Marti was diagnosed with multi-lobular acute pneumonia, and was so sick that a few days later, her local hospital transferred her to a more advanced facility. But eight hours after the transfer, she had fallen into a coma, was on life support and her family was told that she would probably not survive. Marti’s husband started a prayer vigil throughout their community, and was at her side continuously. But nothing changed.

After eight or nine days in a coma the doctors became concerned that Marti may have become brain dead. On January 19, a neurologist was called to do an EEG to check her brain waves.

Before the neurologist began his test, however, Marti became aware of two gentlemen who entered her room without hesitation. “Remember me, Marti?” the first man asked.

“Yes,” Marti nodded. “I remember you.” She was having trouble seeing the second man’s face, but both of them came around and stood on the right side of her bed next to her head, not interfering as the neurologist arrived and started to set up for the test. Marti felt comforted that the visitors were there, and after about twenty minutes, when they started to leave, Marti sat up in the hospital bed and swung her legs over the side. “I’m going with you,” she announced to the men.

The first man turned to her. “Baby girl, you can’t go with us. You have to stay and take care of the kids,” he told her. It seemed the most natural request; Marti thought nothing of it, and obediently laid back in the bed.

The neurological test was never done because within a few seconds of the visit, Marti started responding to the nurses, and to painful stimuli. Within three days she was alert and active, and was removed from life support. It was then that she questioned the nurses. “Did you see the two men that visited me on Wednesday?” she asked.

“The only two men who visited you that day were your brother and your husband,” the nurses assured her. Intensive Care was closely monitored.

But Marti knew those men were not her husband and
brother. “There is no one else on this earth who has ever called me “Baby Girl,” except for my father,” she says. “He passed away a few years ago. But I believe he came to me at the point of death and saved my life.” Had he not told Marti to stay and take care of her children, she believes she would have gotten off the bed and followed him, thus walking into eternity. Instead, although she still has some respiratory distress, she received an amazing healing.

“I am a living miracle of God,” Marti says today. “I know that there really is someone more powerful than we are. If I could somehow show the people who doubt, what I saw that day in my hospital room, I think it would make believers out of us all.”

I’ve been wondering about the other gentleman, the one who accompanied Marti’s father on his errand of mercy. Who do you think he was?

Here’s something nice, in Portuguese.

http://www.godtube.com/watch/?v=F0M2MJNU

And here’s an Oldie but Goodie.  Have a wonderful and blessed Christmas:

Members of the Gospel Lighthouse Church in Blytheville, Arkansas were preparing to serve Thanksgiving dinner to the needy in their area.  “Fifteen or twenty families had brought our own turkey and trimmings to the church to share, and had made extra food,” explains Jeanne Templeton.  Word had spread, and the volunteers expected a crowd.  Would there be enough to go around?

About eleven, church members took their places in the food line, and someone opened the kitchen door.  People streamed in, each taking a plate and passing it along, cafeteria-style.  So many guests!  Jeanne sliced turkey, scooped mashed potatoes—and sent a silent prayer heavenward.  Lord, let the food last.

Time passed, but the needy kept arriving.  Odd, Jeanne mused.  They weren’t running out of anything.  Even the pans of dressing, which had been few in number when dinner began, still seemed full.  She caught the eye of a perplexed friend spooning vegetables from a seemingly bottomless bowl.  What was going on?

Finally, the last guest accepted a brimming plate.  Jeanne looked at her watch.  Four o’clock!  It couldn’t be!  And there was still food remaining.  Baffled, the women packed the leftovers. “The men carried everything to the church buses, and drove away,” Jeanne recalls.  “They were going to go door to door, to make sure no one in the area had missed Thanksgiving dinner.” The women went back to the empty kitchen and, still somewhat dazed, scoured, tidied—and compared notes.

“Was it my imagination…?”

“No, I saw it too—the turkeys seemed to—to multiply!”

“But we had only six or seven.  How…?”

“Two thousand,” Jeanne murmured.  “I think we fed almost two thousand people.”

Just then a knock sounded on the kitchen door.  A volunteer opened it to a man, a woman and eight young children, all shabbily dressed.  “We’re a little late,” the man acknowledged shyly.  “Would you have anything left from dinner?”

Oh, no!  The women glanced around the spotless kitchen.  All the food was gone—they had put it on the buses themselves.  But they couldn’t turn this hungry group away.   “Come and sit down,” one helper led the family to a table, while the others quickly conferred.  Perhaps there was a store open, or a restaurant in town where they could buy something…

Suddenly someone pointed.  “Look!”

The others turned to stare.  Sitting on a counter in plain view was a freshly baked loaf of bread.  It had not been there moments before, Jeanne knew.  But no one had come to the kitchen except the family, and they had been empty-handed.

“How did we miss this?” Jeanne’s friend cried in astonishment.  She had found an industrial-sized can of green beans and corn in a cupboard.  Another woman peeked under a cabinet.  There on a shelf she had previously wiped clean now sat a large tray of dressing with big chunks of cut-up turkey in it.

“We packed up the containers and sent the family home to enjoy their holiday,” Jeanne says.  Then, tears spilling down their cheeks, the women praised the Lord for His wonderful care. They had offered Him an early birthday present, by caring for the least of His children.  But He had multiplied their gift a hundred-fold, and given them a Christmas they would never forget.

Angie and Andy were thrilled about being homeowners, and determined to learn all the skills needed to keep their “palace” in great condition. One week Andy was sent on a business trip. A few days after he left, Angie noticed that the lawn needed cutting. Wouldn’t Andy be pleased if he came home and found the task done? Angie had never operated a lawn mower, but how hard could it be? Going out to the garage, she grabbed the gas can and poured gasoline into the lawn mower, just as she had watched Andy do.

Unfortunately, she spilled some on the garage floor. She cleaned it up as best she could, but now—-where to put the soaked rags? And did she get enough up so it would be safe to start her car, or would it ignite? What if Andy drove into the garage over the spill? This good idea was getting complicated.

Angie hadn’t met any of her neighbors yet—and she was feeling a little foolish—so she went inside and phoned her grandmother in Fort Wayne, Indiana, for advice.

Her grandmother, Ilean Park, was not an expert on gasoline either. “I think you should call the fire department, and ask THEM,” she suggested.
“Gram, I’d be embarrassed—what if they came with the sirens and the lights…”
“What if they didn’t, and a fire started?” Ilean countered. Angie agreed.

The firefighters came quietly, reassured Angie that she’d done the right thing, and finished her cleanup. While they were there, one suggested they check the air quality in her new home. Angie agreed.

The firemen were in the house for what seemed like a long time. When they finally came outside, their faces were solemn. “It’s a very good thing we were here,” one told Angie. “You have a severe carbon monoxide leak. We’ve already called your builder—he’s on his way.”
“Carbon monoxide?” Angie was stunned.
The fireman nodded. “God works in mysterious ways,” he told her. “You might have died here alone.”
It was a gift from heaven, Angie and Andrew agreed later, when all was calm again. For who would have anticipated anything like this occurring in a brand new house? Moreover, had Andy spilled the gasoline, he would have cleaned it up properly and gone on his way, and no one would have discovered the leak until something tragic happened.

Some people may think this is a “stretch.” But not Angie’s grandmother. “I am convinced that Angie’s guardian angel was involved in all of that,” says Ilean. “Why else would it have worked out so well?”

Things, however, did not go according to plan.  Word got out that there was to be a fish fry, and groups of people from the community went to the little church for what they thought was a free meal.  The members were shocked.  It was an obvious misunderstanding but how could they turn hungry folks away?  “We started serving and praying,” one woman says.  “We knew there wouldn’t be enough to go around, so we decided to serve all the unexpected guests first, and if there was anything left (which seemed doubtful), we would eat.” And so they did.

“Everyone was served, and some even came back for seconds,” says the witness. “And after they were all seated in the church, singing and getting acquainted, we workers fixed our plates.”  There was still plenty of food, everyone realized.  In fact, at the end of the evening, there was still fish left.

“God certainly stretched our food that night,” says a worker.  Just like he did on a hillside in Israel so many years ago.

—I wanted to let you know that the Cayces had a wonderful Thanksgiving dinner, thanks to many of us. For those who are new to this list, some of us help a charitable organization in Arkansas, which ministers to the poorest of the poor. They sponsor clothing and food giveaways, and occasionally serve a meal. Joannie told me that they fed over 2000 people on Thanksgiving, and all the clothes were gone when the day was over. Now, of course, the Cayces are gearing up for Christmas. They especially need little toys (new or used) like Barbie dolls, Matchbox cars, crayons and other items so every child will have something. It’s always a challenge for us, and with the cost of necessities (to say nothing of postage), I know it’s hard. I mention it to keep you informed, but please remember that prayer is the most important gift you can give to people who work with the poor—and we can all do that! If you want to help, now or at any time, mail things to
Joann Cayce Charities (this is tax-deductible), 403 South Second Street, Thornton Arkansas 71766

—You might remember Antoinette Burney 2972 Pacific Ave. Apt. A. Long Beach , Calif. 90806. I have mentioned her before. She knits blankets for Native Americans at her end of the country, so if any of you are knitters with leftover yarn, send it out to her.

Here’s a quick angel story that appeared on December 4th in the Mansfield News Journal:

Dan and Kathy Miller had an unexpected guest for Thanksgiving last week—but the visitor was welcomed with open arms. “My husband and I were out cutting wood after dinner,” said Kathy. “When we turned around to walk back in, I just stopped and said to Dan, ‘Oh my God. Do you see what’s on our roof?’”

With warm-ish temps that day, most of the snow atop the Millers’ Lexington home had melted. The white stuff that remained on the back roof looked an awful lot like a shimmering apparition from Heaven.
“He said, ‘Yes, I see it. It’s an angel,’” Kathy said. “I said, ‘Yes it is.’ It was remarkable. You couldn’t miss it.”

Kathy said she immediately took Dan’s cell phone to snap a photo of the angelic silhouette and text it to her son. Her brief caption read, “Angel on the roof.”
“He called back and said, ‘I just can’t believe that. That’s so neat,’ ” Kathy said. “There was no other snow anywhere else on our roof. We took another picture of the other side of the house, which is actually more shaded, and there was no snow there, either.

“We’ve lived here 14 years, and we know where the sun comes up and goes down, and we’ve had snow on our roof countless times, but this is the first time we’ve ever seen anything like this.”

The snowy white figure remained long enough for the couple to take more pictures on both Thursday and Friday. “My husband went outside on Friday and then came back in and said, ‘Hey, I need the camera. It’s still here,’ ” she said. “It stayed there two full days, but then melted on Saturday.”

Kathy called the sight a humbling experience. “You have trouble not crying about it,” she said. “By all means, we do believe in Jesus and angels, absolutely. I almost didn’t say anything because it felt kind of personal, but people told us, you should let others see this.”

Kathy said she has no idea why the angel figure appeared. “I can’t say we have turmoil here, we have a very happy life,” she said. “And we’ve always felt good here, so I can t tell you it felt different with her there. It just felt like a blessing. I guess someone’s watching over us.” You can try to access the photo by clicking on
http://www.mansfieldnewsjournal.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/200812040700/NEWS01/81203037

Back next week with our Christmas story.

Her shocked children closed ranks around her, loving her through the unfamiliar territory of doctors, machines and chemotherapy. Her husband did the same, but he felt helpless and longed to do more. One day, desperate and angry, Mark replaced the signs on the marquees of the two auto transmission shops he owns in Chicago. Instead of the usual advertisements for lube jobs and repairs, he carefully spelled out another message, one that he hoped passersby would take seriously: PLEASE PRAY FOR OUR DEBBIE, THAT GOD WILL CURE THE CANCER.

At first, Debbie was embarrassed by her husband’s hopeful gesture. “I’m a private person,” she says, “and I didn’t think the whole world should know about my problems.” But she was too caught up in her own battle with hair loss, fatigue and fear—always the fear—that she gave it little thought. Would the treatments work? Would she ever feel better? And what would Christmas be like this year, if she was too sick to participate or, worse, gone?

Then, one by one, people of all races, faiths and ages began to appear in Mark’s shops, united by a common desire to help. “I saw the sign,” each would say. “Tell Debbie we’re praying.”

“We didn’t know most of them,” Debbie says. “But they sent rosaries and Mass cards and medals” (which non-Catholic Debbie shared with a friend of her daughter’s who was also fighting cancer), “as well as cookies, cards, flowers….Some cancer survivors wrote encouraging letters.” She felt wrapped in hugs, sometimes even buoyant. Could prayer do all this? Could prayer do even more?

In mid-December Debbie underwent another round of tests. She knew it would be difficult waiting until after the holidays for the results. But at least she was here, and that was something to be grateful for. However, the Friday before Christmas the phone rang. “Mom, it’s the doctor!” her older daughter called.

The doctor. It must be bad news. Debbie’s heart raced as she picked up the phone. Then tears filled her eyes. The tests were completely clear. There was no sign of cancer.

That was why, on Christmas Eve, Mark Cruikshank almost didn’t make it home in time for church. He had been visiting both his businesses, changing the signs. The people who had reached out to Debbie deserved to know what their prayers had accomplished, he thought, especially on this holiest of nights.

PRAISE GOD, DEBBIE IS WINNING HER BATTLE WITH CANCER, Mark posted on the first marquee. Their troubles might not be over, but the Lord would give them the courage to face whatever lay ahead. But as he took down letters at the second shop, gratitude so filled his heart that there was only one way to express it.

MERRY CHRISTMAS, he spelled, for all the world to see. MIRACLES STILL HAPPEN.

© 1998 Joan Wester Anderson www.joanwanderson.com Originally published in Woman’s Day Magazine

When Robin returned home, she acted on an impulse, wrote me (a person she’s never met) and asked that I request some “cheer-up” cards for Dorothy.

I just “happened” to have enough extra space and time that week, and published the plea for you (people that I’ve never met) to read.  What do you think “happened” next? Let Robin tell you:

“I called my friend Dorothy yesterday to see how she was doing and it was as though I was talking to the Dorothy I knew 15 years before!  She has had such a wonderful outpouring of prayers, cards, love, and responses, from strangers from all over the world, which has completely overwhelmed her.  She
cannot believe that people would show a stranger such generosity, give of themselves, write prayers of comfort, and send small gifts to someone they don’t even know.  She was overwhelmed with awe and renewed thanks and praise for our great God.

“She’s received beautiful cards from Spain, Germany, England, India, the Philippines (to name only a few), people have sent her letters sharing their own personal experiences fighting the same cancer, and telling her not to give up hope.  A lady in Texas sent her some books on healing, and the list goes on.

All in all, Dorothy received almost 600 cards!  And the prayers from people…the miracles don’t stop here!  She saw her doctor two weeks ago and her cancer tumor has started to shrink and she’s been able to do more things around her house again and she has more energy! Yes, it could be the chemotherapy, but I give most of the credit to the greater power of God.  I really appreciate you putting my request out there.  Never could I imagine such an awesome response!”

Now here’s an interesting question that Robin raises about happenstance and timing. “Why did you write my request to your readers?” she asks me.

“You didn’t have to.  But you did!  Tons of others in the world right now are fighting life-threatening illnesses.  Why this case?  Why Dorothy?  Why now?

Why did some of your readers feel compelled to answer and reach out?  They could have put the request away.  They could have ignored it.  Forgotten it.

What made a few little words so special?  Special enough to receive the attention of so many people?”

I’m not sure, but I think this is a wonderful example of God multiplying our offerings, just as with the loaves and fishes, reassuring us that we are not expected to move life’s mountains, but just to add something small to the pile.  Life is a series of choices, and as we have discovered so often, many
smalls make a Great.  Thank you, generous readers.

(C) 2003  Joan Wester Anderson   www.joanwanderson.com

How many times we all have either missed accidents or survived what might have been a tragic crash through the unseen help of our angels!

Sometimes there are “hints,” such as the feathery feeling that Willow mentioned, but at other times, it’s just a matter of faith. Willow believes, but this is not the first angelic encounter she has had.

From an early age, Willow loved to attend church and pray. Her awareness of angels began when she was six years old, in Gulfport, Mississippi. She had a boomerang, and while playing in her grandmother’s front yard, she would throw it up in the air, and watch it return to her. It was a fun and fascinating toy, but one morning, as the family prepared to move to Washington State, Willow threw the boomerang into the air—and it didn’t return. “I searched and searched for it—in the bushes between my house and the house next door, in the yards—but I never found it.” Eventually Willow forgot about the toy.

Then, when she was eleven, the family moved back to her grandmother’s house. One day Willow was standing in the front yard and boom! “Out of the blue came the boomerang!” Willow says. “It landed on the ground right in front of my feet. I looked and looked for who might have thrown it, but there was no one anywhere around. I pledged to follow my angel from that time forth.”

Willow grew up to be a professional singer and actress. She encountered personal problems, including a health situation where she sometimes suffers small temporary strokes, but never lost her devotion to the angels. Two years ago, she was hired to work a home show at the LA Convention Center. At the same time, auditions were being held for Shakespeare’s Twelfth Night production, and Willow wished she had time to try out for a part in that.

Instead, that morning she suffered a small stroke, and had to leave her booth to stay in her car and rest. “People working around the booth watched my things,” she says, “and of course I gave up all thoughts of trying to get to the audition—I just let it go in prayer.” Gradually, she recovered, and was able to finish out the day at the convention center.

About a month later, Willow received an email inviting her to a party to read for a Shakespeare play. Willow assumed it was another production from another company, not Twelfth Night. But when she arrived, the director smiled in recognition and greeted her by name. “When we sat and read and introduced ourselves,” Willow says, “it was clear that I had been at the audition—everyone had seen me—and I had done a good enough job to be asked to be part of the company!” When Willow mentioned that she had been ill and not able to make it that day, everyone looked at her as if she was confused. “The director had my resume and photo too,” Willow says. “How could that have happened?”

Did Willow’s guardian angel assume her own appearance, go in her place to an audition, even read Shakespeare well enough for Willow to get a part?

Such a thing seems utterly impossible—until we look at an encounter the Apostle Peter had with an angel after Christ’s death and resurrection. Peter had been arrested, but an angel came one evening, undid his chains and led him out of the prison. When Peter entered the house where Christ’s supporters were staying, more than one assumed the newcomer was Peter’s ANGEL, not Peter himself. In early days, it was often thought that one’s angel resembled the person—which means that it probably sometimes happened. Why wouldn’t it be happening today?

There is much mystery attached to these beautiful beings. But we have only to ask God to send them to us, and He will. Willow knows that, and so do you.

(C) 2004 Joan Wester Anderson www.joanwanderson.com

However, Chrs had forgotten how narrow the short-cut road was, especially with drifts piled high and wind blowing snow across the fields. When another vehicle roared around a curve. Chris swerved and skidded into a snow bank. The other car kept going.

The wheels spun uselessly as she tried to pull out. “Mommy, are we stuck?” toddler Philip asked from under his blanket in the back seat.

“Looks that way, honey,” Chris admitted. They had only seen that one car since they’d turned onto the shortcut. How long would it be before someone came along? How long before the freezing temperature invaded the car’s interior? And why, oh why, had she worn stylish open shoes instead of warm boots?

Chris got out, her almost-bare feet plunging into a high drift, and looked around. Lord please send us some help, she prayed. Then she saw it—a silo and barn roof about a quarter-mile away. “Mom,” Chris leaned in the car, “I’ll walk down to that barn and see if anyone’s there. Keep the kids warm.” Her mother nodded, her face worried.

The journey was incredibly cold and by the time Chris pushed open the barn door, her feet were icy. A welcome blast of heat greeted her, along with the mooing of heifers in their stalls. It was a working dairy, clean and well organized, with a shiny window fan circulating the air. Although she had passed it during previous times on the short cut, she had never really taken a good look. Now, she realized with joy, there were young male voices coming from behind a stall.

Maneuvering around the livestock, Chris followed the sound and came upon two farmhands in overalls and flannel shirts, kidding and teasing each other as they pitched hay. They stopped and smiled when they saw her, and quickly she explained the situation.

“Stay here!” one said, tramping past the cows, grabbing his jacket and going out the door. A moment later, Chris heard a horn honking in front of the barn. There he was, driving a blue pickup truck. “Get in!” he shouted.

Chris hesitated. She didn’t know these men, and her family, down the road, was vulnerable. Yet, there was something so merry about the men that she couldn’t feel afraid. She and the other farmhand scrambled into the pickup and bounced down the road. There was the car, her toddlers bundled up and Mom waving. The driver roared across the field, spun in a wide circle and screeched into position behind it. “Way to go!” his buddy yelled.

Chris gripped the seat. “Do you always drive like this?” she asked, only half-joking.

The driver shrugged. “Well, it ain’t our truck.”

Within minutes the men had freed Chris’ car, and she opened her purse to reward them. But both backed away. “It was our pleasure, Ma’am. Just drive safely.”

Not like you, Chris grinned as she pulled away. But their happiness was infectious, and they were wonderful guys.

Chris didn’t realize just how wonderful until several weeks later when she and her mother decided to make a return visit to her grandmother. Since the snow was almost gone by then, the shortcut was safer. “When we get to the barn, I’d like to stop and let the guys know we made it to Grandma’s that day,” Chris told her mother. But when they pulled up in front to where Chris had climbed into the blue truck, she could hardly believe her eyes.

The barn was vacant, shabby, with paint peeling and door hinges hanging loose. Bewildered, Chris wiped away a heavy film of dirt and cobwebs on the milk house window and peered inside. Where were the heifers, the floor littered with fresh manure? Even the fan was rusty.

“You couldn’t have seen any farmhands or cattle there,” the woman at the next house told Chris. “No one’s worked that property for years.”

Chris got in the car. “Am I crazy, Mom?” she asked, bewildered.

“No.” Her mother was firm. “This is definitely the place.”

Then how….? Suddenly Chris understood, and like the shepherds at that first Christmas, she was filled with awe. Her angels had worn blue jeans and flannel shirts instead of white robes. But they had delivered the same timeless message to her and to anyone willing to listen. Fear not! The Savior is here! Alleluia!

© 1998 Joan Wester Anderson In Woman’s Day Magazine

Eventually, Cheryl turned to prayer. She had always believed in angels, so now she asked God to send these beautiful guardians to watch over and protect her grandchildren. At the same time, she refused to give up. “Finally I decided to write letters to the Governor, Mayor, and Police Chief,” she says, “begging them to do something to help.”

In May, 2003, Cheryl was asked to come to the offices of Children’s Services to discuss the situation. She was very apprehensive—would they believe her, or regard her as a troublemaker or worse, a liar? But she needn’t have worried. The officials at the meeting were very kind. “They talked to me for 3 hours and then while I was sitting there in their office, they had a case worker go to my grandkids’ home and remove them,” she recalls. “The next day my husband and I were awarded custody of them.”

The children are doing very well, and each day they bring joy to Cheryl. But there is an extra dimension to her happiness that she hadn’t anticipated. Shortly after the children were placed in Cheryl’s home, Destina told her grandmother that during the “hard times,” she often felt someone with her, someone she couldn’t see, but a kind and caring presence whose arms would encircle her in a warm hug.

And that wasn’t all. One morning Destina had awakened to a voice that kept calling her name. When she opened her eyes, she saw a beautiful lady dressed all in white. There was a soft glowing light around her, and she was smiling. “Who are you?” Destina asked, astonished.

“I’m your guardian angel,” the lady told Destina. “I was sent to be with you.” Then she beckoned. “Come closer. The time is short.”

Destina had gone to the angel without fear, and laid her head on the angel’s shoulder. The angel, in turn, embraced Destina. So warm the caress… yes, it reminded Destina of those other times when unseen arms encircled her…

Then the angel had spoken again. “The time has come,” she announced, then disappeared. Destina had found herself back in bed, wondering if it had all been a dream. But it hadn’t. That same day, Children’s Services, along with the police, had come to the home and removed Destina and her brother.

When she heard this, Cheryl’s eyes filled with tears. During all those months, when she had asked angels to surround her grandchildren with the protection she could not give, God had heard her prayer. “This has confirmed my belief in angels, and in the power of prayer,” Cheryl says. We cannot always be there for our loved ones, but God’s angels can and do take our places. What a heavenly thought!

(C) 2003 Joan Wester Anderson www.joanwanderson.com