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Gift of Angels
By
Lezlie Winberry
How can I describe them? They danced, skipped, glided. I wasn’t even two years old when they appeared. I should have been playing with teddy bears and dolls. Sadly though, I was born with a rare cancer disease. The doctors did all they could while my parents prayed all the time. When their prayers seemed unmet, they rested in knowing “God’s ways are just.” As for me, even though I wasn’t healed on earth, God lavished His love upon me through others. But the favorite gift He gave me came one week before Christmas—three days before my home going: Monday, December 18th, 1989.
The day danced with activity; a bittersweet tone filled our house. Baked sweet potato pie dominated the different aromas filling the air; phone calls and visitors added to the demand of Mom’s attention. My older brothers, Shawn and Ryan, and all my medical needs ranked first among her holiday preparations. “How are you sweetheart?” She’d take time to rock me while singing.
After my afternoon nap, I heard Mom tell Mrs. Hackett: “Oh, Eleanor, that would mean so much to us—to me. Yes, 7pm would be great. Bless you!”
“They are coming for you, sweetheart. Your own personal choir; God loves you more than I could ever express. You are special!” She dressed me in Christmas ruffles.
By six o’clock Dad had helped Mom with the dinner dishes; Shawn emptied the trash. Ryan managed the easiest job of entertaining me (or was it? What thoughts, fears, and feelings plagued my brothers of nine and five years of age?) I knew they missed the perky sister I used to be. Finally, though, company arrived, and I heard the cherrywood clock chime out the familiar strikes: Bong! Bong! Bong! Seven of them.
“They’re here, honey.” Mom pushed my stroller into the foyer of our Spanish styled home dad and granddad built a decade ago. “Is everyone ready?” She called out. My brothers fixed their boyish figures against my “rolling chariot” as Shawn tagged it. Ryan stroked my feathery hair; Shawn cupped my right hand. Dad opened the front door slowly, methodically, almost as if announcing the royal court singers. The carolers, almost thirty, stood their post outside the opened door.
On cue, I “saw” the ancient notes of Silent Night float into our home. With the magical song reminding us of the reason for the Christmas celebration, I instantly experienced God’s gift.
Angelic beings—dispatched as ambassadors for me. The colors; Wow! Every solid shade of the rainbow, but more: Translucent, iridescent. And the sounds; smells—soft, light, sweet, but not “sugary.” A melody of their own wove about with the familiar Christmas carols that mesmerized everyone else—except Mom and me. She must have seen the intensity on my face—my eyes, dark, widened and fixed on trying to grasp it all– as I listened to the song of the angels, not the choir. My dying body, momentarily surged with renewed life, felt the peace, the joy, the knowing that God’s Word talks about in Luke 2:13: “Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, ‘Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to men on whom his favor rests.’”
You’re wondering, perhaps, how a child—a baby not even two—can describe in such “grown up terms.” The Spirit. Yes, the same Spirit that lives in you lives in me. He gave me insight to know, understand, and absorb God’s truth. Mathew 11:25 confirms: “I praise Thee, O Father, LORD of heaven and earth that Thou dist hide these things of the wise and intelligent, and did reveal them to babes.”
This gift of God bestowed upon me four days before my spiritual entrance to heaven, and not only did I see God’s messengers, I heard their delivery of God’s love note to me: CaSondra, My child, it’s time to come home. “
Again, God’s living word echoed throughout my being, “And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain.’ ” Revelation 21:4
Merry Christmas, Everyone,
from one who’s been home for twenty years as of December 21, 2009.