To Heaven and Back (11 page)

While often unrecognized, angels certainly seem to be present and active in our world today. A
Newsweek
article titled “In Search of the Sacred” (November 1994) observed, “Twenty percent of Americans have had a revelation from God in the last year, and 13 percent have seen or sensed the presence of an angel.”

Angels often expose us to, or push us into, a situation that will force our redirection. Of course, our redirection is not
really
forced; rather, as we are compelled to approach the fork in our road, we make a choice to turn left or turn right. Every choice leads us forward, and there is no going backward, no “redo.” Every choice we make today affects the choices that we face tomorrow. Planet earth and the humans living on it are truly interconnected, and there is no action without some sort of reaction.

Even the most terrible circumstances and events can stimulate great change in individuals and/or societies. Without observing cruelty, we would not be moved to compassion. Without personal trials, we would not develop patience or faithfulness. It is the recognition that our earthly concerns matter little when compared to life eternal that allows us to know joy in the midst of sorrow and worry. Have you ever really changed or experienced personal
growth during times of comfort or complacency? The acceptance that change rarely comes without difficulty and challenge can truly free a person to “rejoice always.” It also allows us to live daily with a grateful heart and “give thanks in all circumstances.” No matter what the circumstances, we can be grateful that God fulfills His promises, that our faith is sufficient to sustain us, and that our eternal life is assured.

Sometimes uncomfortable situations or irritating people are placed in our lives to lead us in a direction more in line with God’s will. One example I like to use is that of a beggar who may sit outside of a wealthy businessman’s office in an attempt to help that person develop more tolerance and compassion for others.

I am able to see examples of this in my own life as well. Before my accident, the behavior of some of my colleagues deeply aggravated and irritated me. Afterward, while I still didn’t like the behavior, I realized that I do not know their purpose on earth, nor why they are in my life. As difficult as it sometimes is to accept, I do know that God loves each of them every bit as much as He loves me. Rather than being irritated by their behavior, I now take joy in the knowledge that their behavior is teaching me patience and I give thanks for this. I also began to pray for them, which has changed my perspective significantly. The exercise of praying for others (and I’m talking about praying with love, not praying as is humorously presented in
the country-western song about praying for the car brakes to go out, the flower pot to fall, the engine to stall, and such) can lead to dramatic results and to greater peace and contentment. This exercise is definitely worth trying.

As the angel sitting on the nearby rock continued his explanations and patiently answered my questions, I began to visualize a reasonable analogy for our individual lives; each of us is like a small piece of thread that contributes to the weaving of a very large and very beautiful tapestry. We, as single threads, spend our lives worrying about our thread—what color it is and how long it is—even becoming upset if it becomes torn or frayed. The complete tapestry is far too large for us to see and of too complex a pattern for us to appreciate the importance of our single thread. Regardless, without our individual contribution, the tapestry would be incomplete and broken. We should, therefore, recognize and take joy in our contribution. Indeed, our threads—our lives—are important; what we do and the choices we make, even the seemingly small ones, actually make a difference.

I find it interesting that when people describe how terribly awful some events or circumstances are, it is rarely the people directly involved who are doing this describing. I have spoken to person after person who has been at the center of a situation described by others as “awful, tragic, or disastrous,” yet they themselves are grateful for the situation
and would not change their circumstances if they were given the choice.

My point is this: interpreting something that happens as being inherently “good” or “bad” is entirely a matter of perspective. Do “bad things happen to good people”? I’m not so sure. Jesus was certainly a very “good” man. His crucifixion would certainly be interpreted by many as a “bad” thing. His disciples were devastated, yet the Old Testament prophecies would not have been fulfilled and a new covenant with God would not exist if Jesus had not been crucified. From this perspective, it is difficult to declare that the crucifixion of Jesus was a “bad” thing. In fact, it is the very heart of the “good news” that Christians celebrate.

Even when we are frustrated by our inability to understand a circumstance or event, there are unseen angels bringing comfort and protection as directed by the wisdom of God. Our only reasonable option is to rely on the word and promises of God.

When my health allowed for it, I was transferred to the patient care unit (PCU). When I first arrived, I still had no pain to speak of and still felt wrapped in the cloak of God. I actually felt blissful. When people entered my room for the first time, they would literally take a step backward and with a look of surprise on their faces ask, “What is going on in here?” They would go on to describe a feeling of physical power and presence in the room. The first time someone noted this, I sort of ignored it. When it occurred again and again, and with a variety of different people, I began to believe that they were feeling the almost palpable energy in my room. I should not have been surprised that they could feel God’s presence—I could certainly feel it.

It had been a couple of weeks since my accident, but I was still spending most of each day in pensive contemplation, trying to make sense of all that had happened. I believed that all things work together for good and I began to contemplate the possible reasons for this accident. Before I knew it, I was once again sitting in a beautiful, sun-drenched field with an angel. The brilliance and intensity of the surrounding beauty and the purity of the angel’s radiant love were simultaneously overwhelming and rejuvenating.

We spoke for what seemed like many hours, and I never wanted to leave. We talked about the specifics of my accident and I was given more information regarding many of the reasons I was returned to earth. Later in this book, I will tell you about several of these directives, including the protection of my husband’s health, being a rock of support for my family and community after the death of my son, helping others find their way back to God, and sharing my story and experiences.

When our conversation was over and it was time for me to return, the angel kissed me on my forehead and bade me farewell. I knew it would be our last conversation and with that kiss, much of what had been told to me seemed to be placed beneath a veil. I sensed that I could later choose to lift the veil and recall all of the words said to me if I really wanted to, but I also knew that I was expected to let them remain veiled.

With my transfer to the PCU came the added joy of being allowed visitors. I looked forward to my children’s first visit and ached with a longing to hold each of them tightly and reassuringly. When they arrived, my three older kids were reluctant to approach me and my youngest stayed as far away from my bed as was possible. I imagine that I must have been frightening to see, and perhaps unrecognizable with all of the various tubes and machinery attached to my body, but their hesitation was heartbreaking. Within a few days, their comfort was restored and we spent glorious hours lying together in my hospital bed watching movies and cuddling. Although I adored them and loved the time we spent together, part of me still longed to be with God. This realization made me feel torn and depressed.

One afternoon I was awakened by a visit from Al Forbes, one of the partners in my medical practice. He was a Christian man and I felt I could tell him the details of my extraordinary experiences on the river. As I told him of my drowning, of God’s loving embrace, and of the miracles that had occurred, he began to cry. I asked why he was crying and was surprised when he told me that he was overcome with envy at my being so close to God, and was crying because he was not usually an envious man. Not wanting to upset others, I then chose not to tell many more people the details or extent of my experiences with God.

As my physical state became one of recovery rather than survival, I was more fully absorbed back into the reality of this world. My ties with God’s world became less palpable until I was no longer able to pass between worlds or have conversations with angels. When my medical condition improved and my orthopaedic partners (including my husband) were able to agree upon a treatment plan, I was finally able to undergo the first of several operations to surgically repair my various injuries. With this beginning of physical recovery, I also began to feel pain.

The rest of my time in the hospital was challenging for everyone. I was still trying to process all that I had witnessed and continued to meditate on the three verses from
1 Thessalonians
, but both of my legs were in casts stretching from my toes to my hips so I was unable to move and was able to do very little. Bill was at work during the day, the older kids were in school, and Peter was with our nanny, Kasandra. Since I was on my back with only the ceiling for my entertainment, I counted the small holes in each ceiling tile again and again; first vertically, then horizontally, then diagonally. The excitement of coming up with the same number each time did little to diminish my boredom.

Visitors were exhausting but served as bright interludes to this otherwise dreary time. One friend rolled my bed into the sunshine that was delightfully streaming through a hallway window, and one thoughtful friend brought me some lavender
body lotion that smelled like a field of fresh blossoms. Each time I rubbed some of this lotion on my hands I would delight in its scent and be enveloped in a feeling of comfort and beauty. It meant so much to me at the time that I have saved the bottle. Now when I occasionally open it and inhale the remnants of its fragrance, I am immediately reminded of my feeling of delight and fondly remember the person who gave it to me.

After more than a month in the hospital, I was not sorry to pack up my belongings and go home.

I was excited to leave the hospital, but once I was home I was emotionally depressed and physically miserable. Yes, I found joy in my circumstances, but that did not change my tangible, daily, physical reality. I had solid casts on both legs, which extended from my groin to my toes. I wasn’t able to move around by myself, although I could stand upright on my own with a walker if someone first lifted me up. If no one was nearby to assist me, I was wheelchair-bound.

Our rental house was probably built in the 1970s, with very narrow doors and hallways. A friend removed the doors from the hinges so I
could be wheeled between my bedroom and the kitchen, but I was basically like a pet rock. After someone moved me into a room, I had to stay there until someone arrived to move me into a different location.

While still in the hospital, I had developed blood clots in my legs that broke free and traveled to my lungs. To help dissolve the blood clots and avoid further complications, Bill gave me twice daily shots—not a pleasant experience for someone who detests being stuck with a needle. I was also taking narcotic pills for the pain and required help for even the most basic activities of daily living. The euphoria of visiting heaven was gone, replaced by the tedium of each day and the continued disbelief that I had been sent back to earth. I was really quite glum. I had always been physically active and strong, and being physically immobile was emotionally difficult for me. It was challenging to follow the disciple James’s dictum: “Consider it all joy … when you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith develops perseverance.” I thought I had developed enough perseverance.