Little did I know that after I wrote a column on angels a few days ago, my inbox would become a veritable explosion of stories about angels.
Throughout these last days I have been reading so many angel stories that I haven’t had time to do anything else, such as eat or bathe.
Truthfully, I was going to write something different today, but if there is one thing I’ve learned by reading all these emails and messages, you can’t talk too much about miracles.
CHARMIE—I want to tell you my angel story. I rarely tell it because—well, you know—people look at you funny.
I was camping, just me and my cocker spaniel, in a remote campground in Washington State. It was a beautiful day. I was sitting at the picnic bench, enjoying the sunshine when a loud carful of several drunk guys stopped in front of my picnic table and started saying disgusting things to me.
No one else was around and it was frightening. I was praying like crazy. “Ok, God, what do I do?”
Suddenly one of the guys starts approaching me, but stops and screams, “Santa Madre de Dios!” And they all saw something behind me and became so afraid that they ran away.
I was scared to look over my shoulder, expecting a grizzly bear or something. But there was nothing. I don’t know Spanish except that I knew that “Madre de Dios” means Mother of God.
An angel protected me from a horrible fate.
JANIE—It was 1981, I was 17 years old when I started dating my future husband. We went on a fall picnic to Kings Mountain outside of Charlotte, North Carolina.
I needed to use the restroom but we didn’t want to pack up and move our stuff, so he stayed with our picnic while I walked to the restrooms. As I got to the facility, I saw a man leaning against the wall. I got that weird feeling and heard the words in my head, “Don’t go in.”
I turned around to leave and the man started following me. No one else was around. The faster I went, the faster he went. It was as if I were watching myself in a cheap horror movie.
Soon, I was running back to our picnic area, I kept turning around and he was still following me.
As I jumped over the creek a young couple appeared out of nowhere. I yelled to them, “That man behind me is chasing me!”
The couple just looked at the man, and the man stopped running and he headed the other way.
As I turned back for one more glance at the couple, they were gone. They had vanished. I knew angels were sent to save me that day. I’m now 56 and anytime I tell this story I feel their presence.
JESSICA—I wanted to share our miracle story. My son was born with a congenital heart defect. Had his first open heart surgery at 3 days old. We brought him home on IV meds, oxygen, apnea monitors, and a pulse oximeter.
We checked his pulse-ox on a Friday afternoon and it was low. He seemed fine, but I called the doctors and they said to order him a new pulse-ox. They said they’d get someone out to our house first thing the following Monday.
Monday was a long, long time to wait. Too long. Thankfully, one of their workers heard the message and happened to have a pulse-ox machine in his truck. He stopped at our house on his way home from work. And the machines said that his oxygen saturation was 62 percent. Not good.
An ambulance was called, we were rushed to Children’s Hospital in Pittsburgh where things went from bad to awful, very quickly.
We ended up in the CICU. My baby was gray, cold, limp, and the doctors told us we needed to call our pastor—he wasn’t going to make it through the night.
Our pastor came, he blessed some sterile water and baptized our boy right in the CICU. The whole unit of doctors, nurses, and staff, crowded around my son’s cubicle, and we all held hands and prayed.
About one hour later my son’s oxygen level started rising. By morning, his color was back, and he had an oxygen saturation of 82 percent. The surgeons came in to see how he was, and decided it was now or never to open his heart and fix the problem.
Fast forward 8 hours. They let us in to see him. He was pink again, strong enough to cry and fuss. The surgeon started explaining that the shunt in our son’s heart was completely blocked with infection, and this was the problem all along. It should have killed him. He should not have survived this infection. But he did.
“How is that possible?” I said.
The surgeon just threw up his arms and said, “Well, we are calling it a miracle.”
Today, that sickly little baby is a snotty 15-year-old boy who is pretty much normal, except for his many scars and hospitalizations. He will require a heart transplant someday. But we’ve prayed about it, and are leaving this to God.
BECKY—My rotator-cuff surgery was brutal and the pain was constant. I couldn’t even shake hands. But my complaints were as endless as the pain.
One day, my husband was driving me to my daddy’s house and as we passed a neighborhood church, we both saw a lady putting mail in the church mailbox using only her feet because she had no arms.
I was so humbled, I exclaimed, “I hear you, Lord. Enough complaining!”
We passed that church many times after that, and never saw that woman again. But to me she was an angel. I’m convinced. And every time I want to complain I remember her.
JASON—My late mother has been seen by all three of my kids, sitting in a rocking chair in our den, even though she has been gone for nine years. She is our favorite angel.
KELLY—I was blessed to hold my Daddy’s hand as he took his last breath. A few moments later, I collected myself to call my son and let him know his grandfather had passed.
My son was 9 years old at the time, and he responded with surprise. I was taken off guard by his immediate reaction. I didn’t understand why he was so surprised.
So I gently reminded my son that Paw Paw had been sick and that’s why I needed to go to Georgia for a few days.
My son replied, “I’m surprised, Mom, because Paw Paw sat next to me in church this morning.”
The first thing my Dad, the angel, did after he went to heaven, was check on my boy.
BONNIE—When I was 13 years old, my 15-year-old cousin Tommy passed away in a car accident with some other boys. A few nights after I was lying in bed and closed my eyes. When I opened them, I saw Tommy and another guy standing at the foot of my bed.
Tommy told me he just wanted to say hi and that he loved me. I tried to scream but nothing came out.
Later, at Tommy’s funeral, my aunt had pictures of the other two boys that died in the car accident with Tommy, and one of those boys was the same boy standing at the foot of my bed that night.
I know in my heart that Tommy watches over me to this very day.
MARLO—I had been on an overnight trip, hours from home. During the night, there was an ice storm. I made the (foolish) decision to drive home the next day.
Just like they say, the accident seemed to unfold in slow motion. The car spun around on the ice, left the road, and landed in a ditch. When it came to a stop, I could not believe I wasn’t hurt. The car, however, was stuck.
This was in a rural area with very little traffic to begin with—given the icy conditions—little chance of anyone passing by. I had phone service and called a tow truck, but they estimated it would be at least four hours before they could get to me.
It was still freezing outside and it would be dark soon. Then a man in a truck pulled up. He explained that he worked in the service department of a car dealership and gave me his business card.
He produced chains and pulled my car out of the ditch. He inspected my car, made sure it was drivable, then followed behind me for two hours as I drove south, making sure I safely reached the point where the road was ice free.
A couple days later, I called the car dealership on the card he’d given me to thank him again. The people at the dealership told me they did not know anyone by his name, and said that no one by that name had ever worked there.
KEN—Last night, my 5-year-old daughter crawled into our bed while having an asthma attack, and said she was afraid. So we talked about angels and then read her some of these angel stories you shared, and my daughter started breathing better, and she said, just before drifting off, “I believe in angels, Daddy.” I just kissed her and listened to my little girl breathe. So thanks for the stories.