This little ministry has connected me with new friends and old friends. I have a sweet new friend that lives in South Africa (I’m in Texas) that I “talk” to every week now. Then I have some friends that I have reconnected with that have been right down the street from me this whole time. My friend that I have known since elementary school agreed to write for W3. This is her story, not mine. These are her amazing words, not mine. The fact that God put us back in each others lives has been on of my greatest blessings. Enjoy. I should warn you that you are probably going to need a tissue.
I have always believed in angels. They are mentioned many times in the Scriptures and we are taught that they are spiritual beings created by God to serve him. They are sent to watch over us, guard and protect us from any damage, and to do battle with other spiritual beings on our behalf. Angels deliver God’s messages to mankind. They even had the joy to announce the birth of Jesus. That is pretty special, if you ask me. There have been many accounts of people seeing angels; however, I am not lucky enough, I guess. What an honor to see them. My daughter, now three, was blessed with such an experience. She not only saw one angel, but six. Last June, my father was put in hospice care. My father had been struggling with various forms cancer for over fifteen years and he never lost his faith through this long journey and endured his suffering with patience and love. He offered his suffering to God. I don’t believe I ever heard him complain. I don’t know if I could endure that suffering without questioning God and asking him why I needed to suffer. His last bout with cancer was an aggressive form of cancer called Squamous Cell Carcinoma. The tumors had lodged themselves around his carotid artery and jugular vein in his neck. The radiation treatments took his hair, caused skin lesions, ruined his teeth and basically broke his already battered body. Finally, pneumonia reared its ugly head and that was it. We were faced with the decision of placing him in hospice care. My mom asked us to come into town because we knew time was limited. When we arrived in San Antonio, we went directly to the hospice unit. I can’t even begin to tell you how hard it was to walk into that room knowing that my dad would never leave there. My dad’s body was a skeleton of his former self. He could not open his eyes, his mouth was open slightly, and his only form of communication was groaning and occasionally muttering my mom’s name. I held his hand, stroked his almost bald head (until my mom said he hated that), and talked to him. I told him how much I loved him, that I hated to see him suffer and if he wanted to go, it was ok. My daughter was so excited to see her pops and never questioned why he was not responding, why he was in a hospital bed, and why he never opened his eyes or squeezed her hands when she held his. Friday night passed and Saturday arrived and dad was still with us. He would take a few deep breaths and then stop breathing for almost a minute and then gasp for air. What a horrible sound it was. My daughter spent all day happily playing in the hospice room. She ran, she played and giggled as if she was entertaining other kids or playing with imaginary friends. Finally around 5:00pm, my mom asked us to leave to let her stay with dad alone for the night. We consented, knowing that if something changed, she would call us immediately. I went to hold his hand and talk to him and his breathing changed. I motioned to my mom and husband to come over. He was slipping away. His breathing was becoming infrequent and inconsistent. My daughter, then two, was sitting on the other side of the room, on the sofa. She exclaimed, as we were crowded around my dad, “mommy, mommy there are people here in robes”. Of course no one was there, that we saw. I forget the exact words of what I asked her, but I remember asking her how many people were with us and what they wanted. Her response was simple; she began to count the number of angels and stopped at six. She then told us that they were here to take Pops to Jesus. Shortly after her angel sighting, my dad took his last peaceful breath and left on the wings of those angels. What an awesome escort to Jesus. My dad, on the wings of six angels, was taken to our Savior. I can only hope for that awesome of an escort. My mom then crawled into bed with my dad, after he died, and rocked his body. We all cried; however, allowing us to experience what my daughter witnessed was God’s was of providing comfort. God allowed her to see those angels and to provide us comfort knowing that God is in control. I have been asked by skeptics, why do we need angels. In truth, I don’t honestly know. God can deal with us in any way that it pleases Him to do so. He can speak with us directly, in a burning bush, in dreams, visions and through the Scripture. Yet, He also employs angels. The Scriptures say angels were created for His pleasure. Perhaps it is as simple as that. It pleases God to send the supernatural beings we call “angels” to minister to us, His children. Thank You God for your comfort in allowing my daughter to see those angels during the death of my dad. Thank you for her childlike innocence. In Matthew 18:10, Jesus Christ tells his disciples: “See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven.” My daughter saw angels; my daughter saw His face through those angels. How special is that? I pray she always keeps that childlike faith and that I constantly aim to embrace that childlike faith.