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Close encounters of the angelic kind

 

Last updated 8/7/2008 at Noon



So… there I was planted on the couch at 3 a.m., tortured by another sleepless night. Eight months a widow, I was searching scriptures for this God who could rob me of my wonderful husband yet dazzle me in the process. Bewildered and lost, I was tailing the Great I am like the paparazzi.

In my search, I became enthralled with those heavenly beings that had access to God – his angels. After reading many accounts of these mystical creatures, I decided to become a little more familiar with my guardian angel.

Talking to the end of the couch, as if this life-long feathered friend were really sitting there, I said, “So… you’re my guardian angel…hum… do you mind if I call you Bob?” Of course, there was no reply but I continued on anyway.

“You know, Bob, I really want to apologize for all the times you saw me screw up.” Still hearing nothing, I continued on. “I really miss my husband, sometimes I feel as if my heart is literally going to shrivel up inside me it hurts so much. I understand I can send you on missions. Would you mind taking a little jaunt to heaven and tell Terry how much I miss him?”

All of a sudden drowsiness fell upon me like Dorothy in “The Wizard of Oz.” As soon as I closed my eyes it was a bright daytime. Wandering outside, I saw my husband back his truck down the driveway, jump out exuberantly, as healthy as the day I met him. Instantly, he grabbed me by the hand and walked me towards the car he had bought me a few weeks before his passing.

“So, Love… how do you like the car?” he asked in his Aussie accent.

“Well, you kind of ruined it by dying. By the way, do you know you’re dead?” I asked him, puzzled by the whole scene. He smiled and asked about our son, Chris. It was then that I caught sight of his eyes. Like a kaleidoscope, spectacular colors I had never seen before were twirling around and shooting out of them like the Fourth of July.

“What did they do to your eyes?” I exclaimed.

He provided no answer, just a dazzling smile with eyes that projected the beauty he couldn’t contain. I couldn’t help but ask him what it was like there. Once again, an award-winning smile and he said nothing.

“You can’t tell me, can you?” I questioned, deeply peering into those mystical peepers.

He smiled again and like an old-time movie everything began to fade until all I could see where those blazing eyes and a woman’s voice stating three times: “Heaven and Earth are the same, Marcy… they’re the same.”

I woke up suddenly on the couch alone in the dark still feeling the imprint of my husband’s hand in mine. Could it have been just a dream? Perhaps, but that doesn’t explain the heavenly hues shooting from Terry’s eyes. Maybe, just maybe, besides comforting me, this was meant to touch someone who is suffering loss or approaching heaven themselves, to help them hold on to their faith because in times like these faith truly matters.

 

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