message so that my husband could listen to it.