WHERE ANGELS WALK, June 7, 2013, Chopin

Hello, friends. Just a quick (but very sweet) story today, one to remind us that sometimes—like a baby learning to walk—God and His angels step aside for a few minutes, and let us stand on our own…

To Dianne R. then a junior at Clarke College in Dubuque, Iowa, the most difficult part of her minor in music was performing in front of an audience. “I had practiced the Chopin Prelude in DFlat Major for months,” she says, “and every time I saw a piano, I would sit down and play it through.” In a burst of confidence, Dianne had even agreed to take part in an upcoming recital. But as the date approached, she regretted her decision . Just thinking about the recital—and the music faculty all sitting in front of her—made Dianne’s fingers start to close down. “I felt sick and trapped whenever I thought about the event,” she says, “but I had to follow through on the commitment I had made.”

The fateful day arrived, and Dianne kept practicing. When not whizzing through the piece, she and her roommate were out running to try and slow the adrenalin—which was hitting her like a tidal wave. “When I looked at the nine-foot concert grand,” Dianne says, “it seemed more like a guillotine.” There was nothing more she could do now, she realized. The music hall was filling, and it was almost time. She was not the first performer, but that moment would come soon enough.

Take slow even breaths…concentrate on other musicians…If only she could just forget herself… The applause died down from the previous student. It was time.

“My hands were clammy at this point, and I felt totally alone,” Dianne says. Hesitantly she went over to the piano bench, the eyes of hundreds following her. Her music began smoothly….until the fourth measure! All of a sudden she was forgetting notes she knew very well.

Suddenly Dianne felt angry! She had worked so hard! “Oh, God,” she whispered, “help me.”

“Immediately I felt something entering my body,” says Dianne.”My shaking hands stopped. A warmth flowed through me, and I began to play as if I was engrossed in the music.” Something strong and powerful had given her the strength to play with ease. In fact, it was as if she wasn’t playing at all. She and the music had become one.

Dianne was coming to the end of the Chopin. She wasn’t afraid now, nor did she hurry, wishing only that she had another composition to play! “I finished, and there was complete silence. Did the people feel the presence of God’s angels like I did?” Dianne wondered. Then the audience burst into thunderous applause. She had done it—with a little help.

“The experience of God’s angels empowering me is as vivid as the evening it occurred,” Dianne says. “I will never forget it.”

Where Angels Walk, April 7

Hello, angel friends. As Mother’s Day approaches, I must gear up for a sales pitch. My two family humor books, MOMS GO WHERE ANGELS FEAR TO TREAD and MOM KNOWS BEST are perfect gifts for Moms (as well as daughters, sisters and friends) and if ordered from www.amazon.com, they cost about $9 apiece (have you priced greeting cards lately?) The nine angel/miracle books are also great gifts but right now I think we need to laugh. You can contact me if you need more information (joan@joanwanderson.com). Just recently I spoke with a woman whose mother had died after a long illness. The daughter’s friends had rallied around during this painful time, bringing food, running errands, caring for children etc. With everything now finished, the daughter looked for a small gift to give to each of her “angel helpers,” and ended up buying 18 copies of one of the books which, of course, I signed and mailed to her. A wonderful idea, and everyone benefitted.

—Finally, our story. I will be sharing more on this theme during the next few weeks:

“In the last years of my mother’s life, it became difficult for her to walk for any distance, so we bought a little portable wheelchair for her,” says Diane Harrington. “She could then go shopping with me, and trust me, she was a world-class shopper.”
Even as her eyes gave way to cataracts, Diane’s mother could spot a penny on the sidewalk or floor with no problem. She always requested that Diane stop and pick up the penny. Was it “for luck?” No one seemed to know for sure. But the ritual happened so frequently that Diane once remarked, “Mother, if you go first, I’m going to say a prayer for you every time I see a penny laying on the walk.”
A few days after she died, Diane stopped at the 7-11 store after work. It was raining hard, and still daylight. ‘It was always my custom to look down at the sidewalk before getting out of the car,” Diane says. ‘i didn’t notice anything unusual so I got out of the car and went into the store.” The parking lot, except for Diane’s Pontiac, was empty. No one came into or went out of the store while she was there. But when she returned to her car, there were four brand new shiny pennies lined up neatly on the cement.
Just a coincidence? Perhaps. But Diane recalls a time shortly thereafter, when her son in grad school was still grieving his Grandmother’s loss. Like many mourners, he wondered if he would ever see her again. Just a little sign would do…One afternoon he decided to use the stairway in the center of the library, rather than the elevator. The stairway was seldom used by anyone. He was deep in thought and quite sad.
As he took the steps down, there on the bannister were two pennies. And he heard his grandmother say, quite clearly, “Just putting my two cents in.” Good luck? Maybe. And maybe a whole lot more.

Copyright 2011 by Joan Wester Anderson. Published by Joan Wester Anderson, P.O. Box 127, Prospect Heights, IL 60070. For more stories of God’s love, check the blog at http://www.joanwanderson.com.

Oh, my heavens! March 21, 2013

Hello, angel friends.

At the risk of letting you know how non-techy I am (and I think you know that already), I must bring you up-to-date on this past ten days. I guess we could describe them as every writer’s nightmare: I lost my mailing list. Uh-huh. Like my waistline, it just was there one day, and vanished the next.

Yes, I had been a little slovenly about backing up. (Please do that. Right now.) Yes, I usually cant even recognize what is serious and what is not, in the land of computers. And yes, it’s hard to keep up the list since a subscription requires someone to sign up, and then SIGN UP AGAIN to avoid hackers. But too many members forget the second sign-up, and this all takes time… Now, of course, it looked as if these thousands of names had been cast into the darkness, never to receive another story.

Yes, I did all the things one does in this situation, but the answers eluded me (and the people working on the list.). Of course I asked the angels for help, but they’re not always on my wavelength.. How was I going to get through the rest of my days without being able to contact any of you? Was I going to shut down completely? Should I retire, and enroll in Seattle Sutton cooking classes?

Then, last night as I passed by my open laptop, i thought I saw something. It couldn’t be, but it was. With no notice or fanfare, my glowing screen contained, yes, a mailing list. And it was mine.

I am back to normal, if there is such a thing, and giving praises to the angels for their loving care. Next time we’ll share a story, but i thought you might want to hear about this—an awakening of a different type, but still an Easter morning.

Copyrighted 2013 Joan Wester Anderson
joan@joanwanderson.com

WHERE ANGELS WALK, March 9 2013

Harold and Beulah Bassler, an elderly couple from Martinsburg, Pennsylvania, were enjoying their usual after-church Sunday drive. They were on a small country road, admiring the scenery, when suddenly a large car approached. The driver (who they later discovered was drunk) was aiming right for them. Harold swerved, but there was nowhere for their car to go except off the road. It bounced down an embankment and toppled into a gushing stream,. Harold and Beulah both shouted for help.

Fortunately, within minutes, many people in the area ran to assist them. It was a small town, and just about everyone knew everyone else. As some of the men hung onto the car, and others grabbed the Basslers to keep them from being pulled away by the current, everyone saw a handsome blue-eyed stranger drive up and stop. “Here, let me help. They’re going to be cold!” he said, grabbing two brand new sleeping bags from inside his spotless automobile. As the neighbors pulled Harold and Beulah out of the water, they tore off their outer clothes, and laid each one inside a sleeping bag. When the ambulance arrived, the attendants left the couple in the warm bags while they drove them to Nason Hospital in Roaring Springs, PA.

Excitement over, everyone now looked around for the handsome stranger. But he was nowhere to be found. How could someone have driven off without anyone noticing? And why had he arrived on a little-traveled road—with those comfortable sleeping bags—at just the right time?

Due to the warm bags preventing hypothermia, the Basslers survived their ordeal, and had several happy years together afterward. No one ever saw the stranger again. But there was one more peculiar postscript: Not only did the stranger disappear, the sleeping bags did too. Uncle Weldon Bassler attempted to retrieve them from the hospital, to have them cleaned and possibly returned to the mystery man. But he was greeted with blank looks from the emergency room staff.

“Sleeping bags?” more than one replied. “I don’t recall seeing them at all.”

Joan West

Sam

Hello, friends. Thank you so much for responding to my commercial last week. When you read Sam Connelly’s story today, you will see why I think these stories can change hearts, even lives. Whenever you support me or other (hopefully) good writers, you’re making the world a better place. And here’s Sam’s story, long but worth it.
Today we hear frequently of children being kidnapped. Although the vast majority of such episodes involve custody battles rather than criminal abductors, it can still be a terrifying experience for everyone involved. And although most of these little victims are returned safely to their parents within a few days, there are always a few whose nightmare doesn’t follow that pattern. So it was with Samuel Connelly.
When Sam was two-and-a-half, he and his brother Kenny, aged seven, were taken from their babysitter’s home in northern California. “My parents were in the midst of getting a divorce but both had equal custody of us, since they hadn’t yet figured out a visitation plan,” Sam says. “My mother was involved with another man, and my father had been told by family members that she was planning to run away with this man, and take us with them.” Mr. Connelly was a construction worker, and couldn’t provide an adequate home on his own for two small boys. But he was afraid of losing them, so one day he asked some of his friends to pick up his sons from the sitter’s and take them out of town, at least until he and his estranged wife could decide the custody issues. Unfortunately, the “friends” had other ideas. They took Sam and Kenny out of state –Sam does not remember why— and it would be over three years before the boys would see their parents again.
Sam still struggles with areas of his life, dealing with the years he lost. But he does remember some details. He lived in more than one place during these years, apparently shuffled around whenever the police seemed to get too close (occasionally when in a car, he would be told to get down on the floorboards—a sure sign that a police car was passing). But the years he remembers most occurred in a desolate area in Arizona. He and Kenny lived with a couple who had two daughters and a son of their own. Sam didn’t get to spend much time with them. Too small to ask meaningful questions, too young to go to school or come in contact with other adults who might have investigated his situation, Sam had no idea that his mother was searching for him through the western United States. Instead, he was very much alone. “I was introduced to fear at a young age,” Sam says. “The people who took me had strange spiritual beliefs, and talked about demons a lot.” Sam was also frequently locked out of the house all day to play by himself. “That’s probably why I have such a great imagination today,” he says today. “I had to be my own best friend.”
But Sam was not always alone. Like many children his age, he had an imaginary companion. “He was a boy, just a little older than I was,” Sam recalls. “I had a lot of nightmares during those years—I thought I saw demons and I would sometimes cry all night.” Except when his friend came to visit. Sam cannot remember the boy’s name, but he often told Sam stories to comfort him. “To this day I don’t know if he was fully imagined, or if he was an angel,” Sam says. “But to me, at that age, he was real.”
Sam had another consolation too, a collie dog named Toby. “Toby was a stray that hung around one of the houses we lived in. He was real skinny, so we fed him. He was such a great-mannered dog that I was allowed to keep him. Later, when we moved, Toby went with us.”
For Sam, Toby was not just a dog, but a friend. “I talked to him like a little boy would talk to his brother,” Sam says. “I joked with him, wrestled with him…he ate my veggies and I ate a few of his milk bones. ” Toby served as different characters in Sam’s mind. He became a bank robber when Sam played “policeman,” a space explorer, a soldier (but that didn’t last long, because Toby would fetch the “grenade” and bring it back to Sam!) When thunderstorms came, he was a gentle father, letting the frightened child hold tightly to him.
The collie was watchful too. Once Sam was playing on the second floor of an old barn, on the property where he lived, and he was looking out the window, waving at Toby. Suddenly Sam lost his balance and fell out the window. “I didn’t really get hurt, just the wind knocked out of me,” Sam says. But Toby was distraught. He ran over, dragged Sam to the house and stayed with him, barking, until an adult finally came.
Toby’s biggest contribution to Sam’s wellbeing probably happened one day when Sam was still a preschooler. It was cold, and Sam would probably have preferred to stay indoors but instead he was sent out, and the door locked as usual. Sam had brought his G. I. Joe and Star Wars action figures outside, and now he looked for a place to play with them. His eye caught the huge field across the road, filled with weeds and foot-high dead grass. He rarely played there (the barn seemed more fun) but now Sam noticed there were gaps in the weeds that might be just right for building miniature fortresses and battlefields. Excited, he gathered his toys and crossed the dirt road.
“For the next few hours I was a four-year-old god, directing a war between Luke Skywalker and the G.I. Joe ground patrol in an intergalactic invasion on earth,” Sam says. “I remember running all through the field, as my hero and villain flew through the air shooting missiles at each other. I rolled on the ground, jumping over tiny ant hill villages, and crawled through the grass, hidden to the outside world.”
Then to his horror, Sam heard a terrifying sound, a high-pitched shriek. It was Toby! He had just been let outside, but instead, he was jumping around, yelping in pain. There seemed to be some kind of silver thing on his leg. “Help Toby! Help Toby!” Screaming, Sam abandoned his toys and ran across the field to his dog. The man who was taking care of him and a friend had heard the dog too, and came running out of the house. One removed what was discovered to be a trap, and both men then took Toby to the vet, leaving Sam alone with his grief and fear. He couldn’t lose Toby! he thought, tears running down his cheeks. The dog was the only bright spot in his life.

When the men came home that evening, they had Toby with them. He had a bandaged leg but was going to be all right. Weakly, the dog licked Sam’s face, and Sam choked back more tears, this time tears of joy. “What happened to him?” he asked.

“He stepped in a trap,” Sam’s “guardian” pointed out. “Looks like there’s some in that pasture. You’d better stay out of it.”

Sam thought of his toys, still lying where he’d left them when he ran to Toby. He thought about Toby’s narrow escape from serious injury. “I decided that I would go out tomorrow morning and get my toys, and then I would never go in the field again,” he says. But the next morning, Sam found every one of his action figures in bed with him. “Who brought these in?” he asked at breakfast. No one in the family knew, or even seemed to care. A month later, men came to clear and till the pasture across the road, and they found sixty steel-jawed fox traps, all baited, set and hidden several months ago. Not one had gone off on that fateful day, despite Sam’s hours of leaping, running and jumping throughout the field.

Months passed. By now Sam was old enough to go to school, but he was not enrolled. No one told him why, and he continued his desolate outdoor existence with Toby his only friend. And then one terrible day, a drunken driver fleeing from the police sped down the dirt road. Toby ran out to bark at the man but he never slowed down. The man hit Toby and killed him.

Sam cried all night, but there wasn’t time for grief. The very next day he and his brother were spirited out of town to another location, and Sam was enrolled in kindergarten. He hardly knew how to relate to the other children in his class, and whenever he thought of Toby, he cried all over again. It’s doubtful what kind of adjustment Sam might have made (or not made) in school, but within a few months, his world changed again. “One day some FBI agents and some local police officers came to our school rooms, and picked up Kenny and me,” Sam says. “They told us we were going to see our mom, but I didn’t understand it. I was confused when we were taken to Texas and then California, and finally to court, and she pulled me to her and kissed my face and cried. She was a stranger to me, and my life made no sense at all.”

Sam would like to say that as the years passed, everything worked out, but not everything did. Since he was never allowed to talk about that time, he has only fragmented memories, not always reliable. Nor did his mother and father seem to know what to do with their rescued sons. “They had gone almost crazy looking for us, but their own lives were so messed up that they hardly knew how to connect with us when we came home.” Even today, as a loving husband and father, Sam is still learning about what happened during those difficult years. However, despite them, he realizes that the unseen hand of God never left him. The imaginary friend, protection in the field, and especially Toby…Sam believes they were all consolations sent to help him through.

One aspect in particular still causes him to wonder. How did the FBI finally find them? Sam suspects it may be because of Toby. Because the drunken driver who hit the dog was fleeing from the police, law enforcement came onto the property, and obviously became aware of the situation there. Was it only a coincidence that a few months later, the FBI visited the site with a warrant, found photographs of the boys and traced them to their new school?

“I hated the man who killed my dog, but with all the mess that happened over the next few months, the moving and the court appearances, I probably would not have been able to keep Toby,” he says. So, in a way, Toby’s last act of love and sacrifice led to Sam’s freedom. Or perhaps it’s even more than that.

“Can a dog actually be an angel in disguise?” Sam asks. “Or are they just heavenly friends that come into our lives at the right time, for the right season?”

Perhaps someday we’ll know.

Auto Draft

WHERE ANGELS WALK, January 20 2013,

While living in Turkey, Madeline Cornett and her husband began to visit a Protestant church on Sundays. “I attended with people from an American Air Force base,” she says. “The church was in Iskenderun, and when the Turkish congregation saw us arriving each week, they would break into songs that we knew. They sang in Turkish, we sang in English.”

Madeline had met a young Turkish man who came to paint their house. As he worked, Madeline began to “love him in the Lord,” and share her belief in Jesus whenever the opportunity arose. The young man grew more and more interested. “Would you take me to that church?” he asked one day.

“You will come to church with my husband and me next Sunday!” Madeline assured him. She was delighted.
On the following Sunday, the three of them made their way to Iskenderun. “When we arrived, however, I realized that I had no idea where the church was,” Madeline admitted. “We always came in a bus, so I had zero knowledge—-not even its name. I did know that everyone gathered in an Armenian church, and I thought I could go to the police station and ask for directions.”

But Madeline’s friend was fearful. “Please, no police.” It was apparent he was afraid, so the three just drove away, not knowing what to do.

Suddenly Madeline turned to her husband. “Stop the car!”
Brakes screeched as he swerved on the busy street. “Why are we stopping?” he demanded.
“I’m going to ask someone where the church is.” Madeline told him.

Madeline’s husband looked at her as if she had lost her mind. There were about 300,000 Turkish residents here, all, it seemed in this downtown area. Noise and police and traffic … What was she thinking?

But as he shook his head, Madeline got out of the car and walked over to a young man coming by. “Excuse me,” she said. “Do you speak English?”
“Yes, I do,” he replied.
“There’s a Protestant church somewhere….” she began to describe it.
“I know the church,” he answered. “Would you like me to take you there?”

Madeline’s husband and their young passenger were stunned into silence. In fact, “For the life of me I cannot remember what we talked about on the way, or what he said when he left us,” Madeline says.
But it was several days later when Madeline realized that surely their guide was an angel sent from above. For what were the chances that one of 300,000 would speak her language and know the exact location of a Protestant church in Iskenderun? And did it seem odd that their young man was adamant about going to church, despite his obvious fear of the police nearby?

Madeline and her husband kept in touch with the young painter after they returned home to the States. And one morning they received a wonderful letter from him. He had been faithfully reading the Bible Madeline gave him, and his life had changed. “You have a Christian Turkish son now,” he wrote. “Glory to God in the highest!”

Madeline lifted her hands in joy. One never could be sure what God had in mind, but it would always be interesting..

WHERE ANGELS WALK, January 8 2013

THIS IS THE DAY
Lou Berry loves to fish and duck hunt. He will go regardless of weather, and he would probably prefer either to eating, says his wife Nell. Lou also takes an interest in teenagers. He has been a Baptist camp counseler, and spent several years teaching a pair of young brothers to fish and hunt. Since his heart bypass, a hearing impairment and the onset of arthritis, he’s slowed down a bit, but he still squeezes as much activity as he can out of every moment. This is indeed “the day that the Lord has made,” he points out to Nell, who is very proud of him.

A few winters ago, Lou and his buddy (we’ll call him Fred) had returned from fishing. The wind had been fierce and the water very rough, with whitecaps two or three feet high, and it didn’t take them long to decide to leave. They were pulling the boat out of the water when Lou heard something, a sound he could not immediately determine. “Did you hear that?” he asked Fred.
“Yeah!” Fred replied. “What was it?”
“I don’t know,” was Lou’s answer. “But it sounded almost human.”
Listening intently for several moments, they heard it again. Was it a human cry? “That sounds like someone in trouble,” Lou said. “Let’s go see if we can find out for sure where it came from.”

They had just gotten the boat tied down, so they had to launch it again and go out in the direction where they determined the sound was coming from. It was hard to choose a direction, since the sound was often muffled due to the wind, but the men kept at it, looking for something, anything, as their ears and faces and hands stiffened in pain… Then suddenly Lou looked toward the bank, and followed the sound to what turned out to be a capsized boat. “We’re coming!” Lou called out. “Hang on!”
Coming closer, the men saw a hand reaching out to them on the side of the boat and heard the faint cry for help. There, hanging onto his overturned boat by the proverbial fingernails, was a young man at the brink of exhaustion. He would not have lasted another fifteen minutes, had they decided not to go looking for him, Lou realized.

Reaching his hand down to help him, Lou could see the gratitude in his face as he mouthed the words, “Thank you. You saved my life.”
Lou knew it was Someone greater than he that led them to this young man. “No, son,” he said, “Someone else had His hand on you. It wasn’t me that saved you. God or His angel led us to you.”

They had to physically pull him into their boat. He was wearing rubber waders filled with water, and he was so weak and cold that he could not help them. Finally emptying his waders, they dragged him into their boat and took him back to shore. Again, in his weakened condition he could not walk alone, and he was nearing hypothermia. So with Lou on one side and Fred on the other, they helped him to his truck.
“Let’s get those clothes off him,” Lou said, “and turn the heater on to get him warmed up.”

Hurriedly stripping him to his underwear, they turned on the truck heater. Slowly, the young man revived. Lou and Fred went back to recover his boat and the other equipment. Returning to the boat ramp they pulled the boat onto his trailer for him. “Want us to give you a ride home?” Lou offered.
“I can make it,” the young man answered. “Thanks to you.”

Concluding he was going to be alright, Lou and Fred headed for home. It had been a trying experience, but one they would not soon forget. In fact Lou was still a bit shaken when he related the details to Nell that evening at dinner. But he was surprised at her very startled reaction.

“You heard him call? Through the waves and the wind?” she asked her husband.
“Well, yes….”
“And he was so far away that you barely saw him?” she pressed on.
Lou was starting to realize what Nell was getting at. His hearing impairment was serious. It had been a long time since he could hear a conversation without straining.

The couple looked at each other. “I told him an angel probably sent me,” Lou said.

‘An angel probably did,” Nell agreed, and gave him a big hug.

Joan’s New Book: “Angelic Tails”

Hello, friends. We’re resuming our angel stories after a few weeks of overwork. If you received a Nook or Kindle, I can help you with books to read. Start with ANGELS, MIRACLES and HEAVEN ON EARTH and see where you’d like to go from there. Lou Berry’s story also appears in this new book.

THIS IS THE DAY
Lou Berry loves to fish and duck hunt. He will go regardless of weather, and he would pr
obably prefer either to eating, says his wife Nell. Lou also takes an interest in teenagers. He has been a Baptist camp counseller, and spent several years teaching a pair of young brothers to fish and hunt. Since his heart bypass, a hearing impairment and the onset of arthritis, he’s slowed down a bit, but he still squeezes as much activity as he can out of every moment. This is indeed “the day that the Lord has made,” he points out to Nell, who is very proud of him.

A few winters ago, Lou and his buddy (we’ll call him Fred) had returned from fishing. The wind had been fierce and the water very rough, with whitecaps two or three feet high, and it didn’t take them long to decide to leave. They were pulling the boat out of the water when Lou heard something, a sound he could not immediately determine. “Did you hear that?” he asked Fred.
“Yeah!” Fred replied. “What was it?”
“I don’t know,” was Lou’s answer. “But it sounded almost human.”
Listening intently for several moments, they heard it again. Was it a human cry? “That sounds like someone in trouble,” Lou said. “Let’s go see if we can find out for sure where it came from.”

They had just gotten the boat tied down, so they had to launch it again and go out in the direction where they determined the sound was coming from. It was hard to choose a direction, since the sound was often muffled due to the wind, but the men kept at it, looking for something, anything, as their ears and faces and hands stiffened in pain… Then suddenly Lou looked toward the bank, and followed the sound to what turned out to be a capsized boat. “We’re coming!” Lou called out. “Hang on!”
Coming closer, the men saw a hand reaching out to them on the side of the boat and heard the faint cry for help. There, hanging onto his overturned boat by the proverbial fingernails, was a young man at the brink of exhaustion. He would not have lasted another fifteen minutes, had they decided not to go looking for him, Lou realized.

Reaching his hand down to help him, Lou could see the gratitude in his face as he mouthed the words, “Thank you. You saved my life.”
Lou knew it was Someone greater than he that led them to this young man. “No, son,” he said, “Someone else had His hand on you. It wasn’t me that saved you. God or His angel led us to you.”

They had to physically pull him into their boat. He was wearing rubber waders filled with water, and he was so weak and cold that he could not help them. Finally emptying his waders, they dragged him into their boat and took him back to shore. Again, in his weakened condition he could not walk alone, and he was nearing hypothermia. So with Lou on one side and Fred on the other, they helped him to his truck.
“Let’s get those clothes off him,” Lou said, “and turn the heater on to get him warmed up.”

Hurriedly stripping him to his underwear, they turned on the truck heater. Slowly, the young man revived. Lou and Fred went back to recover his boat and the other equipment. Returning to the boat ramp they pulled the boat onto his trailer for him. “Want us to give you a ride home?” Lou offered.
“I can make it,” the young man answered. “Thanks to you.”

Concluding he was going to be alright, Lou and Fred headed for home. It had been a trying experience, but one they would not soon forget. In fact Lou was still a bit shaken when he related the details to Nell that evening at dinner. But he was surprised at her very startled reaction.

“You heard him call? Through the waves and the wind?” she asked her husband.
“Well, yes….”
“And he was so far away that you barely saw him?” she pressed on.
Lou was starting to realize what Nell was getting at. His hearing impairment was serious. It had been a long time since he could hear a conversation without straining.

The couple looked at each other. “I told him an angel probably sent me,” Lou said.

‘An angel probably did,” Nell agreed, and gave him a big hug.

Quick reminder about Loretta Young

Hello, friends. Last night I stumbled into Turner Movie Channel (TMC) ‘s presentation of Platinum Blonde, a movie made in 1931 (did they have sound then?  ) featuring actress Loretta Young, whose biography (FOREVER YOUNG) I wrote in 2000. It was wonderful to see her in an old movie, and to be reminded that this woman made over 100 films while (mostly) sticking to her moral principles, supporting her family, ministering to AIDS patients and loving her way through life. (The mysteries about her daughter and her relationship with Spencer Tracy have finally been cleared up in the book’s revision.)

Because TMC is celebrating Loretta Young as Star of the Month, there are many more movies scheduled, so please watch your TV guides if you are interested in “meeting” her one last time. Or you can download the ebook. We will resume our angel stories next week.