Did I say earlier that my opiates produced no visions? “The air is thick with angels,” I said to my husband and (I think) to a few visiting friends as I lay in my hospital bed. I don’t know. I was still pretty out of it and I bet they thought I was partially insane. But I do distinctly remember a certain thickness in the air, as if I could pass my arm to the side of my bed and hit something unexpected. (Think of Kershisnik image from earlier angel post). After the other angel incidents, I can honestly say that I believe it to be more than opium. (Although I do admit that it is like opiates in that often with the angels I would close my eyes and then that’s when I could see them). You just can’t see these things with your waking eyes, but with the spiritual.
When I closed my physical eyes I could see or sense people I knew drawing close around me. And not just my forebears, but Jon’s as well. I am certain that both his Grandpa Melvin’s were there. I know this because Jon and I had been reading through family history stories for family home evening this summer and these angelic people seemed familiar to me. There were both men and women, and as I said, the air was THICK with angelic presence, hoping to see me regain my physical and emotional strength. Looking back, I feel as though the very powers of heaven were clustered around me just to give me support and to watch over Jon and me in our extremity, even as we slept. It occurs to me that this very same thing happened with my support and friends here in the Stake. Angels, all of them. (Also my family and friends not here in Alaska—but you are far away, so you can’t “cluster” around me en masse).
I should mention that the angelic visits were before I had made my peace with this whole brain tumor and cancer thing. I was not yet resolved to the Lord’s will on this. Indeed, as yet I had little idea of how this thing was about to spiral out of control. I assure you that I already had no grip on the situation. But it was comforting to have them there looking out for me. I wish I understood more what exactly my angels could do for a sick girl stuck in bed. Do they whisper certain necessary hymns inside your ears? Do they catch you when your physical therapist isn’t paying quite enough attention if you list to the left too quickly? Do they get out the pom-poms and cheer? Do they pray? I don’t know as much as I’d like to about who these people are or what they can do.
However in all my angel experiences, I am reminded of, and will heavily paraphrase, that pioneer story from the Martin Hancock Company and the testimony of a man as he said that he would never regret being on that journey. He declared gladness and willingness to do it all over again. He would fix his eyes on a certain point on the road ahead and think, “If I can just pull my cart to that spot, then I will be done and can go no further—but then when he got there he felt the cart pushing him along. Let me be clear, I am not a glutton for punishment. I have no desire to go through my trials again. But I know what he’s saying about the extra help.