I never considered myself an angel person when I started on the Lightworker’s path. I didn’t want to be, frankly. I valued practical, even as an intuitive. I gravitated more toward numerology, with its formulae and rules; I dove into Tarot cards, whose archetypal information I found to be something concrete. Not so angelic beings. Even in the beginning, when I was putting my hands on anything that looked at all metaphysical, I’d find too many angel books came across as fluffy, or specious, or both.
But it’s a rare person who sets themselves on the Light Road who doesn’t run into angels sooner or later. Why? Angels are one of Spirit’s fastest and most profound ways of dealing with dangerous situations, doubting Thomases or lost lambs in ways that cannot be ignored. And I got to have angel encounters for all three of those sorts of adventure.
The first encounters happened in 1994, when, suddenly and with no training, I found myself able to do hands-on healing and talk to dead people. I couldn’t explain why I could do what I did; I just knew I was being “handed my draft notice” and called to service. So I bowed my head and used my hands. Every time I started doing my work, someone – or something – put hands gently over mine, and we worked together. People would feel presences they could not explain, and get healings neither of us could logically justify. And the presence didn’t feel like a spirit guide – I had those, knew those, and they simply said, “The healings are larger than we are. Trust that.”
So I tentatively, grudgingly, accepted the fact that somehow I’d come to angelic notice. But I didn’t want to get all “glurpy purple,” as I said to my friends. I still wanted to be solidly based. Besides, who was I to expect angelic attention, or even more, assistance? I was neither saintly, nor particularly devout at that point. They had better things to do, I was sure.
By 1997, I was doing enough work that I knew I needed to acknowledge allegiance to Someone. After a long and difficult road, it was clear which banner I needed to claim. But there was fear. I didn’t like what experience I’d had with organized religion, didn’t believe most of what standard Church doctrine told us, and kept fighting for the logic to win.
It didn’t.
What happened to me on February 1, 1997 is very private, and I’ve told only a few. But believe me when I say that there were angelic presences in my little apartment in Atlanta…that the room’s temperature went up fifteen degrees in five minutes…that I felt myself held and moved, and saw finger indentations on my nightgown sleeve that had no visible fingers causing them. And that night, I knew that the energy embodied in the Christ Consciousness has very little to do with Church doctrine, and everything to do with that incandescent, immanent center of Compassion, Non-Judgment and Love at the center of the Universe.
After the visitation was over, I called my close friend, who is a priest in the Celtic Catholic church. Could she could explain what happened without my telling her about it? Because her particular spirit guide was in the room with us as a witness, she asked him to report to her. And he gave her the exact order of everything that happened from a ninety-degree angle to where I was – which is where I had sensed him at the beginning of the angelic encounter.
You would think I wouldn’t need any more convincing after that, wouldn’t you? I suppose God gets a great kick out of His most hard-headed kids, because that I certainly was. Okay, angels help me heal. Okay, they were part of the Celestial Welcoming Committee. But all those stories about telling people to take a different road, saving them in boating accidents, all that – nah, not me. I don’t matter enough for that.
In February of 2002, I was on a rural road in upstate New York. It had been warm, then cold, and rain had changed to a light snow overnight. Suddenly, my tires hit a patch of black ice under snow. My car swerved toward a stand of trees. I wrenched the wheel. Too hard – I spun in the other direction, clipping a pine tree, knocking down a telephone pole. I felt the car do a rollover, and found myself hanging, upside down, with electrical wires over the car.
I wasn’t even wearing a seat belt.
Looking back, I realize that angels had the wheel from the first skid. They had to – because at no time did I fear what was happening. It felt like slow motion, very clear. I had absolutely no fear of injury or death; it was as if I knew that it wasn’t my time and I was being taken care of.
I eased myself out of the car. Within half an hour I had flagged someone down, who called an ambulance. I was immediately strapped to a backboard like I’d broken every bone in my body, though I protested I was fine. I remember the EMT checking my pulse and blood pressure and saying, “You’re the cool one. 120/80 and a slow and regular pulse.”
I had a couple of small bruises on my shoulders. My back was wrenched and I was in pain for a few days. But for a woman in a flipped car with no seat belt? Nothing short of miraculous. Especially when I saw my car at the towtruck’s garage. It was smashed to bits everywhere but where I had been sitting. It was as if there was a protective shell in that one place.
Three gifts of spirit – when I was a doubting Thomasina, a lost lamb, and now in a life-threatening situation. Inexplicable, loving hands had been there in every single occurrence. How could I possibly doubt the presence of Angels any more?
I couldn’t. And that day, I stopped trying.
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It’s now almost a decade since that last encounter. My intuitive work has blossomed into a full time career. I read for clients all over the world, and whether I’m channeling, healing or doing intuitive counseling I’m still as practical as I know how to be with them.
But I’m finding there is nothing more practical than an angel when God wants to get a point across. And when I’m in a stuck place, I hold out my hand and wait for that warm touch and the rustle of a wing in my ear. It never fails.
