Saved by an Angel

by Virtue Doreen

  Within a few weeks of returning home to Arizona, I had a vivid dream of Baba. My husband, Jim, is a very aesthetic person, meaning that he focuses on how people and things look. Jim and I weren’t married yet, and he didn’t like the shape of my nose. It really bothered him, and he thought that if we were to marry, perhaps sometime I would get it surgically fixed. As an adolescent, I hadn’t liked the shape of my nose, either. Jim’s comments recharged my teenage angst about my physical appearance, and I became very self-conscious about my fat, ball-tipped nose.

  I wondered what God thought of me for going along with this. I thought about Paramahansa Yogananda, and mostly, I wondered what Sai Baba thought. Was I a shallow person to get my nose fixed, to worry about keeping someone I loved by having surgery? Why was I giving this power over to someone else?

  Well, in my dream, Baba came to me. He cocked his head from side to side, looking into my eyes with a childlike playfulness. Then he asked, “So, you do not like your nose?” and I shook my head. He then said, “I’ll fix it. Follow me!”

  He went off into a large, bright orange tent, his right hand holding a needle up in the air. I followed him, thinking, Oh, Baba’s going to operate on my nose in my sleep—just like I read about! But as I followed him into the tent, everything disappeared, and I woke up.

  So I went to the bathroom to check my nose, fully believing that Baba had changed its appearance—but he hadn’t. My nose still looked the same.

  However, sometime later, Jim and I were married. When I mentioned looking for a good doctor to fix my nose, Jim had not only changed his mind, but he said that he couldn’t understand why my nose had ever bothered him in the first place.

  AN EMOTIONAL HEALING WITH JESUS

  by Louise Ratcliffe

  When I was seven years old, I had a traumatic experience at the Catholic elementary school that I attended. Learning seemed difficult for me, and as a timid child, I avoided asking my teachers questions or requesting their help. During my first spelling test, I had such little faith in my ability that I felt my only option was to cheat to pass it. So cheat I did, in a ridiculously obvious manner. Well, much to my surprise, I was discovered.

  As punishment, I was taken into the school storeroom and beaten on the hands with a ruler. The nun who carried out this cruel and humiliating beating was my teacher, Sister Anthony. My memories of her, which are as clear as yesterday—as well as the shame, hurt, and humiliation—have stayed with me all these years. Some may consider this to be a small issue, but to me it was huge.

  From that day on, I spent the rest of my school years looking out the window. I switched off totally to any kind of English lesson and resigned myself to the fact that I was dumb. For many years, I felt a deep resentment toward Sister Anthony. By blaming her for my shortcomings, I blocked any healing of the situation. For a long time, I was able to get away with my bad English.

  But then I had to study so that I could pass a six-hour exam that would allow me to work at a real-estate agency. I found the study time extremely stressful, as I constantly fought with the voice in my head that told me I was dumb and hopeless. Finally, I went into a meditation and asked Jesus and the angels to help me overcome my lack of belief in myself.

  During my meditation, I met with Jesus. I saw and felt him say that he wished to take me on a journey. Jesus took me by the hand, smiled at me, and led me back into that classroom on that fateful day in 1969.

  There stood Sister Anthony in the class full of children. But this time, instead of looking cross, she walked over to me smiling, and she crouched down, looking into my eyes. Her face had lost its hardness, as I remembered it, and I felt overwhelming love and forgiveness for her and from her. It was so real!

  Sister Anthony said that she was sorry for having hurt me, and that she was no longer on the earth. She told me that she loved me and that she would help me overcome my spelling problems. Sister Anthony said that all I had to do to attain her assistance was to ask.

  I passed my real-estate exam and am now taking English lessons. My spelling has steadily improved. I also discovered that I am mildly dyslexic, but I know I can overcome it, thanks to Jesus introducing me to my new angel called Sister Anthony.

  THE DEEPEST FEELING OF SAFETY

  by Janie Daily

  My mom died when I was seven and a half years old. She was a wonderful woman, who taught me more in those few years than most mothers can teach in a lifetime. After she died, my brothers and I were left to be raised by my grandmother. She didn’t like girls and blatantly told me so. My life was hell, and I often thought of committing suicide.

  There were times when I would hear a male voice saying my name. My grandmother frightened me so badly by telling me that it was Satan. Maybe that’s what she was taught, who knows? Anyway, one night I was so sad and was crying, missing my mom and just wanting to join her in death. At that moment at the bottom of my bed, I saw a bright white light. I looked harder, and in disbelief I could make out the apparition of a man.

  He spoke to me and told me that everything would be okay. I must tell you that at that moment, I felt safer than I had ever felt. I knew it was Jesus; and today, at 38, I still can feel that secure, safe feeling.

  BEAUTIFUL LITTLE LIGHT

  by Karen Noe

  A few years ago, I had quite an “enlightening” experience. I was sitting on my bed when a beautiful light came toward me. At first I was frightened, but then an incredible peace came over me. The light emanated a voice! It spoke to me, saying, “Luce, lucina. Bella luce, lucina.” I later learned that in Italian this means: “Light, little light. Beautiful little light.” Since then, I have realized that it was St. Francis who came to comfort me at that time.

  In my heart, I know that he has been with me ever since! He is definitely working with me in promoting peace in this world, and love for all of God’s kingdom, which of course includes animals and plants. Birds and butterflies in particular have been ever-present for me. When I am driving my children across town, which is only five minutes away, birds and butterflies go right in front of my car and stay there, flapping their wings. I know it is common for birds to be flying around, but not right in front of someone’s car.

  On one ride across town, my youngest son counted nine birds that flew in front of us, either right by the windshield or at ground level. One such bird made me slow down, thank goodness, because I was going much too fast. After I did so, I noticed a police officer at the end of the block. I giggled, and thanked the bird silently for preventing me from getting a ticket.

  Chapter 8

  DREAM VISITATIONS FROM DECEASED LOVED ONES

  DAD IS STILL WITH US

  by Michelle Massip Handel

  My father died suddenly of a heart attack at age 61. My mother, my brother, and I were shocked. One night after his death, I had an auditory experience where he told me to stop making such a big deal out of it. He said that he was fine, and that he didn’t want me to feel so sad. I called my mother immediately, only to find out that she’d had a similar experience.

  My brother was at the beach at the time, and when he returned home, he called me. He said, “I just want you to know that I was down at the beach thinking about Dad, and he’s okay.” Then I told him about my mother’s and my own similar experiences.

  The three of us continued to have dream visitations. When I woke up from one of these visits, I felt as if I had really spent time with my dad. It felt very good. Dad and I visited in my dreams the nights before my birthday for several years. I felt like it was my birthday gift from him.

  One day my mother told me that she broke down crying because she couldn’t fix something in the house, something my father would have taken care of. She heard him tell her to get a tool out in the garage, and he even told her specifically where it was.

  I’m no longer getting visits from my father in my dreams that I remember, but I certainly talk to him and feel his presence.

  THE LIGHT AND THE ROSE

  by Cheryl
Anne

  In February of 1991, my mother-in-law passed away after a long battle with chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. She died a slow and painful death, and it was a very difficult period. My firstborn son, her first grandchild, was only four months old at the time of her passing. I believe that her desire to see him kept her alive those last few months.

  About a week after she died, I had a “dream” where I was somehow transported to the sanctuary of the church where my mother-in-law’s memorial service had been held. For a short time, maybe a minute, I was alone. Then she appeared. She was so beautiful. She looked like herself, full figured and round faced, but glowing. I had never seen her looking so healthy and vibrant.

  She greeted me in her jovial way and said, “Don’t worry—I’m okay. I’m not sick anymore; it’s so wonderful!” She was wearing a long, flowing flowered gown. She said that she was wearing that gown because God had placed her in a garden, and that it was more beautiful there than anyone could imagine. I could actually smell the flowers as she described them. I felt total peace.

  The next thing I remember, I was awakened by my husband. We both sat straight up in bed in complete shock. The hallway outside our bedroom was filled with a magnificent light. There were no lights on in the house, and it was well past midnight. Just as the light faded away, a rose that we had saved from the memorial service spun in its vase. I was so glad we had both witnessed this or I would have probably thought I was crazy!

  DAD’S REASSURANCE

  by Carol W.

  My father lived alone in Arizona, quite a distance from his other family members and me. My sisters and I spoke with him by phone regularly, so when we didn’t hear from him for several days, we got worried. My sister called the local police and requested that they go to Dad’s home. They found my father dead on his bed. Apparently he had died several days earlier.

  An autopsy was never conducted, as the coroner said that Dad had died of natural causes. However, it bothered my sisters and me that we never found out what our father died of.

  Over the next few months, I would wake up out of a sound sleep with the feeling of my father’s presence at the end of my bed. But I was too afraid to look at my father’s apparition in case he looked frighteningly decayed, like when his body was discovered by the police. I shared this fear with my sister, and she reassured me that Dad would look just like he did when he was healthy and living.

  Well, my sister was right. I had a dream where she and I were putting dishes away and talking about Dad. The next thing I remember, everything turned white around me. My sister was no longer there, and my dad was sitting at my kitchen table. I remember how good he looked, and I told him so. I also told him that I loved him and missed him. I noticed that while sitting there, he wasn’t smoking or drinking coffee like he always did.

  I asked him what had happened. He told me that he had died of a heart attack. After that, I woke up and have been at peace about my father ever since.

  NEVER TRULY LOST

  by Chuck Pekala

  On June 1, 1998, my father passed on suddenly. He and I were very close in our own way. Dad was born in the 1920s, and his family was not the most openly loving group of people. I hadn’t embraced him since I’d been a child, and I hadn’t kissed him since he’d come out of quadruple-bypass surgery six years earlier. Still, we had a relationship that was comfortable for Dad, if not 100 percent fulfilling for me. And we were both well aware of how much we loved each other.

  I try very hard not to overlook special days for special people in my life, and Father’s Day 1998 was no exception. I had purchased cards for Dad weeks before his passing. So, when the time came for his viewing, I felt it was very important to place his cards in his hands, and I did so.

  In the cards, I wrote very personal notes to my father that I haven’t shared with a soul. I had to tell him that I loved him very much. I thanked him for being the best father he knew how to be, and for never making me doubt his love. I told him I was glad he got to spend some retirement years with Mom, something I had prayed to God for all my life. And I told Dad that even though I was now a man, I would still always be his one and only little boy. I knew that he was proud of me, and we had no unresolved issues. I closed the last card by telling him that I would be thinking of him on Father’s Day, and that I would feel peace in knowing he was with God.

  Two weeks later, the Saturday before Father’s Day arrived. That night I went to bed with thoughts of my father. I had a wonderful dream in which he walked into the room and stood silently. He looked at me and at first seemed somewhat confused, and then he slowly began to smile.

  I asked, “Dad, are you okay? What do you want to tell me?”

  Dad continued smiling and looked into my eyes. He replied, “I want you to know I am okay, Chuck. Do not worry. It is beautiful here, and I have never been happier.” (Dad didn’t have an easy life.)

  I woke up with an overwhelming sense of peace and security. My father was in God’s care. The world was right again.

  Another month passed, and my mother had a dream about my father. In it, he stood before her holding the hand of a small blond boy.

  My mother said, “I love you very much, and I miss you, honey.”

  Dad smiled back and said, “I know.”

  My mother looked at him again and said, “I am a bit confused. Who is that small boy with you?”

  My father replied, “I don’t know, dear, but he was lost and told me he did not want to be alone, so I took his hand to keep him company.”

  The dream ended. My father loved children. I found this dream to be so typical of him, and I often wonder who that child was. I pray for them both. I hope that whoever lost that boy has had their own dream and knows he is well.

  Perhaps reading my words will in some way comfort someone else who has lost a loved one. Actually, I don’t care for the word lost, in this sense, since I believe that my father is still very much with me.

  I SAW MY NEPHEW

  by Anonymous

  My dear nephew passed away at the age of 35 after a long struggle with malignant melanoma. He lived his last months with his parents in Chile, and the only thing that I, his godmother, could do for him from my home in the United Kingdom was pray for him. I began to pray every day to his angels to be with him and to give him faith, as well as relief from his pain.

  One night I dreamed that I was there with my nephew at a family gathering. Everybody was wearing white clothes, and although it was a wedding celebration, everyone was looking sad and silent. I found my nephew sitting in an armchair, looking very weak and thin. He was surrounded by a group of good friends in white robes who were very cheerful and happy to be with him and to protect him. I woke up feeling sure that I had seen his angels in my dream.

  The morning after my nephew passed away, I went into a church to pray for him. As I left, a young man came walking down the street who looked exactly like him! Even his way of walking and his clothes resembled my nephew’s. I had to stop and stare in amazement, so the lad smiled … and his smile was also like my dear nephew’s. Of course it was no apparition—he was a real person—but the “coincidence” was very striking.

  POP-POP, MY MIRACLE ANGEL

  by Jessica Grzybowski

  As a young girl struggling in the sixth grade, I was a very disorganized student. I would come to school and think, Oh no! I have a test today, and I didn’t even study for it! I continued this behavior every week, unable to get it together. The teachers knew that I had the ability to excel in school, and they had me take part in enrichment programs, but I just couldn’t apply myself.

  One early morning, I awoke to the ringing of the telephone. I just knew that something had happened to my grandfather, whom I called “Pop-Pop.” Somehow, I knew he had died. And, indeed, he had.

  My family immediately headed to my grandmother’s house in Long Island, New York, for the wake and burial. The emotions of grief were so strong among our large family. But there was one specific momen
t that I remember the most.

  My two younger brothers were talking with my grandmother in her bedroom. She was giving them some of Pop-Pop’s World War II memorabilia as a gift to help them remember him. I was really upset because I wished I had something to keep close to my heart as well, but I didn’t receive anything.

  Because of the funeral, I missed over a week of school, and it was extremely difficult to catch up. As I sat in my bedroom, trying so hard to complete all my missed assignments, I started crying uncontrollably. I felt like I was pinned under something heavy, and I had no concept of how to get out. My emotional outburst lasted for probably two hours until I just couldn’t cry any longer. I felt so lost!

  That night I went to sleep, and I had the most amazing dream. I was at my grandmother’s house with all my relatives. We were sitting in the dining room having a big dinner, as we had done so many other times before. My grandfather sat at the head of the table, and he ate his favorite food: mashed potatoes. I remember looking up at him, and then he spoke to me. He said, “I’m sorry, honey, that I don’t have anything for you.” I just looked up at him, and I felt like everything was okay.

  After that experience, my life turned around in so many ways. Academically, I was a completely different person. It was as if the old version of me didn’t even exist. I was awarded “Most Improved Student” for the year. The following two years, I became valedictorian of my seventh- and eighth-grade classes. I graduated from high school 10th in my class, out of 460 students.