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MAR/APR 2016


page 48

Twice the Love from Heaven above!

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down to earth
readers will remember
a series of articles from the 2000s that unearthed
aspects of our world that hold an unexpected angelic
dimension. Some of these subjectsheaven, love,
even butterflieswere naturals. But the connection
between angels and the honeybee? Snowflakes or
seashells? A rose?
The writer of these essays was Ptolemy Tompkins,
an editor here for 10 years. His quirky and surprising
pieces made for great cover illustrations. Like The
Birds of Christmas cover from Nov/Dec 2003. Before
we commissioned art, I asked Ptolemy to consider writing an
appropriate piece, but after a little research he came to my office with
bad news. There really arent any birds of Christmas.
When I get an idea in my head it tends to stick. Surely, if he
gave his imagination a little more time, Ptolemy could find a way
to tell Angels readers something about winter birds that they
might not have considered before. The next day, he was back in my
office. Okay, he said. I think Ive got something.
Writing books eventually stole Ptolemy away from us. Well, not
completely. In December, with blessings from the birds of
Christmas, Ptolemy and I were married. His latest book is called
Proof of Angels (with a foreword by yours truly). Ptolemy
considers the book his ultimate Angels story, his most convincing.
The quality that served him best while he was working in our
offices was that he believed 100 percent in what he was writing about.
You want that in an Angels editora genuine passion for the subject.
Its not a bad quality to have in a husband either.




Order your copy of Proof of Angels at shopguideposts.org/proofofangels.


6 California Calls

10 Welcome Home

16 My Heavenly Seat Belt


18 The Ring

22 A Widows Prayer

26 Vision in the O.R.


30 Divine Homeowners

34 23 Years Later...

38 Alleluia!

48 The Highest Branch


54 Angels in Bloom
60 Curious Encounter
Page 54






Just for You

The Best Angel Stories 2016
is available now! Order your copy
at angelsonearth.org/best
angels2016 and read an exclusive
preview online while you wait
for delivery.

Spring Ahead
Dont have the time to go on a
nature walk? Photographer Judy
Royal Glenns slide show will bring
the wonders of Gods creation
right to you at angelsonearth.org/
natureslideshow. The Lord
lets me see him through his world,
Judy says. Shes glad to share
that world with us.

Easter Illuminated
Page 65

Get to know the angels of Easter

and celebrate the holiday with
our popular video series at




california calls
I risked everything and followed my heart to L.A.
orange envelope on my windshield was painfully bright in
the early morning sunlight.
I cant afford to pay rent, I thought.
How am I supposed to cover this?
I was 22 years old, just out of
college. With big dreams and my
fashion degree, I followed my heart
3,000 miles west to Los Angeles,
a world away from my hometown in
New Jersey. I knew my mom would
approve. Shed raised me to pursue my
dreams. Live your life, Bec, she
always said. Live it fiercely.
That was easier to do when I knew
she had my back, but Mom died when
I was 17. I thought of her every time
I presented an original line of clothing
to my professors, or added a new
design to my portfolio. I rarely talked
about her to my friendsthey
couldnt really understand what it was
like to lose a parent, especially a
mom, at our age. But she was always
alive for me in the back of my mind.
I could almost hear her cheering for
me at my college graduation, when


I won an award for my senior thesis.

Mom would have called that a sign of
good things to come.
I plucked the parking ticket off my
windshield and got in my car. So
whats this a sign of? I wondered. It
seems Id left my car on a side street
I shouldnt have parked on overnight.
How could I have been so foolish?
Seventy dollars gone, just like that.
Six hours of sewing down the
drain. Dinnerfor a week! All gone
because of one stupid mistake.
Maybe this dream is a mistake. I
headed to work, not one mile over the
speed limit for fear of another ticket.
Why had I thought I could make it in
a strange city alone? I couldnt park
my car without getting into trouble.
At first my risky move looked
like it would pay off. I found a parttime job with a start-up company
right in downtown Los Angeles,
where I sewed and designed childrens
clothing. No way could I afford
L.A. rents, so I crashed on my friends
couch, scrimping and saving
wherever I could. Hardly an ideal




life, but it was only

and pressed the button
temporary. At least
on the automated
thats what I usually
machine. The screen
told myself. But I
lit up: Insert day pass
couldnt stay on my
or $40.
Rebecca looks out over
friends couch forever.
What?! The $8
Brooklyn on a recent visit.
Id been working as
price mustve been an
hard as I could, hoping to turn
early bird specialand I wasnt early
my part-time position into full-time
enough. I slammed my fists on the
work, searching all the while for
steering wheel. I got the message! I
supplemental income. No matter
couldnt afford to keep dreaming.
how many hours I put in, I
Literally could not afford it.
couldnt seem to find my foothold.
I turned to check behind me before
When Mom was alive, she always
I backed out of the garage. As I put
found little ways to smooth my path
the car in reverse, a minivan pulled
and make things happen for me,
beside me on its way out. The driver
like when she supported my plan to
stopped and powered down his
study fashion instead of something
window. Do you want my day pass?
more traditional. Whats sensible
Something came up at home and Id
about studying math or science
hate to see forty bucks go to waste.
if your passion lies elsewhere? she
Had I heard him right? Free
said. With Mom behind me, I felt
parking for the day? Just when
like I could do anything. Now, I had
everything seemed impossible, when
nobody to depend on but myself.
the whole world felt like it was
Was it time to give up? To throw in
against me, someone stepped in to
the towel and go back to New Jersey? smooth my path. Thank you, I said
Would Mom think my California
to the stranger. You have no idea.
dream was too big? L.A. surely didnt
I took the golden ticket from his
care if I stayed or went. There were
outstretched hand. And thats just
enough people here already. Which is what it felt like, a golden ticket sent
why parking was such a problem.
straight from heaven. The road
Id taken my chances in unsure spots
ahead would be full of challenges,
before, but today I was playing it
but I could be sure I wasnt alone.
extra safe. When I saw the garage
Not with Mom up above and me in the
near work advertising 10-hour
City of Angels. Nope, L.A. hadnt
parking for eight bucks, I pulled in
seen the last of me yet.

I felt a presence I just

couldnt explain


I said. I just cant.
My husband, Lewis, had just
pulled into the driveway of our new
home. I stared at it through the car
windshield while the kids napped in
their seats in the back. It hadnt even
been a month since wed bought the
house, but I knew we couldnt stay.
Ever since the day we moved in I felt
as if there was just something...
off about the place. Like there was
a presence in the house, as
though someone was watching me.
I couldnt explain it. And I
definitely didnt expect Lewis to
understand if I tried. How could







The lady in my vision felt like just another part of the house,
like the cozy fireplace or the secret stair
he? Thats why I struggled to keep
it all to myself until now.
Lew sat in silence for a long
moment. Then, to my total surprise,
he nodded. Okay, he said. Lets
fix up the house like we planned, then
well sell it in the spring.
I felt so relieved, but silly too. Lew
didnt even ask me what had changed.
When we bought the house, I was
in love with it. It was 175 years old
and considered a historical site.
Mazelike on the inside, as only old
houses can be, the white clapboard
had plenty of space for our growing
family and a beautiful yard for our
two little boys to play in when they
got older. The place was full of homey
details like the intricate wooden
trim framing the roof, a cozy fireplace
in the back room, and a screened-in
porch that wrapped around half the
house. Wed even discovered a secret
stairway! Of course, fixing up such an
old house would take a lot of work,
but we didnt mind. At least not then.
Now, though, things were
different. Lew often worked late at
his job as an accountant, leaving me
alone with two-year-old Jonathon and
six-month-old Collin. Trouble was, I
didnt feel alone. I was overwhelmed


by the sense that someone had an

eye on me all during the day, but
especially at night. It was so strange.
I just couldnt take it any longer.
How lucky was I to have a husband
who took my feelings seriously?
Thanks, Lew, I said and leaned
over in my seat to give him a kiss. We
unloaded the kids from the car and
headed inside. It would still take all
winter to get the work done on the
house, but I felt better knowing we
were leaving soon. Its just for a
few months, I told myself. Lord, I
know we wont be staying forever.
I took Collin upstairs to the
nursery to change him. When I set
him down, I suddenly felt a rush
of air around me, as though a great
gust had blown in from a window.
But it hadnt come from outsidethe
breeze came from the door behind
me. I turned around and a woman
ran in. Her tawny brown hair was
long and straight and her gentle
face looked pleading.
Please dont leave, she said. I
love having you and the babies here.
Then she turned and left as quietly
as shed come.
I couldnt help itI started to
laugh. Am I going crazy? I thought.

Surely I was. Id let my

imagination get the better of
me. So why wasnt I terrified?
Because I wasnt, and that
didnt make any sense.
Something about the vision
had set me at ease.
Collin giggled on the
changing table. I wish you
could talk, I told him. For
now, this is just between us.
A week later, a few friends
came by to help Lew and
me with the house. Previous
occupants had walled off
the secret stairway we found,
leaving it inaccessible from
the ground floor. We planned
to open it up again.
While our friends finished
taking out the wall, I went
upstairs to the nursery with
Collin. As soon as I laid him in Front door, back door, Lindsys angels guard them all.
his crib, that familiar rush of
air hit me, blowing my hair back. The seemed off anymore. Still, I kept
same woman appeared in the
her sudden appearances to myself.
doorway. She looked just as she did
No reason to share her. Lew knew all
before, in a simple gray dress.
he needed to know, I figured.
I just love what youve done with
By the next week, the stairwell
the house! she said. And with that,
had been reopened and the old wall
she was gone.
cleared away. The next big project
This time, I was no more surprised was the floors. A team of
by her visit than if she had been a
professionals trooped into the house.
dear friend. She felt like just another
Let me know if you need anything,
part of the house, like the cozy
I called to them from the kitchen the
fireplace or the secret stair. Nothing
morning they arrived. Jonathon was


down for a nap and little Collin

bounced around in his walker by my
feet while I did the dishes.
The baby! It was the womans
voice. I recognized it right away. But
this time her tone was different.
Urgent, and commanding. The baby,
hes going to fall!
I spun around. Collin had bounced
his way over to the basement door.
One of the workers had left it ajar, and
Collin teetered on the edge, about
to tumble headfirst down the steps.
I scooped him up out of the walker,
just in time.

In my heart, I knew it was more

than simple mothers intuition that
had alerted me to danger. The most
amazing thing happened today, I
told Lew at dinner.
After that incident, I didnt see
or hear from the woman again. But I
knew she was among us, keeping
watch over my family. We never
moved out. How could we? After all,
our old house had everything we
could ever want: the beautiful wood
trim, wrap-around porch, the cozy
fireplace, and its very own angel. We
just might stay forever.

Lindsys historical house might seem

unique, but its only one of many in
the neighborhood. The area, known as the
Middlebush Village Historic District, is
home to a total of 37 designated historic
buildings, dating from 1920s all the
way back to the late 1700s. A huge variety
of architectural styles appeared in America
in those periods, and the historic district
contains almost all of them: Greek Revival,
Gothic Revival, Queen Anne, Colonial
Revival, Craftsman, Italianate and Federal. One of the most prominent sites
in the district is Lindsys own Middlebush Reformed Church. The original
church was constructed in 1835, but burned down after being struck by
lightning. Rebuilt in 1919 with the help of the community, this charming stone
building features elements from both the Craftsman and Gothic Revival
styles. But its the cheery front door that gives the church its name around
town. Everyone knows it as the church with the red door, Lindsy says.





he makes winds his messengers

PSALM 104:4


HAT WAS THAT ? I looked up from my Bible and listened

closely. I was sure Id heard something, like a series of notes. I
glanced at my mug of morning coffee sitting on the dining room
table, but it offered no clue. Neither did the wall clock blinking
4:45, my quiet time.
I stood up and stared out at the predawn sky through the
window behind me. A slight breeze rustled the leaves of a yaupon
holly in my backyard, but the
metal tubes of the wind chime
hanging from the tree were
motionless. Steve had bought
me that wind chime for
our anniversary, just months
before he died. Its deep
golden tones reminded me
of an angels harp.
I looked back at the clock.
Steve would have been
backing his pickup out of the
driveway right about now,
something I always looked
forward to, his headlights
flashing three times through
the dark as I watched him
pull away. Three flashes for three words: I love you. Three hand
squeezes, three kisses on my hand, three hearts by his name when
he signed my cardsSteve never missed a chance to say what
Id never hear him say again.
I sighed and returned to my Bible. Then I heard it. Three
distinct tones from the wind chime. There was a pause. Then
again: One. Two. Three. I. Love. You.






Despite the world

spinning around me, I felt
oddly calm, as if I were
safe in a divine embrace
was supposed
to be relaxing, but just a few
months after Id left my
teaching job I found myself rushing
around. It was our last day at home
before my husband, Larry, and I took
the three-hour trip to our summer
place on Lake Roosevelt. And
summer was certainly in full swing.
Today the temperature hit 100
degrees. But Larry and I had a lot
to take care of before we could
get going. I grabbed the keys to
my Subaru Outback.
You take the truck to run your
last-minute errands, I said. Im
headed to the nursery to get some
plants for the summer house.
I had no trouble spending the




gardening gift certificate from my

former colleagues. When I pulled out
of the nursery my car was filled
with hardy plants that could stand
the blazing summer heat.
I straightened my glasses and
turned up the AC. Ill take the back
road, I thought. Less traffic. Wed
already loaded the beach towels and
chairs into the car, but I was anxious
to finish packing. I took a quick sip
of water and fitted the cup back in the
holder, which was always a little
tricky. When I looked back at the
road I realized I was heading into
the gravel on the shoulder. I whipped
the steering wheel in the opposite
directiontoo far in the opposite
direction, and much too quickly.

I lost all control. The car flipped. I sat

frozen behind the wheel as it rolled.
A strong pair of arms held me tight.
An angels arms? I had time to
wonder as the car rolled a second time,
and a third. Despite the world
spinning around me, I felt oddly calm,
as if I were safe in a divine embrace.
Calm enough to ask aloud, God,
could we please stop rolling?
The car thudded to a halt, landing
right side up on the shoulder of the
road, broken glass from the windows
showering me and crashing to the
ground. The drivers side door had
flown open. My instinct was to
get out as fast as possiblebut I just
couldnt. There was so much love
in the car. I still felt the energy of
the angel who had held me like
a heavenly seat belt. Stay with me
until help comes, I asked.
I had to get out and show myself,
or I might be stranded here all day. I
was about to step onto the pavement
when I glanced down and realized my
shoes had been knocked off my feet
in the tumult. The asphalt would be
hotter than a truck-stop griddle.
Id burn the soles of my feet for sure.
And my glasseswhere were my
I pushed the car door open wider,
careful of the threatening shards
of glass. Maybe I could flag down a
driver from inside. I stuck out my

head tentatively. In the hazy heat

I saw my shoes sitting on the ground,
just inches from where I sat. They
were positioned perfectly, one next to
the other, like a pair of slippers
beside the bed. All I had to do was
slide my feet inside. My glasses were
an arms reach away from the shoes.
The lenses werent even scratched.
I didnt have a cell phone on me,
so I grabbed a beach towel from the
backseat and sat on the side of the
road, hoping someone would drive by.
My arms and legs were bleeding
where pieces of gravel and glass were
embedded. But I felt completely
calm, and very little pain.
It wasnt long before a passerby
called an ambulance. The paramedics
were treating me when Larry ran
up. I drove by and thought, This is
one of the worst wrecks Ive ever
seen. Then I recognized the car.
I didnt know how Larry
recognized itthe car was totaled.
I was taken to a local hospital with
a wound clinic. Every other day for a
week the nurses dug the gravel and
glass from my skin and cleaned my
abrasions. But I had no broken
bones, no concussion. Larry and I
had to postpone our trip, but the
lake house could wait. Whoever had
held me tight during that crash
made sure Larry and I had many
more summers ahead.


the ring
Did 15 years of marriage
mean anything
at all to my husband?

OT AGAIN! There on the

kitchen counter, next to
a stack of junk mail I
was fixing to throw away, was my
husbands wedding ring. Where it was
sure to be lost. Or worse, tossed out
with the trash. I couldnt believe it.



I didnt expect Donny to wear the

ring all the time. He was a mechanic,
and when he was working it was
dangerous to wear anything that
could get caught on an engine part.
But wed agreed on a plan for that:
Donny would always put the ring in
one of three placesthe top of his
tool box, the terra-cotta bowl on the
dresser or the second shelf of his

computer desk. As long as it was

in one of those three places, the ring
wasnt in danger of being lost.
But that January Id been finding
the darn thing all over the house. How
could Donny be so careless? With
his wedding ring of all things? I tried
not to take it personally, but still
Id had that ring custom made, with
three small diamond chips in the
band. It was a beautiful symbol of our
now 15 years of marriage. Did that
not mean anything to Donny?
I picked up the ring to put it in its
placeHold it, I thought. Why
should I be responsible for putting
this ring in its proper place? Picking
up his scattered clothes, books and
car keys I could understand. But his
wedding ring? Enough. Maybe if he
couldnt find it for a while hed finally
learn his lesson.
Sure enough, a couple days later
Donny said, Have you seen my ring?
I cant find it. He looked nervous.
I did my best to hide my
exasperation. The last time I saw

it was on the kitchen counter.

Thats not where I put it last,
Donny said. I put it either on my
toolbox or my computer desk. I could
tell hed looked in all three spots.
Well, I hope it turns up, I said.
I felt justified to see him upset. I
hope it didnt get thrown away. When
Donny and I first got married we
couldnt afford to buy a ring for him.
It meant the world to me when a few
years later I was able to have this one
made. Those three diamonds, in my
mind, signified the past, present and
future. Was this the kind of pettiness
we had to look forward to?
Donny searched the house from
top to bottom over the next few days.
He combed through his toolbox,
checked every shelf and drawer of his
computer desk, went over every
inch of the kitchen. He looked behind
and under his dresser.
I couldnt bear to look at him, his
face filled with sadness.
That ring was the nicest thing
Ive ever owned, he told me one night
after we both went over the house
again. There were tears in his eyes.
That tore the heart right out of me.
I felt so guilty. Id been angry at
Donny because I felt he had taken


the ring, and me, for granted. But I

was the one whod been irresponsible
by not putting the ring in a safe place
when I could.
Dear God, please forgive me for
trying to punish my husband.
Comfort him and help him find that
ring. I imagined an angel secretly
watching over it, keeping it safe until
we found it.
But that seemed a hopeless
fantasy. Wed looked everywhere.
Rings didnt just materialize out
of thin air.
The next day we swept the ground
outside Donnys workshop with a
metal detector. But all we found were
old nuts and bolts. Its just not there,
Donny said. Im sorry. I should
have been more careful.
Its okay, I said. Its just a ring.
We can get another one. We held
each other close, but there was
nothing we could say or do to console
the other. This was not at all what
Id had in mind.
It was months before I could bring
myself to go to a jeweler and see
about getting a replacement. The
price floored me. There was no way
we could afford it.
I tried to make it up to Donny by
being more loving, making his
favorite dishes, not fussing over petty
annoyances. I could tell he was
trying too, telling me he loved me


Donna and Donny found each other again.

more often, doing little chores for

me without me even asking. I was still
sad about the ring, but it seemed
almost as if losing it had brought us
closer together.
That fall, Donny was in his office,
preparing for an out-of-town seminar
he was attending the next day. I was
in the kitchen, cleaning, when I heard
a shout. I found it! Moments later
Donny ran into the kitchen, the ring
in his hand.
I was packing my laptop, the one
I hardly ever use, when I heard a
clink on the floor, he said. I looked
down and there it was. I dont
understand it. I know I looked by the
laptop. A dozen times at least!
He held out the ring. The diamonds
sparkled in the sunlight. Donny
was right. We couldnt understand
ituntil I told him my prayer,
the thought Id had of an angel safeguarding the ring.
Of course. It had been in Gods
care all along. Hed taken care
of it until wed learned to take better
care of one another.

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What if I talked to God like Id talked to Warren?

wide awake. Financial
worries kept me upagain.
My mortgage was two weeks past
due. Late fees would put me even
further behind.
Maybe I should have sold the
house after Warren died, I thought.
Friends had encouraged me to do
it. But I loved the house where my
husband and I had spent our happiest
years. For a while Id managed
with the help of two part-time jobs,
both of them at the church. But in
2015 my hours were reduced due to
budget cuts. Id searched nonstop
since for something else, but so far
Id had no luck. It was no surprise Id
come up short this month.
I closed my eyes, but sleep


wouldnt come. God has taken care

of you up till now, I reminded myself.
He wont abandon you. My eyes
opened again. Oh, Warren, I wish
you were here. Having a husband
by my side to listen to my fears and
knowing he cared about me would
make it easier to face whatever came
next. But I no longer had a husband.
Thy Maker is thine husband, came
the thought.
I knew the words well. They
were from a verse in Isaiah, the same
verse Id relied heavily on since
Warrens death. I whispered part of
it now to myself in the darkness:
For thou shalt not remember the
reproach of thy widowhood any more.
For thy Maker is thine husband;
the Lord of hosts is his name; and thy


redeemer, the holy one of Israel.

cleaning up, Pastor David came
As a widow, Id found comfort in
over to me at my front door. Phyllis,
the idea of God as my husband. What
somebody left this on my desk for
if I talked to God like he was my
you, but I dont know who.
husband, the same way I would have
He handed me a thick brown
talked to Warren? Id never prayed
envelope with my name neatly printed
like that before, but I decided to try.
on the front, probably something
Okay, God, I said, if youre
to do with my church work. I tucked
really my husband, this is your wife
the package under my arm and
talking. Listen, I need
thanked my friends for
money. I need it now. I
all their help.
had to stop and laugh at
I might not have a
myself. That was exactly
husband, I thought
the way I talked to
as they drove away, but
Warren. Straight up,
I have friends I can
just the facts. Especially
count on.
if there was trouble. I
I went back in the house
didnt sugarcoat it. So,
and opened the package.
God, maybe you could
Inside was another
send me an angel.
envelope and a typed note.
Any employer would
How about an angel
We have learned about
be lucky to hire Phyllis.
disguised as a mysteyour need, the note read.
rious stranger? Send him right to my
We hope this will help. There was
door with a check in hand to pay my
no signaturethe sender wanted to
mortgage, courtesy of my heavenly
remain anonymous.
With shaking hands I opened the
My prayer lifted my spirits, at
other envelope. It was full of cash!
least. I still didnt know what I
Enough to pay my mortgage and the
was going to do, but I could finally
late fee for this month, plus a little
leave it to God and get some sleep.
extra. But who? I said. Then I
No mysterious men arrived
realized I already knew. My husband,
at my door over the next few days,
of course. My husband up in heaven
but that weekend I got a visit from
who made all my struggles easier. I
Pastor David and four men from
wished I could throw my arms
the congregation who came by to do
around his neck to say thank you. Just
some yard work. As they were
like I always did with Warren.


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loved us, I am with you always, I am the light of the
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removable, adjustable shoulder strap offer the versatility
of a handbag or a crossbody bag. Plus, the bag has twoway gold-toned zipper pullersone engraved with the
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2016 The Bradford Exchange 01-21552-001-DIM1


Mrs. Mr. Ms.
Name (Please Print Clearly)

9345 Milw aukee Avenue Niles, IL 60714-1393

YES. Please reserve the Fashionable Inspiration

Clamshell Handbag for me as described in this
Please Respond Promptly



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Dont take your eyes off mine, the angel said




LL SIX OF my children
had been born naturally, in
the comfort of our home.
I knew the natural ways to
induce laborwalking, evening
primrose oil, a bowl of pineapple
chunks, a warm bath. I was a pro
at breathing rhythms and the most
comfortable delivery position. By
child number seven, I knew what
I was doing. But after 35 hours of
labor, my home-birth doctor sent
me on to the hospital.
You need advanced medical
attention, he said. Your labor isnt
progressing. I didnt know if I
was more disappointed or scared.
My husband, Michael, helped
me to our old blue Mercedes van.
Wed already made arrangements
to deliver our baby at the hospital in
Jackson Hole, Wyoming, if I had
any complications. The eight-mile
drive from our home in Teton Village
should have been easy. But a blizzard
was underway. As we inched down
the winding Rocky Mountain road,
the snowfall was so heavy we could
hardly see. I had to roll my window
down to help navigate just so we
wouldnt slide into a ditch. Meanwhile
my contractions were lengthening,
the pain more intense.
We pulled up at the hospital
entrance just as I didnt think I could
sit in that passenger seat any longer.

The staff escorted me to a bed and

prepped me for delivery. The whole
atmosphere was foreign to me, so
sterile and severe. My other births
were warm, loving, comfortable.
Soothing herbal essential oils burned
while Michael held my hand and
I knew when the time was right to
push. I felt like I was in charge.
Now I anxiously watched the white
uniforms moving around and jumped
when a nurse ran a cold stethoscope
along my belly. Every 30 minutes
I was given a shot to progress labor.
I could feel the babys head
pressing on my pelvis. Try to relax,
I told myself. I was exhausted.
Where to turn to for strength? Dear
God, Im out of my element. Are
you here? Like you are in our home?
One of the senior doctors
approached. I could tell he didnt
have good news. Youll need a
C-section, he said. We cant wait
any longer.
There was no time for questions.
Nurses rushed me into the operating
room. I lay there, helpless. I gripped
the sides of the metal bed rail. The
anesthesiologist leaned over me
and put a mask on my face. I blinked
slowly, then closed my eyes.
When I opened them again I was
looking down. Below me was a
panoramic view of the operating
room. There was an awful lot of


Her youngest child grew up, but Charlene

appears to be ageless.

commotionbeeping machines,
clanking metal tools, frantic activity.
A woman lay unconscious on the
table. She was bleeding badly. Who is
this woman? I wondered. What
happened to her?
You dont need to see this.
A figure moved in front of me,
filling my vision. An angelthe most
beautiful of angels, dressed in
periwinkle garments with pearlescent
wings and sea-blue eyes that held
me in their gaze.
Dont take your eyes off of mine.

I didnt blink. I stared deep into

those eyes and let peace wash over
me like a wave. Then suddenly
everything went dark.
I opened my eyes againwhite
ceiling, bright light Of course, that
was me in the hospital bed. I looked
around for the angel, but only saw the
medical personnel that had gathered
in my room.
Wheres my baby? I asked. Did
my baby survive?
Michael stepped toward me holding
a bundle. Meet Isaac Michael, he
said. Our healthy baby boy.
I took him in my arms while Michael
explained what had happened. When
the doctor made the incision for the
C-section, he severed an artery. You
were dying right there on the table,
Charlene, Michael said. It took four
blood transfusions to save you.
In fact, I saw what it took to
save me. And I havent turned my
eyes away since.

After living in Wyoming, the Kaufman family spent 10 years in the Pacific
Northwest enjoying the lush greenery and winter skiing. But then, in 2000,
they moved to Laguna Beach, and the family business moved with them.
We opened a little rock and gem shop, Charlene explains, Gem Mountain
Studios. We facet gemstones and make jewelry. With seven children,
Michael and Charlene always had plenty of help. Two years ago the business
expanded into Beverly Hills. Our baby, Isaac Michael, designs jewelry
there now, shes proud to report. Hes also the store manager.



Shipment Two
King Gaspar &
King Balthazar

Shipment One
Holy Family &
Illuminated Crche

2014 Thomas Kinkade.

Hawthorne 14-00345-001-DIM12014

 Not available in any store!

 Illuminated Crche,
2 signature illuminating
lanterns, over 60 lights
and fully sculpted, handpainted figurines!
 Accented in elegant
22-karat gold
 Garland impressively
sized at approximately 4
feet long!





by Thomas Kinkade. I need SEND NO MONEY NOW. I will be

billed the first of three easy payments of $16.66* for Shipment One,
the Holy Family & Illuminated Crche before they are shipped. Address
Subsequent sculptureseach billed separately at the same attractive pricewill be sent about every other month. I can cancel at any City
time and my satisfaction is assured with your best-in-the-business
365-day guarantee.
* Plus $8.99 shipping and service. All sales are subject to acceptance and product availability. Please allow 4-6 weeks for delivery.

Mrs. Mr. Ms.




Apt. No.


Limited Time OfferPlease Respond Promptly


Yes! Please reserve one Illuminated Nativity Garland inspired


Softly illuminated crche and lanterns and fully sculpted figurines all hand-painted!

Shipment Three
Angel of Light &
King Melchoir

T he first-ever Illuminated Nativity Garland Collection

inspired by T homas Kinkade!

Brighten your holidays with


Id have to race through

my chores so I wouldnt
miss that game



OR WEEKS my wife and I had

looked forward to our fall
weekend getaway. But I had a
list as long as my arm of things
I needed to do before we left in the
morning. Sooner, actually. I was
determined to finish up before the
football game that afternoon. Hey, at
least I had my priorities straight!


First came the yard work. Linda

and I cut two big bags of rhubarb
from the garden. Now would you
mind putting it all in the basement
freezer, please? she asked so
sweetly, how could I refuse?
Mindful of the time I had before
kickoff, I tucked the bags under
one arm and headed down to the
basement. Lord, help me get in front
of that TV in time. I could hear the
low hum of the appliance over by the
wall. I barely remembered what
we had stored inside. I pulled open
the door. A large plastic container
of buckwheat flour sat on the center
shelf. The other shelves were full.
Space would be tight, but I could make
it work. Ill just shove the flour to
the side, and thenflour everywhere!
In my impatience, Id knocked the
heavy container right over. Not just
a little powder I could brush away.
It was an explosion!
Buckwheat flour settled inside
the freezer and covered the basement
floor. With kickoff looming, this
was a major disaster. A little help from
above, thats all Id asked. Look where
it had gotten me.
I went up and grabbed the ShopVac from the garage. Then I stomped
back down to the basement. The
outlet behind the freezer had two
socketsone for the freezer plug,
and the other for an extension

cord to power a dehumidifier.

I pulled the dehumidifier plug
out of the extension cord, reached
for the Shop-Vac plug and paused.
I raised my head, sniffed at the
air and picked up a faint but acrid
whiff. Burning rubber.
Time seemed to slow and
slowed me down right along with it.
Carefully I examined the end of
the extension cord now warm in my
hand. It was cracked, bloated and
beginning to melta house fire just
waiting to happen. What if it had
happened while my wife and I were
away? The house could have burned
to the ground.
Back to my chores. I could
watch the highlights from the game
later, and thanks to some heavenly
intervention I would have a home to
watch football in all season.

Stephen is a handy guy to have around.



only human?

ARRY handled the doctors prognosis the same way

he handled any crisis. He listened, took mental notes, remained
calm and collected. Meanwhile, I was about to explode. My
husband had just been told that he was going to lose his right
eye. How could he simply accept his fate?
A scream crept up my throat. I have to go
get something from the car, I muttered,
edging toward the door.
I needed a quiet place to think. I took the
elevator down to the first floor and ducked
into the hospital chapel. Larrys eyesight had
always been poor, ever since childhood.
Recently, though, his right eye had become
infected and his cornea ruptured. There
was nothing the doctors could do. His eye would
have to be surgically removed.
How on earth would Larry manage? What
if he went completely blind? Where are you in
all this, God? I asked. Please tell me everything will be all right.
No words came, no feeling of comfort or peace. What did I
expect? Back at the elevator, I pushed the up button. The door
opened immediately. Just a minute, please, a man called after
me. I held the door while he hurried inside. Could you push four
for me? he asked. Im blind.
How ironic, I thought. I pressed the button. Here you are, I
said. The man turned to face me.
You know, I lost my vision years ago, he said. But there are
far worse things in life than being blind. The doors slid open. The
man thanked me and left. I hurried back to Larrys room. I had
what I needed. Now Larry needed me.





My Daughter,
You Are More Loved
han You Can Imagine


with 43 genuine
Swarovski crystals!

Shown actual size

of approximately 6.5" high

Like a butterly, a young girl all too

quickly becomes a beautiful young woman.
But a mothers love remains unchanged.
Now, Lena Liu honors that ever-blooming
bond with her acclaimed loral artistry in a
Hamilton exclusive.

Tenderly crafted and painted by hand.

My Daughter, You Are More Loved Than
You Can Imagine is fully handcrafted, from
the grand wings of this devoted mother/

daughter duo to the delicate ones of their

butterly friend. Plus, dozens of Swarovski
crystals throughout sparkle as bright as the
love you have for your daughter!
Limited to 95 casting days, this handnumbered edition is available for three
installments of $26.66*, with only your first
payment due prior to shipment. Certificate
of Authenticity included. Satisfaction
guaranteed or your money back. Mail the
attached coupon to reserve yours now!
2016 HC. All Rights Reserved. Lena Liu 2016



9204 Center For The Arts Drive, Niles, Illinois 60714-1300


 YES! Please accept my order for My
Daughter, You Are More Loved Than
You Can Imagine as described in this
*Add a total of $13.00 for shipping and service. Deliveries to FL and
IL will be billed appropriate sales tax. All orders are subject to product
availability and credit approval. Allow 8 to 10 weeks after initial payment
for shipment.

(Please print clearly.)

City____________________State_____ Zip_______



years later...
Id been dreaming of
the perfect set of china for so long
twisting patterns
of glossy orange
and green, outlined
in metallic gold.
Intricate purple,
yellow and red
flowers surrounded
by bursts of emerald green leaves.
My two china setsthe Chas Field
Haviland Chantoung Id inherited
from my mother, and the Spode
Peplow that had been gifts from
our wedding guestswere both
stunning. I loved bringing them out
on special occasions. What beautiful
set tables they made. But they
were too valuable, and too delicate,
for everyday use.



I closed the cabinet that held my

fancy china and took out breakfast
plates from the cupboard. One
sunny yellow, the other sky blue.
A matched set of everyday china
was something that had been out of
my reach for the past 23 years.
It just never seemed to be in the
budget. So instead of pining for
what I couldnt have, Id gotten
creative. I went to thrift stores and
estate sales, picking out a pair of
plates here, a couple bowls there.
Its too hard to decide on one
pattern I like best anyway, Id
almost convinced my husband, John,
one day. So why not mix and not
match? He just laughed.
I looked at the mismatched plates

in my hands now. John

had died a few years ago, but
every once in a while I still
grabbed two dishes simply
out of habit.
John knew me too well to
think I wouldnt have loved
to serve our breakfast, lunch and
dinner on dishes that all went
together. Surely he figured I had
a dream set in mind. And I dida
full place setting for 12, every piece
covered in heaps of colorful flowers.
But John also knew I was happy
to make due with my mixed pieces.
Theres nothing wrong with
being thrifty, I thought as I chose
the yellow plate and put the blue
one back. I smiled, thinking of how
much John enjoyed my cooking.
Plates made of pure gold wouldnt
do this recipe justice! he said of
his favorites.
I finished breakfast, then got
ready for a charity event at a
local farm. Susan, an old friend,
picked me up and we went together.
Theres a great flea market down
the road from here, she said
afterward. Mind if we stop by on
the way back?
Not at all! It was a beautiful
day, and I was well practiced
at uncovering great finds at flea
markets. Maybe Id find a nice
plate or two to replace some of

my chipped ones.
At the market, Susan
was a woman on a mission.
She combed carefully
through each booth in search
of Roman shades. I left her
to it and strolled through the
tables, admiring the different
goods for sale, looking for a nice
bargain. Widowhood had only
sharpened my eagle eye. John
would have been proud.
I wandered into a small booth
and spotted a beautiful china
tureen up on a shelf. Green vines
spread across its delicate white
surface and tangled together with
tiny yellow blooms. Larger
blossoms of pink, blue and lavender
flowered at the tips of each vine.
How lovely, I breathed,
standing on my toes to examine
the piece. It was just the sort of
pattern Id always imagined having
for my everyday set. Beside the
tureen was a stack of plates. Behind
those, teacups with saucers.
Serving bowls, a butter
dish, even salt and
pepper shakers! I
marveled at the
display before
plucking one of the
dinner plates off
the shelf.
Wouldnt this cheer


up a table! I thought.
How much for the
plate? I asked the
owner of the booth,
holding it up.
Twenty, he said. I
moved to put it back. That was
far too much for one plate.
For the whole set, he added.
Youre joking!
Maam, I have been trying
to off-load that set of china
for ages. You would be doing
me a huge favor.
For a moment, I was
speechless. Then, Ill take it!
The booth owner rounded up
some cardboard boxes. It took
four in total to fit everything
the full 12-piece set, plus the
tureen, a serving platter I hadnt

noticed, and all the

other pieces Id
admired. Susan was
happy to help me haul
it all inside when she
dropped me off at home.
While my new dishes were
in the dishwasher, I carefully took
down my mismatched plates
from the cupboard shelf to make
room for my dream set. The
colorful flowers truly sparkled
on display.
Out of curiosity, I looked
up my new dishes online, Nikko
Magenta. The cost for just a
single plate of the discontinued
pattern was $46. Too much
for my budget, but lucky for me,
angels are bargain hunters too.
John would have been proud.

Anne Morrison doesnt just have an eye for
fine chinashe also paints. When it arrived
in our mailbox, her story was accompanied
by charming watercolor renditions of her
everyday china. I just thought itd add a
personal touch! she says of her submission.
How could we not include them? Anne
isnt the only artist in the family, either. Her
aunt, Clyde Connell, was a famous sculptor,
known for her abstract impressionist pieces.
I tried my hand at sculpting too, Anne says. But watercolors
ended up being my passion.


The Sermon on
the Mount

Aglow with the

Inner Light of His Love
Portraying Christs triumphant sermon
with a breathtaking degree of handcrafted, hand-painted detail, The
Sermon on the Mount Illuminated
Sculpture draws us close in faith. A
magnificent three-dimensional edition,
it lights up with a flip of the switch,
giving true and radiant meaning to
the phrase, Light of the World. Words
from The Lords Prayer adorn the
flower-strewn mount, bringing daily
inspiration to your life.

Shown much
smaller than
actual size of
9 inches high

Exceptional value;
satisfaction guaranteed
Order now at $59.99*, payable
in three installments of $19.99
each, the first due before shipment.
Your purchase is backed by our
unconditional, 365-day money-back
guarantee so theres no risk. Send no
money now, but dont wait! Just mail
the Reservation Application today.


2016 Thomas Kinkade 2016 BGE 01-22535-001-DIM1


Mrs. Mr. Ms.

Name (Please Print Clearly)

9345 Milw aukee Avenue Niles, IL 60714-1393

YES. Please reserve The Sermon on the Mount

Illuminated Sculpture for me as described in this
Limit: one per order.

Please Respond Promptly



Email (optional)


*Plus $9.99 shipping and service. Limited-edition presentation restricted to 295 casting days. Please allow 4-8 weeks after initial payment for
shipment. Sales subject to product availability and order acceptance.

An Easter to remember

idyllic time for me,

growing up in Germany before
the war, but now I doubted Id ever
celebrate another Easter. I was
15 years old by the time the war ended
and the Germany of my childhood
felt like a dream. I lost the country I
knew, and Id lost my mother, who
died of lymphoma. How could so much
be taken from me?
One night, unable to sleep, I
thought back on happier times. Like
Easter, 1939, six months before
Hitler invaded Poland. I was 10 years
old. My mother and I spent Holy
Week at my grandmothers farm in
the Rhine Valley. Driving rains
rattled the windows of her 300-yearold farmhouse, but inside we were
warm and happy. Omi baked her
famous Kreppel pastries and




served heisse Schokoladehot

chocolate. My aunts and uncles
talked about all the fun theyd had at
the masked balls before Lent.
When will I be old enough to wear
a costume and dance? I asked
my mother. Children were included
in daytime celebrations only. In
rural areas like the Rhine Valley,
processions of masked merrymakers
snaked through the streets on
the weekend before Ash Wednesday.
The air was rich with the sounds
of singing, laughing and harmonica
playing, and sweet with the smell
of hot pastries for sale.
Youll be old enough soon, Mama
said. Be patient, Rosekind. Youve
got plenty of time.
But we didnt have time, I thought,
lying in my bed and remembering. We

just didnt know it then. Our time

was already up.
On Good Friday, thunderstorms
rumbled across the farmland as we
walked to the village church, where
the congregation prayed the Stations
of the Cross.
Arent they going to play the
organ? I whispered to Mama.
No music today, Rosekind, she
said. Today we remember how Jesus
suffered for us. On the altar the
door to the tabernacle was wide open.
Usually the Eucharist was kept
inside, but on this day it was empty.
The holy water fountains were dry
today too, and all the statues covered
in purple cloth. I looked at the
tabernacle as the priest read from
the Gospel of John. They have
taken away my Lord, and I do not
know where they have laid him.
Surely John felt alone. But Jesus
returned to him for Easter. No
wonder it was such a special holiday.
Was a special holiday, I thought
staring up at my bedroom ceiling.
Sometimes it felt like that year was
the last Easter I would ever have.
So much had changed. So much had
disappeared. Would Easter ever
really feel like Easter again?
I planned to go to America where
I could stay with relatives who had
already left Germany like so many
others. I could start a new life. Leave


Rosemarie, age 10, with her mother, soon

before the start of the Second World War.

behind the frightening memories

of war-torn Germany. Hold on to the
good memories, I told myself. Like
that last Easter Sunday with Mama.
By Saturday morning the
thunderstorms at Omis farm had
slowed to a drizzle. Mama and I
said good-bye and took a bus to the
small town of Lorch. From there
we got on a train that would take us
along the Rhine to Cologne, where we
would spend the holiday with some
of Mamas friends. I sat at the window
and watched the vineyards and

ancient stone fortifications speed

past. Look, Mama, a castle! I said
whenever one came into view. Each
looked like the setting for a fairy tale.
I shuddered to think what had
become of those castles now. Cologne
itself was almost unrecognizable
after hundreds of air raids. But on
that Easter morning, my last before
the war, the city was stunningly
beautiful. I jumped out of bed and
went into the garden, where the
grown-ups were already gathered
with their Kaffee and Osterbrot, a
special bread for Easter. Guten
Morgen, Frohe Ostern! I said.
Good morning, happy Easter!
Rosekind, come and have some
Osterbrot, said Mama, but I wanted
to find my Easter basket first.
I surveyed the garden and there it
was, peeking out from behind the
neatly trimmed hedge, a big basket
filled with colorful eggs, marzipan
candy and a huge chocolate bunny.
Eat your bread quickly, Mama
said. Then its time to put on your
Easter outfit!
We strolled the cobblestone
streets to the trolley that took us to
Cologne Cathedral. I could hear
the grand bells ringing long before
we got there, their tolls mingling
with those of church bells on both sides
of the Rhine in a concert of bells.
Mama, I said, Onkel Jakob told

me that the cathedral is almost

seven hundred years old, I said. It
was hard to imagine anything
standing that long! And suddenly
there it was before us. What a
glorious Easter Day, said Mama and
kissed me on the top of my head.
Organ music poured out of the open
door as we climbed the cathedral
steps. I couldnt wait to see what it
looked like inside, but when we
finally got there it was too crowded
to see anything.
I looked up, tipping my head back
all the way, hoping to get a breath of
air. What I saw filled me with wonder.
The vaulted ceiling seemed miles
away, as if it reached all the way to
heaven. I could easily imagine angels
flying around up there in the spires.
The pipe organ broke into a
crescendo. The voices in the choir
rose with it, singing, Alleluia!
Alleluia! Alleluia! A ray of sunlight
burst through the stained glass
window, reflecting millions of
multicolored prisms. It was so
beautiful I shivered and reached
for Mamas hand. She gave it a
squeeze. She was looking up too, both
of us gazing straight into heaven!
In my dark bedroom I closed my
eyes and tried to go back in time.
Amid a flattened city, the cathedral
had remained standing during the
war, despite being hit 14 times by


aerial bombs. Still, it was badly

damaged. The bells had been melted
down for ammunition. There were
plans to repair and rebuild, but that
would take years. For now I only
had my memories.
Thats all that is left for me, I
thought as I drifted off to sleep.
Easter would never be so special
As if by some magic, I was
suddenly standing in the cathedral
once more, holding Mamas hand.
Bodies pressed against me on all
sides. I felt claustrophobic, like I
couldnt breathe. I twisted this way
and that, looking for a path out,
and in the confusion I pulled away
from Mama and lost her hand.
Mama! I cried. Mama! Where
are you? I called her name over
and over, but there was no answer. I

searched the faces all around me,

but I was completely alone. Mama!
Rosekind! It wasnt Mamas
voice who called me by my nickname.
It was a mans voice, clear and calm.
Look up, he said. Your mama is up
here watching over you.
I looked up into the vaulted ceiling
and there she was, smiling down on
me from her place among the angels.
Smiling just as she had that Easter
Sunday years ago.
I awoke from my dream feeling as
excited as I had that day in Cologne.
I thought I had only memories
to take with me to my new life in
America. But I had more: I had
angels watching over me. I had
Mama up in heaven. I had Gods
promise that everyone we love will
be returned to us one day. No matter
where I went, I had Easter.

Cologne Cathedral was badly damaged in World

War II, but today its fully repaired and as beautiful
as it was that Easter Sunday when Rosemarie
McManus visited as a girl. The cathedrals
foundation stone was laid on August 15, 1248,
and three years after the war, in 1948, a new
organ was installed just in time for the 700-year
anniversary. Today a second organ graces Cologne
Cathedral. Sitting high up in the wall of the nave,
the swallows nest organ marks 750 years (plus) of the cathedrals rich
history. It is one of Germanys most visited landmarks.


Music from the swallows nest at angelsonearth.org/cologneorgan



someones in the kitchen

REAKUPS ARE NEVER EASY. So when a buddy experienced a tough

one recently, I wanted to put the smile back on his face. I did some
research and got the recipe to make one of his favorite childhood
meals, Porcupine Meatballs. A steaming bowl of meatballs with grains of
rice sticking out like porcupine quills did the trick. What are friends for?




Porcupine Meatballs



pound ground beef

cup raw white rice
medium onion, chopped
cloves garlic, finely chopped
teaspoon ground cumin
teaspoon dried sage
teaspoon thyme, rubbed between
your palms
cup carrot, finely grated
cup celery, finely chopped
8-ounce cans tomato sauce
cup water or broth (beef
or vegetable)
cup parsley, chopped

Alexander learned the value of comfort food.


Combine beef, rice, onion, garlic and

spices in large mixing bowl. Mix
ingredients together thoroughly with
your hands. Form meat into 10 to
12 small balls. Pour 1 tablespoon olive
or other oil into large frying pan on
medium heat. Place meatballs in pan
and fry until lightly browned. Drain
off any excess fat. Add celery and carrot
and saut with meatballs for 3 to 5
minutes until vegetables soften. Pour
in tomato sauce and water or broth.
Bring to a boil. Lower heat and simmer,
covered, 45 to 50 minutes. Sprinkle
with parsley and serve with bread and
salad. Serves 3 to 4.
The recipes closest to your heart
taste best. Send yours to Angels on
Earth, 110 William Street,
Suite 901, New York, NY 10038.



heavens music

D OVERSLEPT, the washing machine broke and one of our

dogs got sick on the rug. It wasnt even noon yet! No sense hoping
my day would improve either, not with a dental appointment
looming. Ive had a lot of work done over the years, and keeping
my mouth open while someone drilled and scraped and squirted
water on me never made my day better.
Want me to drive you? my
husband asked.
Id rather you get the crown
put on instead of me.
Mike laughed. Well stop off
for a cup of tea first. Itll be fun.
We drove to our favorite spot
and went inside. God, please help
me get through the day, I asked as
I realized the music seemed to
be turned up louder than usual. A
banjo plucked out a happy melody.
This is gonna be the best day
of my life, the song went, my
li-i-i-i-i-ife. Yeah, right, I thought.
But as we moved up in line to
order, my head started nodding to the catchy tune. Soon I was
singing along, My li-i-i-i-i-ife.
What can I get for you? the barista asked.
Lemon tea, iced, was my usual, but today that just wouldnt do.
Something different, I said. How about a hot chocolate?
Thats the spirit, said Mike.
That song was still in my head as I sat down in the big
dentists chair. Maybe it wasnt quite the best day of my life, but
why let a one-hour appointment ruin everything?


American Authors sing Best Day of My Life at angelsonearth.org/bestday



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The Highest
When my brother went missing, he was sure
to be sitting in his favorite tree
OLLYHOCKS and purple
clover, the big oak tree
behind the house. Thats
what I pictured when I
thought about the dairy farm where
I grew up in Iowa with my two
brothers. My parents had sold the
farm years ago and I hadnt seen
it since. Not that I didnt think of it
often. Then one day in 1980 my
younger brother, Jim, called. Sis,
lets go visit this summer, he said
out of the blue.
Jim was married now, a pastor
with his own church in New Jersey,
but when he mentioned the farm I



pictured the quiet little boy Id known

who liked nothing more than to
climb to the top of his favorite tree.
Id love to! I said. Maybe we
could have a look inside the house
and the barn.
Remember all the times you
searched for me there? Jim said.
Whenever you wanted to play
or Mom wanted me to clean my
roomyou could never find me.
What a rascal he was back then.
What would it be like to go back
to the farm now that we were grown?
Jim and I were hardly old. He
was only 32, the father of two small
children. We still had so much life
to live. It would be a fun adventure to

turn back time and step into the past.

We both went out to Iowa that
summer, Jim from New Jersey, me
from Minnesota. It was a beautiful
June day when the two of us drove
together out to Thompson, Iowa.
That little town had been our whole
world as children. We walked arm
and arm up the long driveway to our
old farmhouse, the center of our
universe. Remember how we used to
run down this drive to catch the
school bus?
I certainly do, said Jim. But I
was thinking about how we learned
to ride our bike.
Money was tight on the dairy farm.
We didnt get a lot of fancy presents.
So Jim and I were stunned when Dad
brought home a brand-new Huffy
bicycle. Our youngest brother, Don,
was too young to ride it yet, so it was
for Jim and I to share. We must have

said. Take all the time you like.

The black-and-white linoleum
floor was still intact in the kitchen,
the same floor Mom used to wash
and wax every Saturday. I could
almost smell her chocolate-chip
cookies, the Sunday dinners of pot
roasts and crusty bread.
Lets look in the dining room,
said Jim. See if the oil stoves still
there. We used to huddle around
that stove on cold winter nights. The
new family had replaced it with a
basement furnace and carpeted the
floors. Probably warmer, said
Jim. But I loved that stove.
We climbed the steep, narrow
stairs to our old bedrooms. Jim
raised the small windows to let in
the soft summer breeze. We looked
out at the cornfields. How many
hours had I spent gazing at this view,
dreaming about my future? Id come
a long way from the
I was thenI
What would it be like to go back to girl
went to college, got a
the farm now that we were grown?
job as a medical
research secretary,
ridden that bike a hundred miles
moved to Minnesota. But I had
between us, Jim said as we passed
carried the memories of this farm
through the gate and up the front
with me every step of the way. Jim
walk. I knocked. An old man in overalls understood that, and I was thankful
answered the door.
to have my little brother to share
We used to live here, Jim said.
all this with.
Could we look around?
In the basement we found the nail
Happy to have visitors, the man
where Dad always hung his coveralls.


Remember how
Peppy used to
sleep in the pliers
pocket? Jim said.
Peppy was a baby
squirrel that had
fallen out of a tree.
We took him in and
raised him. He lived
in the house as a
pet, but he was more
like a member of
the family.
Jim and I headed
Big brother Jim, little brother Don and honorary brother Peppy
out to the barn
where Dad milked our Holstein cows.
This was my pipe-smoking fathers
Pigeons fluttered overhead.
filing system for notes on how the
Hey, remember that afternoon when
cows were doing. Theyre still
Virgil Ellingson and I played a
stuffed with his scribblings! I said,
trick on our vocational agriculture
pulling one out with a flourish.
We took a leisurely walk through
How could I ever forget? The
the surrounding fields, where the air
story was a legend at the school. On
was filled with the scent of hollyhocks
Friday Jim and his friend corralled
and purple clover. A lot had changed
a flock of pigeons into the classroom
on the farm since we left, but some
through an open window. The
things could never truly be gone. In
teacher was certainly surprised
certain ways this place will always
when he came in to grade papers
be with me, I thought as we got into
the next morning and found a flock
the car to leave.
of pigeons waiting for him.
Wait! Jim said. How could I
Most fun I ever had! Jim grinned
forget? He jumped out of the car
big with all the enthusiasm hed had
and ran off beyond the hollyhocks and
as a boy. I guessed some things never
purple clover, jumping over a
barbwire fence and springing into
A row of Sir Walter Raleigh
the grove of oak trees behind
tobacco cans was nailed to the wall.
the house. He was completely out of


sight. But where could he be? I

wondered. Then it hit me. Where
had Jim always been when our
family couldnt find him? Hed gone
to see his favorite tree!
Sure enough he returned waving a
branch. Got it from the very top!
he announced. Not as easy to climb
as it used to be. Im going to do
something special with this. I dont
know what yet.
Jim and I talked about that visit
endlessly over the phone. We
promised wed take his children there
one day so they could see it.
How could I have known that that
day was the last time Jim would
see the farm? And the last time Id
see Jim? He died suddenly of a
brain aneurysm early on a Sunday
morning. Thered been no sign
anything was wrong. It didnt seem
real as Jims wife, Lillian, and I drove
to the church to get the white robe

Jim wore as a pastor. We wanted to

bury him in it. I couldnt imagine life
without my brother. Hed always
been my best friend, even when we
lived miles apart. How could I
have lost him?
I opened the door to the little closet
in the church. His white robe was
hanging on the back of the door.
Hanging with it was a small wooden
cross. He wore it every Sunday,
Lillian said. He carved it himself.
Of course. Jim could no longer
climb his favorite tree, so hed
transformed it into something he
could keep with him always. Now
Jim himself had been transformed.
My brother wasnt lost to me.
All these years later, I can always
find himin my memories, and
in the faces of his children. In the
scent of hollyhocks and purple clover.
And in a simple carving from his
favorite oak tree.

JoAnn Lower will always love the farm where she
grew up, but she loves the house where she lives now
just as much. Its a little log house on the Shell Rock
River, she says. Its the most peaceful, spiritual place.
JoAnn has little brother Don to thank for it. The
previous owners installed a well on the property with his
drilling company and Don thought it was the perfect
place for his sister and her dog, Sneaker. Im so grateful to Don for pointing
me to it! she says. I bought it the very day it went up for sale.



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Little White Petals of Hope

o celebrate my first Christmas in Arizona, my friend Dorothy
sent me a Christmas cactus. It looked festive covered in
red blossoms that arrived just in time for the holiday. But the
plant refused to bloom the next year, or the next. I gave up
wishing it would bloom. So much for an Arizona Christmas, I
thought on that third year in a row with no red flowers.
A few months later, on Palm Sunday, I went to give the cactus
its weekly ration of water and noticed a few buds. I knew
there was a plant called an Easter cactus, which bloomed in late
March, but my Christmas cactus was either blooming too
early or too late! If the buds opened, that is. I called Dorothy
to report this odd development.
At her suggestion, I moved the plant away from the window
to the table near the sofa, where I also displayed my collection of
angel figurines. Angels, please inspire this cactus.
I guessed they got busy! One week later there were several
delicate blossoms hanging from the low, draping branches. One
was positioned just above my favorite angels head. But these
flowers werent Christmas red. They were white, like little petal
angels of hope. Just in time for an Arizona Easter.





God in the Grocery Store

ots of people hate grocery shopping. I didnt used to be one
of them. When my husband, Chuck, was alive, we did it
together every week, all through our marriage, and it was fun.
This was the first time Id been back since his death. It was hard
to face the store alone.
For 45 years, Chuck would pretend to look for something on a
faraway aisle and come back with three yellow roses for me. It always
seemed like the first time he did it. But thered be no sweet surprises
on this trip. Or anywhere else, for that matter.
I was standing at the meat counter trying to find a steak small
enough for one. A woman came up beside me.
My husband loves T-bones, but at these prices I just dont know if
I should buy any, she said.
My husband passed away eight days ago, I said. Buy him the
steaks, and cherish every moment you have together. I smiled
and hurried away before she could reply. What was I thinking to have
admitted something so personal?
A few minutes later the woman came up to me holding three
gorgeous long-stem yellow roses. These are for you, she said,
gently placing them in my arms. The cashier already knows that
theyre paid for.
I wasnt facing things alone: Chuck was with me. Life and the
grocery store still held sweet surprises after all.


Two Petunias
stood at the kitchen windowsill looking at the rosemary
growing in my planting box. Do you think Mom remembers
me now? I asked my husband, Mike. My mother had
passed away the night before, after suffering from dementia for
many years. When I visited her at the nursing home, she
didnt know who I was. But she wasnt always so withered and
frail. I had wonderful memories of her on our upstate New



York farm, where I grew up. Wed spent a lifetime, it seemed,

just chatting on the front porch by her planting box of pink and
white petunias. Mom had forgotten it all.
Of course she remembers now, Mike said. Your moms in
heaven, healed and whole.
I wanted to believe him, but after seeing her so ill for so long,
it was hard to imagine that Mom was herself, healed and
whole, again. It didnt help that my own recurring autoimmune
disease kept me from attending her funeral. I spent days on
the couch, barely able to move.
When I finally felt a little better I went to the windowsill.
Neither Mike nor I had any explanation for what I found there.
Two petunias were growing with my rosemary. Pink and
white petunias, just like the ones Mom used to have on her porch.
Even an angel wouldnt know a detail like thatunless Mom
remembered and told her all about it.

A Sign From the Tub

aryann, youre on bathroom duty today, I told my 10-year-old

as I cleaned up the breakfast dishes in the kitchen.
I know, Mom, Maryann said, going into a cupboard to
fetch cleaning products. First-floor bathroom.
Id never keep the house clean without the kids help. I had too
much else to dowife, mom of seven, full-time job as an elementary
school librarian. Plus my daughter Holly had been in and out of the
hospital with kidney problems. The hospital chaplain had been such
a comfort hed made me think about becoming one too. A career
change? At this point in my life? I asked myself as I put the last plate
in the dishwasher. Id have to quit my job and go back to school.
It would uproot my whole life. Everyones life.
I checked on Maryann. The bathroom was perfectexcept for the
little plaque above the tub. It was supposed to read BLOOM WHERE
YOURE PLANTED. Maryann must have dusted it off and hung it back
upside down. My mind provided a new message: PLANT YOURSELF



WHERE YOULL BLOOM. Maybe I did need to uproot myself. I wasnt

just a wife, mother and breadwinner. Like a plant I was a living thing
that should continue to grow. This called for a family meeting.
With my husband and the kids encouragement, I went back to
school and became a board-certified hospital chaplain. My whole life
blossomed, and our full house hummed in busy happiness.

War and Peace

really thought this peace lily plant would bloom in honor of
your dad, I told my adult son, Scotty. Wed just returned
home from his fathers funeral. Jack and I had remained close
after our divorceand not only for Scottys sake. We genuinely
cared for each other. After Jack passed away in April I helped
Scotty arrange his fathers service, with full military honors
as Jack had been a Vietnam veteran and career marine. I dont
know why I thought the peace lily in my sunroom would bloom
now. I couldnt remember the last time it had.
We gave Dad a great send-off, Scotty said, patting my arm.
I know hes at peace.
I hope so, I thought. Jack had spent his military career trying
to bring more peace to the world. He certainly deserved Gods
peace now. I just wished I could be as sure as Scotty was about it.
For the next few weeks I gave the peace lily extra attention
whenever I went in to the sunroom to water the plants. I
carefully pulled aside the peace lilys glossy leaves looking for
new bright green shoots or maybe even the tiniest hint of a
flowerbut months went by and I found nothing.
By the following spring Id all but forgotten my obsession with
the peace lily, and returned to caring for all my plants equally.
I reached up to water a hanging plant one day, when I caught a
glimpse of white out of the corner of my eye. The peace lily!
Blooming on April 21, the first anniversary of Jacks passing.
Jack was at peace, and now so was I.




angel sightings

HEN I MET MY HUSBAND he was in California finishing his

dissertation in art history and I was living in New York. I passed
the time until we could live in the same place by embroidering a
picture based on one of the thirteenth-century illuminated Bibles he studied.
It took him longer than it took me, but finally we both were finished.
My favorite part? The angel handing him his diploma.


Find more angel photos and submit your own at angelsonearth.org/angelpix



The limo driver was as elegant as his passengers

ETOUR . State police cars
blocked the highway. I wonder
what the problem is, my wife,
Eloise, said. Theyre closing
both directions of the highway.
Wed driven all the way from our
home in Bethesda, Maryland, to get to
the Poconos, where I was overseeing
the sale of a hotel as a real estate
broker. Up until now the biggest
problem wed encountered was some
icy rain from a hurricane in the
vicinity. We planned to reach
Hazleton, Pennsylvania, and take
Interstate 80 into the Poconos.
Whats the story behind the
detour? I asked one of the policemen.
Chemical spill, he said. A big
truck wrecked on Interstate 80. It
will probably be closed all weekend.
I hope it doesnt slow us up too
much, I said. The cars were being
directed onto a two-lane country
road that wasnt built for this much
traffic. We slowed to a crawl
approaching Hazleton.
Our engine worked hard to climb

the mountain at that speed. At least

its not an old car, I thought. Wed
bought it second hand, but it was a
new model built to be lightweight.
The manufacturer had made the
engine cylinder head of aluminum
instead of the usual iron.
Wed been creeping up the
mountain for a while. Now I noticed
the heating gauge on the engine
nearing the red zone. The engines
getting hot, I said. Suddenly that
aluminum cylinder head didnt sound
like such a good idea. Aluminum
was more likely to warp at high
temperatures. I think we might be
leaking cooling fluid. We pulled over.
When the car had cooled down I
refilled the radiator with water from
a milk jug I kept for emergencies.
We had no choice but to keep going.
We were less than two hours away
from our destination, too close to turn
back, and the highway was closed in
both directions. Besides, I had a deal
to wrap up. We got on the detour. It
didnt take long before the car needed




water again. It wasnt easy finding

someplace to pull over on this narrow
road, so I pulled off onto the shoulder.
An 18-wheeler rumbled past as I
got out. Eloise pressed herself to the
window, away from the passing
headlights. It was pitch-dark by now.
Maybe theres a stream down the
slope, I said, zipping up my jacket.
The rain was getting heavy and very
cold. Ill be back as soon as I can.
It took what seemed like an
eternity for me to make my way down.
When I finally did find a stream it
wasnt deep enough to dip a jug into.
I had to dig a hole in the mud to get
more water. It just has to last until we
can find a gas station, I thought.
The hotel wasnt too far away at this
point, but I really needed to take a
look at that water pump.
Radiator filled, we continued down
the mountain. Eventually we saw the
lights of a small town. As we passed a
church Eloise read the sign out front,
It says God is watching over us. Im
glad to hear that right about now!
The lights of the townand the
message at the churchlifted our
spirits. A few blocks on I saw a gas
station and pulled in. It was a momand-pop shop with pumps, a general
store, a caf, even a place for minor
repairs. Id never been so happy to be
back in civilization!
Eloise went inside to freshen up. I


Phillip back at home among the cherry

blossoms in Washington, D.C.

opened the hood of the car and had

a look. As I did, I noticed another car
at the stationa fancy stretch
limousineat the pumps. The driver
got out and filled it up. Eloise
returned, and then three other
customers came out of the shop. Two
ladies, elegantly dressed, and a
man in a smart brown suit with a hat.
I wasnt surprised when they headed
for the limo. I ducked back under
the hood, hoping I could figure out a
temporary fix that would last
me until I could replace the part.
Nice car youve got there,
someone said. I pulled my head out
from under the hood. It was the limo
driver. He was as elegant as his
passengers. Tall, with dark, wavy
hair. He too wore a nice suitalmost
like a tuxedo. He was dressed all in
white, down to his shoes. The white
set off his gold jewelry. Several

chains on his wrists and around

his neck. A large cross hung at his
chest, shining in the lights from
the gas station.
Mind if I take a look? he said,
coming closer. Im a mechanic.
Have a look? In those clothes? I
did a lot of work on cars myself in
my spare time and I knew just being
near a car engine could get you
covered in grease. The water pump
seems shot, I said.
The man looked things over. As
he bent under the hood his gold
chains dangled over the engine parts.
If not wearing nice clothing was rule
#2 for working on cars, rule #1 was
absolutely never wear jewelry.
Rings, chains and bracelets were too
easily caught in the engine parts.
This guy was wearing a whole jewelry
store, but he went right ahead and
reached into the engine. As I watched
his immaculate sleeved arm disappear
into the engine I saw another flash
on his wrista gold watch with
diamonds on every number. Wow!
I held my breath as he reached into
the engine well, running his hands
over everything. He straightened up,
smoothly, not getting tangled. His
suit was as perfectly white as it had
been when he stuck it in the engine.
Defective water pump, he said.
Where are you going?
I told him the name of our hotel in

the Poconos and our plans to drive

back home to Bethesda. The return
trip is two hundred miles, I said.
He nodded. Youll make it to your
destination and home again just fine.
But youll need to replace the pump
the minute you get home.
He got back into his limo and the
group drove away. He sure seems
confident that well have a safe trip,
I said. Not just to the hotel, but
back home too. Hed made me feel
confident too. Or perhaps I was just
thinking of that church sign, the one
that said God was watching over us.
Maybe hes an angel, Eloise said.
I looked at her in surprise.
I dont think angels wear gold
diamond-studded watches, I said.
Eloise laughed. If the streets
in heaven are paved in gold, why not?
We did make it to the hotel,
closed the real estate business and
drove back to Bethesda. By the time
we turned onto our street Id almost
forgotten about the mechanic. Good
to be home, I said as we pulled into
our driveway. I put the car in park and
reached to cut the engine off
Screech! The car let out a terrible
noise, followed by a bang. The engine
shuddered to a stop and steam
poured from the hood. The water
pump had finally given up the
ghost, right there in our driveway.
The minute we got home.




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the collector


BOUT A DOZEN EASTER EGGS are displayed in a pretty

bowl on my living room tableand not just for the holiday. I
leave them out all year round. Why? Because these arent your
ordinary Easter eggs.
Theyre pysanky (pronounced pih-sahn-kih), a Russian and
Ukrainian craft in which egg shells are emblazoned with colorful,
vivid patterns using wax and dye. Navy, burgundy, yellow and
greenmy eggs are beautiful, but also bursting with memories.
About 40 years ago my Russian
husband, Michael, took me to visit
his parents for Easter. His mother
sat at the kitchen table leaning
over an egg, tracing a pin head
with wax over the surface to
create symmetrical shapes. How
long does it take you to finish
one of those? I asked.
About two to three hours for
each egg, she said. Then, Ill
bring a basket of them to church to
be blessed.
Wow! I thought, feeling a huge
appreciation for the craft.
Several years later, we attended
an anniversary party for one of Michaels cousins. The party
favor? A white-and-gold pysanky in a small basket. I loved it and
set it on a shelf in our home.
Not long after, a friend gave us another one as a gift. These
were the first two of my collection. I buy them whenever I come
across themwhich isnt often! Now I have a bowl of pysanky to
make me smile the whole year through.




earning their wings

Standing Room Only


y Haitian dad started reading

me French poetry when I
was four. After I learned to read, I
discovered that I liked the poems
even more when I sang them. Dad
encouraged me to train my voice and
gave me his blessing to study opera
at a music conservatory in Italy.
Back in New York City, I performed
a blend of hip-hop and classical
music in clubs. Then I heard about a


program called Music Under New

York, which schedules performances
in the citys transit stations. I wore
wings from a childhood play for my
audition and got the gig! For 10 years
Ive been singing opera to commuters
as the Angel of New York.
I like to pull people out of their
routine, make them feel theyre in a
beautiful cathedral or Carnegie Hall
instead of the subway system. Music
was meant to be shared, underground
or above. Thats my mission and its
gotten me lots of hugs.


Martina serenades commuters at New York Citys Union Square subway station.

Quilt for a Cause


survived my cancer diagnosis

as a 10-year-old, but too many
kids dont. Like my friend Michael.
I didnt want any of them forgotten.
Make Some Noise is the name of
the foundation I started (with my
moms help) to raise awareness and
research-funding to fight pediatric
cancers. In 2010, we created the
National Angel Quilt, commemorating
children whod lost their battle.
Families send a photo that we print
onto a fabric square, and we send it
back to the family to decorate. The
returned squares are sewn onto a
quilt that measures, to date, 13 feet
high and 60 feet wide. It tours around
the country. Contact quilt@make
noise4kids.org to add an angel of
your own.

home, she said. She was obviously

in danger. This one would be gratis,
my brother and I agreed.
Free moves for people in abusive
relationships became our policy,
and we coordinated with shelters
to make sure everyone was safe.
When a newspaper piece about
our partnership with an L.A. shelter
went viral last year, we started the
#MovetoEndDV campaign. We
challenged businesses all over the
country to offer what they could
in their own communities: free
haircuts, pet boarding, job placement,
baked goods.
Student athletes continue to staff
our company. The heavy lifting
has made us stronger, for sure, but
Im in awe of the tremendous courage
it takes for these abuse victims to
decide to start their lives over.

On the House

1997 my brother and I were a

Ito ncouple
of high school jocks looking
make a little spending money.
So we started Meathead Movers.
One day we took a call from a
woman who sounded scared. I need
to be gone before my husband gets

Movers with big muscles and a lot of heart



lost & found


OBODY LIKES TAX TIME , but this year was especially

tough for me. Since my husband, Hans, developed dementia, Id
had to take on many roles I wasnt used to: lawn care, household
repairs, caregiving. Now I had to do taxes too.
Hans, have you seen the tax papers? I called from my seat
at the dining room table. They were
just here, along with all the receipts,
I thought, searching under the
newspapers and old mail. A friend
was on her way over to the house
to help me fill out the forms.
Hans shuffled in from the kitchen,
holding up a long, thin box. Wax
paper? he asked.
No, sweetie, I said. Tax
papers. Hans had been helpful all
his life and he still tried. Later Id
surely find the wax paper box in the
refrigerator or on the bookshelf. He
was always relocating things these
days. Hed probably done that with the
tax papers. I got up and looked around.
Collect the trash, a voice in my mind said.
Ive already gone through the basket in the
bathroom, and Ive checked the kitchen bin, I mumbled. Collect
the trash, the voice urged again.
Hmmm. I dashed out the front door and pulled the cover off
the big black can under the carport. I untied the top bag and spied
my stack of papers resting right on top.
Some days life is more taxing than others. Luckily God sends
us his capable angels every day.




from your lips...

EEDS AND SHOVELS were my only companions this

Easter. I reached for a handful of weeds and pulled. If gardening
couldnt lift my spirits, nothing could. My sons were spending the
weekend with their father. My only sibling had just moved halfway
around the world. Without family, my Easter would be a lonely
one. Being out in the garden, surrounded by all those growing
things, always cheered me. Not this time.
God, all I can think about are the families who get to
celebrate together this weekend. I pictured babies and toddlers,
grandparents, aunts and cousinsand medressed up nice,
talking and laughing. Not this Easter, I told myself. This Easter
it was just me and my plants. I was determined to make the
best of it. But somehow determination wasnt enough. I missed my
family. Left on my own they were all I could think about.
As I stuck my spade in the dirt, my neighbor Joe stepped
outside. He was holding the hand of a little girl in sparkly pink
shoes. Id never seen her before but I loved her holiday outfit.
This is my niece, Georgie, said Joe. She came over for an Easter
egg hunt. Georgie smiled shyly. Were expecting the whole
extended family and wanted to invite you over too.
Enough with gardening! I ran inside to change my clothes.
By the time I went next door the Easter egg hunt was in full swing.
Georgie ran around the lawn as fast as her sparkly pink shoes
would carry her, filling her basket with candy. With Joe and his
wife, plus assorted aunts and uncles, I watched children from
babies to teenagers squeal with delight as they collected their
bounty. And I silently thanked God for mine.


NEED PRAYER? Visit ourprayer.org; or write to Guideposts Prayer

Fellowship, P.O. Box 5813, Harlan, IA 515931313. To become a prayer

volunteer, visit ourprayervolunteer.org or call (800) 935-0158 x2.



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letters & messages

could just have a sign that theyre
being watched over, I prayed on the
drive home from the hospital. Then
Id know theyd stay healthy and safe.
Overhead, a cloud came into view.
It looked like an angel! I pulled over
and snapped a picture with my cell
phone. I expected the wind to smudge
the shape at any moment, but the
angel followed my car for most of the
drive home. I relaxed with a bath
and a nap, knowing the new little
family was safe in Gods care.

hen the hospice nurse told me

that my mother was nearing
the end of her life, I knew just what
Cars on the road, angels in the sky

a chronic worrier. So when

daughter, pregnant with her
was diagnosed with
HELLP syndrome and had to have
an emergency C-section, I was
beside myself. Both mom and baby
came through the operation just
fine, but I couldnt quell my anxiety.
I didnt want to leave Christa and
my new grandbaby for even a second.
Finally my daughter and her
husband insisted I go home and rest.
I reluctantly went to my car. If I


to bring back to the assisted living

facility: Angels on Earth magazine.
Id been a subscriber for 10 years,
and knew my angel-loving mom
would enjoy the hosts of angels in its
pages. I sat up with her all night long,
reading to her whenever she woke.
Each story felt
more comforting
than the one before.
When Mom took
her last breath at
7:00 A.M. the next
morning, I knew
she was met by a
heavenly host of
Loyal reader and
angels all her own. daughter, Sue

to a crawl. Black ice!

My car slid out of
y Keeping Fit
control. Oh, God, I
exercise class
cried out, please
is filled with women of
help me! The steering
all ages, from young
wheel spun out of
athletes recovering
my hands and I headed
from injuries to elderly
right for the steel
folks who want to stay
active. During one class,
Two strong arms
our instructor walked
brushed past my own
us through a series of
to grab the wheel. The
exercises to target
car straightened out
underarm flab. Most
and glided comfortably
women want to get rid
to a stop at the bottom
of this jiggle, she said.
of the ramp. I took the
Jennifer stretches her wings.
She pinched the
wheel. The other pair
excess flab under her own, toned
of hands released their grip.
triceps and added, Some call these
What was that? I said to the
bat wings.
empty car.
A regular, in her 70s, disagreed.
I didnt expect
I prefer to call mine angel
an answer, but
wings, she said. And I think
one did come:
weve all earned them.
I arrived at
Lyndas safe and
soundand with
emperatures were dropping
quite a dramatic
and some roads were slick with
story to share if
ice, but my coworker Lynda and
we decided to go Eunice is BFFs with
Archangel Michael.
I were determined to go to another
on to the party.
colleagues birthday party as
See all things angels on our Pinterest
planned. On the way to pick Lynda
page at pinterest.com/aoemag
up I managed the highway without
Connect with us on Facebook at
any trouble.
At the ramp for her exit, I slowed



Angels on Earth, a bimonthly magazine from Guideposts, presents true stories

about heavenly angels and humans who have played angelic roles in daily life.
Editorial Office
Rights & Permissions

110 William Street

Suite 901
New York, NY 10038
Business Office

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Suite 2AB
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If the Post Office

alerts us that
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undeliverable, we have
no further obligation
unless we receive
a corrected address
within one year of the
Postal notification.
Angels on Earth makes
its mailing lists
available to selected
companies. If you
prefer your name not
be released for this
purpose, please let us
know by writing to:
Customer Service

Angels on Earth
P.O. Box 5814
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Editor-in-Chief: Colleen Hughes

Creative Director: Kayo Der Sarkissian
Staff Editor: Meg Belviso
Associate Editor: Tanya Richardson
Editorial Assistant: Sonya Maizell
Senior Contributing Editors: Rick Hamlin,

Ptolemy Tompkins, Amy Wong

Contributing Editors: Diana Aydin, Allison Churchill,
Adam Hunter, Daniel Kessel, Danielle Eliska Lyle,
Celeste McCauley, Roberta Messner,
Evan Miller, Nicole Notare, Richard H. Schneider,
Elizabeth Sherrill, John Sherrill, Stephanie Thompson
Digital Content Director: Ansley Roan
Digital Producer: Brett Leveridge
Production Editor: Celia M. Gibbons
Art Director: Kathi Rota
Photo Editor: Kevin Eans
Assistant Art Director: Doug Snyder
Designer: Stephen Wilder
Assistant Photo Editor: Katie Hogin
Founding Editor: Fulton Oursler, Jr.
President and CEO: John F. Temple
Senior Vice Presidents

Rocco Martino, David Teitler, Kelly Mangold, Jamie Darnow

Vice Presidents
Guideposts Publications: Edward Grinnan
Database Marketing: William McGlynn
Books and Inspirational Media: Lenore Person
Production: James Asselmeyer
Finance: David McGowan
Digital: Mike McCormick
Continuity and Book Marketing: Julian Lama
Outreach: Pablo Diaz

If youve got a story
like one you read here,
send a manuscript
with SASE to
our editorial office:
Angels on Earth
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Suite 901
New York, NY 10038
Or send via e-mail to:
Guideposts, a nonprofit
organization, touches
millions of lives every
day through products
and services that
inspire, encourage and
uplift. Our magazines,
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help people connect
their faith-filled values
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To learn more, visit
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ADVERTISING Direct Response: Nancy Forman

For ad inquiries, go to guideposts.org/media
Founders: Ruth Stafford Peale and Norman Vincent Peale
Angels on Earth invites but cannot be responsible for unsolicited manuscripts. To be returned, manuscripts must be accompanied by a self-addressed,
stamped envelope. Mail to Angels on Earth, c/o Guideposts, 110 William Street, Suite 901, New York, NY 10038. Angels on Earth (ISSN 10823107)
is published bimonthly by Guideposts, 39 Old Ridgebury Road, Suite 2AB, Danbury, CT, 06810. Periodical postage paid at Danbury, CT, and additional
mailing offices. Canadian mailed under Publications Mail Agreement Number 40010140, Canadian GST #893989236. Copyright 2016 by
Guideposts, all rights reserved. Volume 21, No. 4. Issue date: Mar/Apr 2016. Printed in U.S.A. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to Guideposts,
P.O. Box 5814 Harlan, IA 51593-1314. CANADA POST: Send address changes to Guideposts, P.O. Box 1051, Fort Erie, ON L2A 6C7.



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n angel of
the Lord came down
from heaven and,
going to the tomb,
rolled back the stone
and sat on it.
His appearance was
like lightning,
and his clothes were
white as snow.
MATTHEW 28:2-3

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for a lift to your spirit.

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