Embrace God's truth with our new book, The Lies that Bind

Donate
OUTREACH & PARNTERSHIPS
Return
Shop
Return
Seasonal sale

Spring’s promise begins here

See the new spring collection. Get 20% off all orders using code: SPRING.

Shop now
Spring’s promise begins here
Articles
Return
Featured Article

‘The Star Thrower’ and the Difference You Can Make

In 1978, author Loren Eiseley published an essay called “The Star Thrower.” It recounts a beach walk by a narrator...

Read More
Abide
Return
Featured Abide Article

Soundscapes for Restorative Sleep and Mindfulness 

In the hustle of daily life, finding moments of peace and tranquility can sometimes feel like an impossible dream...

Try Abide Free
Soundscapes for Restorative Sleep and Mindfulness 

A Day Full of Angel Stories

Posted on by Colleen Hughes

This is the third time today I’ve tried to write this blog, but it’s turned out to be a day of meetings, meetings and more meetings! How was I supposed to make time to do my own work, like write my usual Wednesday blog? Nothing frustrates me more than a day of meetings.

First thing this morning the editors met for our weekly editorial meeting, where we bring stories to be considered for future issues of our magazines and content on the websites. We bounce around ideas, talk about who would be the best narrator to tell a certain story, share story leads from readers. We try to keep the meeting to an hour, but this morning it ran an hour and a half. Every story pitched seemed to remind at least one editor about something that had happened in his or her own life, and we all had to hear about it.

Before lunch, the Angels on Earth staff met to finalize our story lineup for the January/February 2013 issue. Valentine Angels stories got everyone talking about their own personal love stories, and before we knew it, another hour had flown by. Someone’s growling stomach finally broke up the meeting.

After lunch we listened to Guideposts executive editor Rick Hamlin pitch stories for the magazine’s February 2013 issue. More romance, more personal anecdotes from editors. Did everyone have a story to tell today?

Yes, there are lots of good news stories out there—and just as many here among us editors. It’s impossible to sit in meetings all day listening to how God and his angels are at work in the world without seeing the blessings in our own lives. I guess I have to admit that today I was blessed with back-to-back meetings.

A College Student’s Do-It-Yourself Christmas Tree

Posted on by Skyla Minert

Home at last. I’d spent the morning rushing around my college dorm in preparation for winter break. I couldn’t wait to get away from school and the worst first semester I could have imagined. At a university with thousands of students, I couldn’t seem to find anyone I had anything in common with. Was I going to be lonely for all four years?

Don’t think about that now, I told myself. It was Christmas, my favorite holiday. I would put up the Nativity sets all over the house. String lights outside. Arrange my presents around the tree…

“Mom, I’m home!” I called, looking to the corner where we always put the tree. It was empty.

Mom came into the living room and gave me a hug. “Where’s the tree?”

“Oh, Skyla, I’m sorry,” Mom said. “I didn’t get one since we’re going to Aunt Kristi’s this year.”

I could do without lights outside. Even do without presents. But do without a Christmas tree? No way. I went to my room. Ineed a tree, I thought. But what could I do about it now?

I looked around the house helplessly, as if hoping to find a tree I hadn’t noticed before. My eye fell on an origami flower bouquet I’d made for Mother’s Day one year. Someone had given me a book about origami, and for a few months I made flowers nonstop. The bouquet wouldn’t work as a Christmas tree, but maybe if I made something like it, only bigger? In green? It wouldn’t hurt to try! I wanted it to be a surprise, so I waited until everyone went to bed.

Then I got to work. I grabbed a stack of copy paper from Mom’s desk. Next I got out my crayons and my iPad. I typed in origami Santaon YouTube. I figured I’d warm up those origami muscles with something easy first. I followed the motions of the friendly teacher in the video until I had a cute little Santa and reindeer. I taped them up on the wall and started on my tree.

I cut a pile of paper into four-inch squares, colored them green with a crayon and folded them as I had the leaves on Mom’s bouquet. Twenty minutes later I had a bunch of folded green squares taped into a shape that vaguely resembled a spider. How did I think I could ever make a whole tree out of paper?

I needed a new idea. What if I connected the paper leaves to make branches? No origami. No folding. Just flat green pieces and tape. I looked up from my crayons and my eyes went straight to an empty wall space. It seemed to call out: What a great place for a tree!

First came the color…again. I took more white paper and scribbled with green crayon, followed by a few in brown for the tree trunk. I tried to vary how I shaded each sheet, coloring with thick or thin lines, going across or diagonally. When I was done I cut the colored sheets into squares, rectangles and odd-shaped boxes. I didn’t have the whole thing planned. There was no YouTube video to follow.

I sorted the pieces into two piles, one green and one brown, and laid them out right side up on top of our table. A long brown trunk at the bottom, then big pieces of green in the middle, tapering outward into smaller pieces for the branches. Could these random, jagged pieces of paper actually make a tree? I wasn’t sure. I still had nothing to guide me. I moved pieces around until I was satisfied with the shape. Then I turned all the pieces over to back them with packing tape.

When I pulled on the tape it made an ugly shriek coming off the roll. I froze, praying no one would wake up and catch me.

Several hours later I tiptoed through the living room, with the Christmas tree flapping softly in one hand as I walked. Please don’t fall apart, I thought, gripping the roll of tape in my other hand.

It was hard to get the whole thing stuck to the wall. First I had to put up a big strip for the trunk, then cut off little pieces to stick under the leaves where the tape wouldn’t be seen. It was long past midnight, but I colored and cut out more shapes for decorations and “hung” them from the branches. Of course, I put a paper angel at the top.

My fingers were tired. I could barely keep my eyes open. But when I took a few steps back for one last look before bed, I was amazed at what I saw. We had an actual Christmas tree where before we had nothing!

A great bubble of satisfaction and joy welled up within me. Everyone’s going to be so surprised, I thought. I couldn’t wait. I ran to get the Santa I’d made. I stuck him to the wall so that he was flying right past the tree pulled by his reindeer. Then I arranged our presents around the trunk.

I felt a little like Santa myself as I crept off to bed. I woke to excitement the next morning. “I’ve got to get a picture for Aunt Kristi!” my grandmother said, snapping me sitting next to the presents.

I’d thought we’d have to go without a tree at home that year, but I just had to get creative with the resources at my disposal. I took that lesson back to school with me in January. It was the best semester ever, once I saw that God had given me everything I needed there too.

Did you enjoy this story? Subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.

A Collection of Stories of Angels in Bloom

Posted on by Alexandra Chipkin

May’s Bouquet by Sara Etgen-Baker

“Okay, now we’re ready,” my mother said as we gathered up our bags and headed out to the car. After a morning of tending our flower garden—my pride and joy—we spent the afternoon at the local five-and-dime store, where we gathered up tissue paper, ribbons, note cards and all the discounted Easter baskets we could fit into the shopping cart.

“Ready for what?” I asked.

“May baskets, for the first day of May,” she said. “When we get home, we’ll cut the flowers that are blooming in the garden and fill these baskets so that tomorrow morning we can get up bright and early and deliver them to our neighbors. We’ll ring the bell and run away before anyone can see who made the delivery! Doesn’t that sound like fun?” Her blue eyes sparkled.

Was she kidding? I had waited all winter for the flowers to bloom. We had worked on the garden for months, ever since we planted those first bulbs back in fall. It was our special mother-daughter project, and I had cherished the time we spent together. Now I wanted to cut the flowers for our own house, to put them in pretty vases and enjoy what we’d done together.

“Oh, Sweetie. Flowers are like kindness. They are meant to be shared. That’s the real beauty of a garden. You’ll see.” I doubted this, but I knew I didn’t have a choice.

Later that afternoon we snipped away our garden and arranged the bouquets. We tied each one together with ribbon, wrapped it in tissue paper, and put them all in the refrigerator to stay fresh overnight. I slept fitfully thinking about our empty garden.

In the morning, we loaded the bouquet-filled baskets and began our trek through the neighborhood. Mother handed me the first basket. “Now for the fun part!”

Holding hands, we ran to a front door, rang the doorbell and sprinted away. We crouched behind some shrubs and watched the door open and our neighbor look up and down the street. Her expression went from surprise to confusion to a delighted grin when she saw the May basket on her doorstep. “Thank you!” she called out to the street. She looked so happy, and it felt as if a whole beautiful garden bloomed inside of me.

Mother was right about the flowers. They were even prettier on someone else’s doorstep.

Peach Blossom Summer by Deborah LaRose

Shortly after my mother died, my father made an announcement. “This year we’re going to have peaches, I’m sure of it,” he said. I wished I could be. Three years ago, Mom and I had gotten him a peach tree for Father’s Day. He was delighted by the new addition to his garden and tended it carefully all summer long. That first year it produced just a handful of peaches, but we were positive it would give us more in another year.

Sure enough, the tree was in full bloom one year later. All three of us were so excited we spent the whole summer researching recipes—only for the blossoms to fall off without ever becoming fruit. Same thing the summer after that.

“What makes you think things will be different this year?” I asked. Dad grinned.

“Your mom is going to pull some strings for us this year,” he said, pointing to the sky. “She has friends in high places.” Of course we both knew she was in heaven with the angels.

As spring progressed, the peach tree bloomed with light pink blossoms that seemed to glow in the sunlight. When spring became summer, the flowers gave way to tiny fuzzy green balls. Dad and I watched them grow larger and the fruit turn rosy pink and coral. By summer’s end, we had a tree full of juicy peaches. The branches hung low with sun-ripe fruit. A bounty, sent by God, after an angel whispered in his ear.

Well-Planted by Jeanette Levellie

My daughter, Esther, was not looking forward to Mother’s Day. She was getting divorced and this would be her first year as a single mom. “I don’t know if I can bring myself to celebrate this year,” she told me on the phone. “I’m not feeling like the best mom.” My heart ached. There was only so much I could do from 450 miles away. I sent her money to help with expenses, and I prayed for God to send her comfort and encouragement, but I wished I could do something more. I hung up the phone and stood there feeling totally helpless.

Please, Lord, give me an idea. I wasn’t feeling like I was the best mom either.

A couple of days later I was at my computer doing some online shopping when I came upon the perfect thing: a mug decorated with roses and irises and the words, “Daughter, you are a beautiful flower.” I ordered it for Esther immediately.

“Mom, I absolutely love the mug,” she said in her next call. “I’m going to start each day hearing you say those words. Thank you.”

The following spring I received a fat, squishy envelope. Tucked inside was a cross-stitch that Esther had designed herself. Bordered with pink roses, it read, “Mom, you are a beautiful flower.” I had to admit, having the best daughter in the world made me feel like a pretty good mom that Mother’s Day—and every day.

A Gardenia’s Scent by Val Pennington

I hadn’t wanted to go to the pool. After a whole day walking around Disney World under the hot Florida sun, I was ready for a night in. I’d been sure that my wife, Molly, was too. She had a chronic illness and walking was difficult for her. Sometimes she had pain with each step. I had worried all day, scared she would overexert herself. So when the kids had asked to go to the pool, I’d been prepared to tell them no. Molly surprised me by insisting we go. “This is what a family vacation is all about, isn’t it?” she’d said. I’d agreed, reluctantly.

“Time to get out, kids!” I called as the sun began to set. They grabbed their towels and began the short walk back to our hotel room. We stopped when we saw yellow maintenance signs blocking the path. Closed. We’d have to take the long way around. I looked at Molly, hoping she’d see how sorry I was for this inconvenience. She just smiled.

“Good thing it’s such a beautiful night!” she said. As we started down the long path, I thought I detected the familiar limp in my wife’s gait. I wished I could just carry her. The kids bounced along, still dripping wet in the warm night. “Slow down!” I shouted at them, stress getting the better of me. They didn’t seem to hear me. I suddenly realized Molly was no longer next to me. Had she stopped to sit down? I turned around. Molly was on the side of the path by the shrubs, her nose buried in a white flower.

“Smell it,” she said. “It’s a gardenia!” I saw light in her eyes and knew what she meant: This was what a family vacation was all about. We would get back to the room slowly, stopping to smell the flowers along the way. Because there were always flowers.

Did you enjoy this story? Subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.

A Christmas Miracle

Posted on by Erin Janoso

Lights from the Christmas tree reflected off Aurora’s blonde hair, bowed over a smudged piece of notebook paper. Composing any letter was a difficult task for a little girl just learning to write, and this one was very important.

Aurora paused from her work, frowned at her paper and turned to me. “How do you spell Nicholas, Mama?”

“That’s a hard one. Let’s do it together.”

I knelt on the floor beside her and remembered my own first letter to Saint Nicholas on the eve of his special day, December 6. My grandparents were German immigrants, and they’d brought the Saint Nicholas Day tradition with them to America. Now I told the story to Aurora while we were living in Alaska. How Nicholas of Myra was a fourth-century bishop known for his great generosity. After his death on December 6, 343, he became Saint Nicholas—Sinterklaas in Dutch-speaking countries—the patron saint of children.

“Every year on December 6, his feast day, it was said that Saint Nicholas would arrive in town riding a horse,” I’d explained to Aurora all week. “He wore his red bishop’s robes. Children would leave their shoes or stockings out on their windowsills or hearths, hoping he would fill them with sweets or little presents. The children also always wrote him a letter and left a carrot for his horse.” I’d grown up writing my own letter every December 5. Now it was Aurora’s turn.

“I finished!” she announced, proudly holding up her letter. “I told Saint Nicholas all the presents I want him to bring me tomorrow.”

“The small gifts will come in your shoe tomorrow,” I reminded her. “The others will come from Santa on Christmas morning.” I scanned Aurora’s carefully printed list. No big surprises there, until I got to the last line where, right above her signature, she’d written A FOX in capital letters.

A fox? That was out of left field. I’d never heard Aurora mention an interest in foxes. I didn’t even know she could spell the word. But there it was in capital letters. I looked into Aurora’s eyes shining with excitement. She had no doubt she’d be getting a fox, whether it fit in a shoe or not.

“Not getting everything you ask Santa for is part of childhood,” my husband, Jim, said when I told him about the letter.

“I know,” I said. “But it’s not about the gifts. Aurora’s faith is so strong; she’s so trusting. But how do I ask God to answer this prayer? I mean, a fox?”

I looked out the window at the snowy landscape. Somehow I had to find a way to answer Aurora’s prayer.

“I’ve got to run into town this evening,” I said. “I’ll find a little something foxy to tuck into her shoe.”

But after an hour of searching at the Fred Meyer store, which had everything, I came up empty-handed. No stuffed foxes. No fox figurines. Not even a shirt or pair of socks with foxes on them. I might as well have just been wandering around in those snowy woods.

“No luck?” Jim said when I came home. I shook my head. We put Aurora to bed and filled the shoe she’d laid on a downstairs windowsill next to her letter. Jim took a big bite out of the carrot. We’d make the best of our Saint Nicholas tradition.

It was still dark when I woke up the next morning, even though it was after 7. I stayed curled happily under the covers until… “Mama! Mama! Come see!”

I slid my feet into my slippers and went downstairs. “Happy Saint Nicholas Day, Aurora!” I said, peeking over at the shoe on the windowsill. I’d expected it to be emptied out, Aurora’s goodies already scattered on the table. But she hadn’t touched it.

“Come see!” Aurora repeated, tugging me by the hand. The thermometer by the front door read minus 27 degrees, but there was no time to grab a coat before she pulled me through the door.

Jim was crouched just outside, examining something on our deck. A light dusting of snow had fallen overnight, and in the whiteness was a perfect set of tiny prints. They crossed the deck and came right up to our front door, as if something had stood there, waiting to be invited in. “Is that…?” I said. “Are those really…?”

“Fox tracks,” Jim confirmed.

Aurora beamed at the tracks, her faith as strong as ever. And mine got a fine-tuning with our Christmas fox sent from above.

Did you enjoy this story? Subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.

A Christmas Angel Hits the Road

Posted on by Colleen Hughes

Today’s guest blogger is Meg Belviso, an editor at Angels on Earth magazine.

Recently, Angels on Earth readers got to know Rodney Smith, Jr. He’s the guy who decks out his car in Christmas lights and delivers blankets, gloves, tents, hygiene kits and lots of holiday cheer to the homeless. “So many people avoid the homeless people on the street,” Rodney said. “They don’t want to look at them or find out about them. The more I got to know the people I met, the more real they became. Not a nuisance or a bother. Not something to avoid. They’re people just like me. Like all of us.”

This year Rodney’s on a “Hope for the Holiday” tour. He plans to deliver gifts to the homeless in all 50 states. He started his journey this year in Mobile, Alabama, with plans to hit Alaska and Hawaii before Christmas. Along the way, he’s met a lot of good people like Andrew, a veteran in Mobile, James in New Orleans and Rebecca in Jackson, some of whom appear in videos on his page. “The most dangerous thing about being out here is being by yourself,” says Kelvin in Jackson. Rodney hopes his visits can help the homeless community feel a little less alone.

Want to support Rodney on his tour? Anyone can help out with donations or baked goods. Check out his page on Facebook to find out when and where he’ll be. You can become one of Santa’s helpers for real.

A Blessing from China

Posted on by Stacie Chambers

Twenty-plus hours on a plane would make anyone fidgety, but this was the most important trip of my life. My husband, Doug, and I were on our way to China to meet our new daughter and take her home to Kansas.

I pulled a handful of photos out of my purse. I had already given her a name: Hannah. She was two years old—older than many adoptees because Chinese authorities considered Doug and me too young to take an infant out of the country.

To increase our chances for success—full adoption—we were open to caring for special needs. We just wanted a child! For months I’d held onto this paltry collection of pictures wishing I could hold the little girl in them.

She was a tiny thing with big brown eyes and curling wisps of dark hair. I re-read for the hundredth time the brief paragraph of information the orphanage had sent.

Find Hope, Inspiration and More in our Free eBooks

“The baby was born in the village of Wuzhou and has no family,” it said. She had no family in China, but she had me. I already loved her, and I longed to know more about her. She appeared to be healthy, but I worried about her first two years.

Her first smile, her first word, her first steps. Had she ever been sick with no one to comfort her? Had she cried too many tears, even for an infant? There was so much I would never know, and Hannah would never be able to tell me.

I closed my eyes and prayed the prayer I’d been praying since the agency matched us up: God, send Hannah an angel to watch over her until I get there. She’s all alone in the world.

“Almost there,” Doug said. It was hard to believe our journey was almost over. We’d started trying to have children a few years before. When it didn’t happen I had some fertility treatments.

“It comes down to this,” I said to Doug when that didn’t work. “Do we want to be parents or do we want to be pregnant?”

A TV report about poor conditions for little girls in Chinese orphanages had sealed the deal for us. What could I do now but trust God to care for Hannah until we could?

Above my head the Fasten Seat Belt sign chimed. We were beginning our descent into Hong Kong. From there Doug and I and the other new parents would go on to China. “We’ll arrive as a couple,” Doug said. “We’ll leave as a family.”

It seemed like forever before we got to our base hotel in Nanning. A representative escorted the group to a building where we would meet our children.

An interpreter explained the procedure. Every few minutes someone would shout out the name of a baby and a couple would make their way out of the crowd.

Read More: An Adoptee from China Finds Peace

Finally our Hannah! Doug put his arm around me and we followed the interpreter to a little room. As if by some fairy-tale magic, there she was, so small and delicate. Our daughter! I loved her even more.

“She has traveled ten hours on a bus from her village of Wuzhou,” the interpreter explained. “She’s tired. Give her time to rest.” Hannah cried most of the way back to the hotel, but Doug and I had never been happier.

Back in our room, I rocked Hannah to sleep in my arms, wondering if she’d ever been rocked before, if she’d ever been loved.

But of course I knew she had no family, and the orphanage was full of hundreds of children to be cared for. No one child could possibly stand out for special attention. You’re not alone anymore, I thought. You’ll never be alone again.

In the coming days Doug and I took a bus back to Hannah’s village, where a notary officially released Hannah to us. That done, we prepared to take a ferry ride on the Pearl River to Guangzhou for a health report.

The red tape seemed endless, and with each step I feared something might go wrong. “I won’t relax until we’re all back in Kansas,” I told Doug as we packed our bags. Back where Hannah has me to watch over her. Someone who loves her.

There was a knock. I jumped. Doug opened the door. “I have someone here,” the interpreter said hesitantly. “She wants to say goodbye to Hannah.”

Doug and I looked at each other. I reached for Hannah. “Someone from the orphanage?” I asked.

“No,” the interpreter said. “Just a friend.” I took Hannah in my arms and held her tight. Doug and I followed the interpreter down the hall to the lobby. As we turned the corner a young Chinese woman stood up. She was about my age, very pretty, with long, shiny hair.

Read More: Adoption Allows Her to Share Her Love

When she saw Hannah her face lit up and she stretched out her arms. Hannah laid quietly against me as the young woman patted her back.

Hannah’s not afraid of her, I thought. She can’t be a stranger. But who is she?

The woman spoke softly to Hannah in Chinese, pausing occasionally to wipe away a tear. After a few minutes she said something to the interpreter. “She’d like to keep in touch with you,” the interpreter said.

We exchanged addresses, but I was afraid to press for details. We said good-bye and gathered our luggage for the final leg of our journey. The three of us returned to Kansas as a family, just as Doug predicted. Hannah had a lot to get used to in America. But little by little she made herself at home.

One day, a few months after our return, I received a letter. “It’s from the woman we met at the hotel,” I told Doug as I looked it over. “There’s a translation in English, and—oh, Doug, look at this!”

My hands trembled as I flipped through the packet of photos from the envelope: Hannah as an infant in her crib, Hannah hugging a stuffed animal, Hannah playing in the park, Hannah in the young woman’s arms, grinning from ear to ear.

The life I saw in these pictures was nothing like the lonely world I’d imagined for Hannah in the orphanage. These are the memories she carried with her from China, I thought. This was what Hannah was doing while I prayed for her.

“I don’t understand. How is this possible?” asked Doug.

I read the letter out loud: The Chinese government had declared the year Hannah was born “The Year of the Family.” The young woman, MoBin, wanted to do something to honor that, so she volunteered to visit the children at a local orphanage.

Read More: Gaining His Adopted Daughter’s Trust

“Among the children in Wuzhou Welfare Yard, I was attracted by a baby lying on a bed,” MoBin wrote. “Her intelligent large eyes and curly hair were so lovely that I liked her at the first sight.”

But Hannah was very sick. The staff didn’t have much hope she would survive. MoBin begged permission to take her to a doctor. For six months MoBin cared for Hannah at her own home and returned her to the orphanage strong and healthy.

MoBin continued to visit her, taking Hannah home with her on the weekends. “I called myself her Auntie MoBin,” she wrote. It broke her heart to say good-bye to Hannah, but MoBin was happy Hannah would have a family of her own to love her.

Doug and I would be eternally grateful to this selfless young woman. She was an answer to my prayer, an angel for Hannah on earth.

Download your FREE ebook, Angel Sightings: 7 Inspirational Stories About Heavenly Angels and Everyday Angels on Earth

Did you enjoy this story? Subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.

7 Mysterious Elvis Presley Stories

Posted on by Alikay Wood

Elvis Presley is one of the most inspiring and powerful performers who has ever lived. More than 40 years after his death, his legacy and songs continue to impact the lives of people around the world. Here is a collection of some of Guideposts most beloved Elvis stories:

A Divine Encounter at an Elvis Concert

In this 2013 Guideposts story, a shy schoolteacher finds confidence when serenaded by Elvis.

The King Delivers a Heavenly Sign

Rhonda Howard felt like she’d made a mistake moving to Tennessee—until a sign from the King proved she was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Elvis Impersonator Brings Comfort to a Grieving Widow

In this classic Angels On Earth story, recently-widowed Jackie Dubrule receives a message from God—in the form of an Elvis song.

How an Elvis Song Delivered a Heavenly Message

A mother receives a message from her deceased son while watching an Elvis performance online.

Big Elvis Finds the Strength to Lose Weight

An Elvis impersonator finds inspiration from the King and God to get healthy—and lose 500 pounds on the way.

An Elvis Quilt Brings People Together

Ginger Clifton’s faith was strengthened by a mysterious phone call and an Elvis quilt.

How Elvis Helped a Woman Get Sober

Patricia Walworth Wood was waiting for God to make it clear she needed to stop drinking. A stranger who mentioned Elvis provided just that.

6 Stories of Heaven-Sent Valentine Angels

Posted on by The Editors

My Candygram Message by Diane Stark from Brazil, Indiana

As I helped my kindergarten students read their Valentine cards from their classmates, I looked at the vase of red roses sitting on my desk. I can’t believe a guy I’ve never met sent me flowers, I thought. Eric lived 150 miles away. We’d matched through an online dating service a few weeks before and had spent hours talking on the phone. Both of us single parents, we made an easy connection. Our first in-person date was scheduled for the coming weekend. Was I ready to take that step?

I’d been devastated when my first marriage fell apart, and I worried I’d get hurt again. The risk was too great. I had to text Eric to cancel. I reached for my phone, but one of my students interrupted to hand me a present. “It’s a lollipop angel!” she said. Indeed she’d wrapped paper around the lollipop’s “head” to form wings. On one of them, she’d written, “Love one another because love comes from God. 1 John 4:7.” I kept my date with Eric.

This year, we celebrate our fifteenth Valentine’s Day, happily married. Our love is definitely a gift from the sweetest angel.

Overheard by Deborah Novak from Huntington, West Virginia

I’d moved to New York City to become an actress. Compared to my West Virginia hometown, the city moved at a head-spinning pace, with hordes of people everywhere. There was no privacy. Not in the subway, on the sidewalks or even inside my brownstone apartment. Sound traveled through the air shaft, so I could hear what was going on all over the building. Every day brought a blur of noisy neighbors, frustrating auditions and packed city streets. A breakup with my boyfriend was the final straw. One evening, I broke down in tears. “God, all I want is someone to love me!” I cried out.

A few days later, I got a phone call from John, a man I’d met briefly at a party my landlady had thrown. He asked me out. Had my prayer been heard? After an amazing date, I asked John why he seemed to call me out of the blue. “Your landlady heard your prayer through the air shaft and thought we’d make a cute couple.”

And we do. I’d like to tell my former landlady that our 37 years together have been one long answered prayer.

Lucky Penny by Dawn Casey from Baxter, Minnesota

February marked my twenty-sixth anniversary. My husband and I are young at heart (though my hearing isn’t what it used to be). On the morning we celebrated, I left the supermarket and spotted a penny on the pavement. I loved finding change that had been left behind. The only other person nearby was an employee, pushing a rackety row of carts through the parking lot.

I bent to grab it. The ping of another coin hitting the pavement rang in my ears. I couldn’t have heard that amid the clamor of the shopping carts, I thought. Yet there it was, a few feet away. This time, a quarter, seemingly fallen from the sky. I went home with 26 pennies from heaven, one for each year spent with my valentine.

Doubly Blessed by Izzy Rawashdeh from St. Petersburg, Florida

My husband, Muawea, and I were playing volleyball in the calm waters at Egmont Key, Florida, when I felt my wedding ring slip off my finger. We searched for hours with no luck and boated home, heartbroken. Muawea had designed the ring himself, with sapphires on either side of an infinity symbol, and surprised me with a proposal as soon as the ring was ready. It was the happiest day of my life.

I posted about the loss on the I Love St. Pete Facebook page. Jim Thobe, the president of the West State Archeological Society, reached out. “Other volunteers and I often use metal detectors to find lost items,” he said. We made plans to meet at Egmont Key.

Jim and another society member showed up as promised. After hours of looking, I was so upset that I decided to take a break. I took a walk, feeling hopeless, and returned to bad news. I struggled not to cry as we all headed back to our boats.

Then, right there on our boat, Muawea knelt in front of me. “Sometimes life just smiles at you,” he said—and surprised me just like he had the first time. They’d found the ring after all! My husband slid it back on my finger, on the second-happiest day of my life.

A Rose? For Me? by Pamela Hirson from Holbrook, New York

I walked along the aisles of takeout counters at the specialty market, looking for a prepared dinner for one. I hoped a nice meal would give me the lift I needed to make it through Valentine’s Day without a special admirer of my own. I settled on steak with roasted potatoes and veggies. And for dessert? I added a slice of cheesecake to my cart. Hardly like getting roses, but it will have to do. On my way to the registers, a young man stopped me. He extended a long-stem red rose. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Thank you,” I said, noticing the satchel of roses strapped to the man’s back. I looked around, expecting to see others with roses from what seemed to be an in-store floral promotion. No one else held a red rose. Nor were there any for sale in the market.

“What a beautiful rose,” the cashier said.

“A complete stranger handed it to me, and wished me a happy Valentine’s Day and disappeared in an instant.”

“Sounds like an admirer!” she said.

I laughed. More like a cherub with a quiver of roses.

Never Give Up by Donna Humphries from Sherwood, Arkansas

It was time to declare a moratorium on romance. At 25, I’d already been married once (if only for three months), and then I’d made the poor decision to date my divorce attorney. Besides, I had a son, Jason, to raise. I needed a new husband like a hole in the head. So I turned my love life over to God, and he gave me an unexpected response: a dream of me marrying a tall man with dark hair and a mustache. He looked like a young Burt Reynolds!

A week after the dream, at my Sunday school class for single parents, the teacher told me about a church member, Barry Humphries, who was divorced, with a young son. “I’ve been calling him, trying to get him to come to our class, but he doesn’t respond,” she said. “Why don’t you try?”

“I’m not going to call some random guy. He’ll get the wrong idea!”

My teacher smiled. “You won’t have to. There he is.” I turned around, and standing in the doorway was the man from my dream, down to the last detail. I stole glances at him throughout the class. When it came time to pick up our children from class, Barry introduced himself and asked if I’d be going to the evening service. We sat together that night, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

For more angelic stories, subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.

5 Stories of Angels Intervening with Children

Posted on by The Editors

Janel Rodriguez from Brooklyn, New York

We had a long list of things we wanted to do that summer, including going to the playground across the street by ourselves. My sister was 12, my twin and I were 9—old enough not to need the watchful eye of our mother, we decided. “Please, Mami?” we begged. “Can we go?”

Our parents were protective Puerto Ricans, determined to shelter us from big-city dangers as best they could. Mami was hesitant, but she looked at the picture of Jesus that hung on our dining room wall, closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross. “Okay,” she said, “but stick together.”

We rushed out the door. We’d been playing on the jungle gym for only a few minutes when a white and gold dove landed on a branch nearby. I’d never seen a dove like this before. As we moved from one end of the park to the other, the dove followed. Our shouts and laughter were no deterrent. No matter where we went, the dove never left our side.

It was only when we headed back home that it flew away. We couldn’t wait to tell Mami about our heavenly babysitter. I’ll always remember God’s playful answer to her prayer.

Ann Clark from Richmond, Virginia

I was taking care of my parents’ property until we could sell it. Working in the garden one evening, I saw a figure in my peripheral vision. It was nearly dark, but the woman’s white dress seemed aglow. I glanced up to get a better look, but I’d missed her completely. Odd, I thought.

A few days later, I was back in the garden when I heard a noise. I turned to see a little boy, about three years old, standing alone in my parents’ driveway. “Can you help me find my mama?” he asked. I didn’t know where to start. I called the police and distracted him with a story while we waited on the front steps.

Soon the area was abuzz with police going door to door, trying to find out where he lived. Finally they got him home safe and sound. He’d wandered out of the house unnoticed, and I couldn’t help but think he’d wandered onto just the right street. One where a neighborhood watch was led by an angel aglow.

Doreen Tafone from Long Valley, New Jersey

Thwack! I’d never forget the sound of that minivan door slamming against my daughter’s little arm in the parking lot of the mall. Elena was five, and we’d just gotten out of the minivan for a shopping adventure.

High-spirited on any day, Elena was especially excited when I’d helped her out of her car seat and onto the pavement while I dealt with the minivan’s finicky sliding door. I grabbed the handle and pulled with all my might. At the last second, Elena had reached back inside. The door struck her arm hard and bounced back from the force. Elena wailed. I felt sick. What have I done?

As I rushed her into the food court for some ice, Elena stopped crying and was ready for some fun. I held her still while I looked for where to place the ice. There was no bruise, swollen red skin or even a mark, but I iced her arm anyway, expecting the swelling later. “Does it hurt?” I asked while Elena wiggled. She shook her curly head, as happy as ever, acting as if nothing had happened. No trace of the incident ever appeared on her skin.

I’d often joked about how hard Elena’s guardian angel must work to keep her safe. After that day at the mall, I knew in all seriousness that angel was very real.

Kaylin Kaupish Editor

As a preteen city kid, I was a little nervous that first night of our Girl Scout campout in the Appalachian Mountains. I’d never set up a tent before, for one thing. “Looks good and sturdy,” one of the troop leaders said when she inspected our work. “It’s supposed to be windy tonight.”

We had dinner around the campfire and got ready for bed. The leaders headed off to their own tent nearby. As soon as we curled up in our sleeping bags, the wind started to howl. A huge gust hit the tent and a section collapsed. We all squeezed in close where the tent held in place. I didn’t expect to get much sleep.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” someone whispered.

“I’ll be your buddy,” another said. They slipped outside. A few minutes later we heard footsteps. The collapsed tent section lifted up. The poles clicked back into place. It was fixed!

“Thanks for fixing the tent!” I said when the girls returned.

“What are you talking about?” they asked. We figured one of the troop leaders had come to our rescue instead, and we were glad to be able to spread out again. The wind died down, and I surprisingly got a good night’s sleep.

The next morning, none of the troop leaders took credit for shoring up our tent. But I wasn’t nervous anymore. Girl Scouts are always prepared to help out when needed. So are angels.

Eric Stark from Brazil, Indiana

My 11-year-old son, Nathan, sat slumped at the table. “I’m so bored,” he said. “I prayed that something exciting would happen today, but nothing’s happened yet.”

“Well then, I’ve got a job for you,” I said. “I need to mow the grass. I’ll pay you to pick up the sticks in the yard. Earning money is exciting, right?”

Nathan didn’t look enthused, but he pulled on his shoes anyway. We went outside, and I showed him what to do. I was preparing the mower when I heard a scream. I dropped everything and ran to where he was. “What’s wrong?” I asked. Nathan’s eyes were huge.

“Dad, I was picking up the sticks, and one of them wiggled in my hand. I looked down, and it wasn’t a stick. It was a little snake!”

I checked Nathan’s hands, and there were no bites. “A harmless garter snake,” I said. “That must have been scary, though. You okay?”

Nathan broke into a wide grin. “I prayed for something exciting to happen today, and boy, it sure did!”

For more angelic stories, subscribe to Angels on Earthmagazine.

5 Inspiring Stories of Holiday Angels

Posted on by The Editors

Time for a New Tradition by Kathy Hutto from Lagrange, Georgia

Presents were waiting for the kids and me at home after Christmas Eve service, but I’d already gotten the best present I could wish for: a full-time teaching job. Maybe we’ve finally made it through the hard times, I thought as we piled out of the car. Since my divorce, I’d only found part-time tutoring work, and my budget was stretched to breaking.

My son and daughter ran ahead to the front door. “Mom, there’s something on the porch,” one of them called out. “A jar!” We took it inside and opened it. My jaw dropped when I fished out a hundred-dollar bill, shiny pennies sprinkled around it.

“Well, it’s a Christmas jar,” I said. I’d read about the tradition.

“You spend a whole year filling the jar with loose change or small bills. At Christmastime, you give the jar to someone who needs it, but you give it in secret. This angel was a real saver!”

I tucked the big bill back into the jar and thought things over. I had a job now. Our family’s needs had been answered. So we passed our blessing on—and started our own Christmas jar for someone else. We’ll never tell who.

Angel at Our Table by Rebecca Marks from Rosemount, Minnesota

Breast cancer had sent my mother-in-law into surgery just before the holidays, so we were especially grateful to have her with us for Christmas Eve dinner. She was in such good spirits, I could almost forget what she was going through. But when it came time to leave, I was careful with my hug. “Which side was the operation on?” I asked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“The left,” she said, turning a bit. As I embraced her, an odd thought popped into my head: Yours is on the right. I could barely muster a smile as I waved goodbye. I’d been putting off getting a mammogram. I was 41 and in good health. I had no pain or lumps. It seemed unlikely there was anything to worry about, but that’s all I did for a week after Christmas.

Finally, I gave in and got that mammogram. There was a mass in my right breast; the biopsy revealed a malignancy. We’d caught it early, before it had a chance to spread. I’m cancer-free today, mostly because of a hug—and a nudge—on Christmas Eve.

A Joyful Gift by Terrie Huntley from Pueblo County, Colorado

I dreaded my first Christmas without my 16-year-old daughter, Lindsay, who’d died of leukemia on Thanksgiving. Without her I had nothing to celebrate, but I knew I had to drag myself to the mall. Lindsay had always been my shopping buddy, with an eye for the perfect gifts.

I got dressed for my lonely trip. Find something to be grateful for, I told myself. Rebecca, my daughter’s young nurse, came immediately to mind. They became instant friends in the hospital.

Rebecca brought in books and drawing paper. She lent Lindsay her iPad as a distraction. Sometimes Rebecca seemed more like an angel than a nurse. I opened the door to leave the house. As long as there are people like Rebecca in the world, I thought, there is something to celebrate.

When I stepped outside, I noticed that someone had left a Christmas ornament by the door. I looked around, but there was no one to thank. The next day I came out to find a plate of freshly baked cookies. The day after that, a Christmas wreath. Lindsay would want me to celebrate God’s joyful gifts, I thought, hanging the wreath on the front door. Whoever the mysterious gift-giver was, she had given Christmas back to me. It felt a little bit like my personal gift to Lindsay, and it got me through the holidays. Even if I didn’t get to the bottom of the mystery.

It was two Christmases later that my mother told me about a friend of hers whose daughter-in-law had a curious holiday habit. “The daughter-in-law leaves little gifts, mostly for her patients,” Mom explained. “Rebecca’s a nurse.”

And an angel. Just as she was for Lindsay, so she was for me.

Captain St. Nick to the Rescue by Kaylin Kaupish, Editor

Two weeks before Christmas, tugboat crewman Jay Bradford and his friend, Captain Nick Barsa, were fishing off Long Beach, New Jersey. The fish were not biting. Nothing they reeled in could be classified as a good catch. At the end of the day, Jay was pulling up the anchor when his wedding ring slipped off. Plink! It landed in the water and sank out of sight.

Jay was a newlywed. He’d just married his college sweetheart, Meagan, in June. She’d had the ring made specially for him out of a material that would not get scratched on the job. Now he had to text her that the ring was lost.

Nick wasn’t so sure about that. He called a diver who specialized in salvaging. Captain Nick could anchor on a dime and was determined to find his friend’s ring. “People thought I was crazy to try and go back for it,” Nick told New Jersey’s Asbury Park Press. “The odds were against us. It’s a big ocean out there.”

When the three men went out to search, the ring had been lost for four days. The winds were harsh and the sea was rough. Nick used his boat’s GPS to find the right location and dropped anchor. The diver donned his scuba suit and jumped in. After only 10 minutes, the diver shot to the surface with a treasure in hand.

On their first Christmas as husband and wife, the newlyweds would both be wearing their rings. “I nicknamed Nick ‘Captain St. Nicholas,’’ Meagan said. “Because these two performed a Christmas miracle.”

Mom’s Christmas Dolls by Karen Barchent from Findlay, Ohio

First I’d lost my daughter, Allison, in September. Then my mother a few months later. I steeled myself as I stepped inside her apartment. They’re together in heaven, I thought, only wishing I knew that for sure.

An army of siblings, children and grandkids showed up to help clean out Mom’s house. I couldn’t have done it alone. Mom had been a crafty lady. Over the years she’d made hundreds of afghans and sweaters, Christmas stockings and baby booties. She’d held onto the keepsakes after the kids had grown out of them. We had stacks of plastic totes to sort through. My sister-in-law remembered the Christmas Mom made all the grandchildren their own Raggedy Ann or Andy doll. “The kids had to write their names on them so they wouldn’t get them mixed up. I don’t think Mom held onto those though.”

My sister-in-law opened a tote full of yarn. “Such beautiful colors,” she said. Then she gasped. “Karen, look here!” She unearthed a love-worn Raggedy Ann. “I guess she held on to one after all,” my sister-in-law said.

“I wonder why this one’s here snuggled up in Mom’s yarn,” I said. I flipped up the doll’s pinafore to see which one of the kids she’d belonged to. Carefully printed on her tummy in red marker was a name: ALLISON. I held the doll close, knowing for sure that Mom was holding Allison close too.

For more angelic stories, subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.

5 Heartwarming Stories of Animal Angels

Posted on by The Editors

Dove from Above by Glenndon Genthner from Sneads Ferry, North Carolina

After a restless night, I lay helpless in my hammock, watching the flight path of a lone dove overhead. She swooped down, miscalculated and flew right into the fence nearby. She fell to the ground and hobbled into the grass to rest. I know how you feel, I thought. Normally I would have gone over to help her. But I was too weak to move. The doctors here in Ghana, where I was working as a traveling seminarian, weren’t yet sure what my illness was. My whole body ached. From my hammock, I watched the little dove suffering in the grass. She’s hurt and powerless, I thought. Just like me.

All day, I drifted in and out of a troubled sleep that left me more exhausted than ever. After dark I felt a movement on my chest. I turned my head to look and found the dove cradled against my neck. The dove cooed. I hummed a hymn in return. The dove and I lay together, taking comfort in each other’s presence. When I felt strong enough, I tended to the dove’s leg and wing.

Once the doctors were able to diagnose my condition—malaria and typhoid—I got treatment too. Eventually I got back on my feet. The dove flew away. We’d recovered together, with God making sure each of us had the other.

Old Cat’s Farewell by Judy “JJ” Burke Crowley from Colorado Springs, Colorado

For over 20 years Cat, our multicolored feline, was the undisputed queen of the house. Even our other pets—a dog and three more cats—knew Cat was special. When Cat rubbed against my legs, circling my ankles in an elaborate hello each morning, I stood completely still until she finished.

One evening, when I was on the phone, Cat came slowly into my office. She didn’t look well and didn’t stop to rub against my legs. I hung up right away, but it was too late. Cat had curled up behind my computer desk and died. She was 22.

I put her on my lap, stroking her fur. I couldn’t imagine the house without her. It seemed impossible she had slipped away so quickly, without a proper goodbye. Finally I laid her gently on the chair and went to call my husband. As I dialed the phone, I felt the familiar feel of a cat’s fur at my ankles. I looked down, expecting to see one of our other cats, but none of them were in the room. Old Cat had rubbed herself around my ankles to say hello to me every day for 22 years. Now she was saying goodbye.

Inspired by a Squirrel by Genevieve Ann Wakely from Griswold, Conneticut

After my divorce, finances became a constant worry. I was hopeful when I got a part-time job at a library, and relieved when I got a second part-time job at a homemaker agency. But am I going to be able to handle it all?I thought, gazing out the window one morning. It was a lot for me to take on.

My gaze landed on the maple tree outside. A fluffy squirrel was making his way down the trunk. It wasn’t easy—the squirrel was carrying a bread bun. The bun was twice the size of the squirrel’s head. How’s he going to manage that? I thought. Obviously he couldn’t slip up and down easily like the other squirrels with that bun in his mouth. I couldn’t help but root for him.

The squirrel shimmied down, carefully clinging to the bark of the tree. I held my breath. Careful, I thought, mentally cheering him on. One step at a time, little guy. When he finally reached the ground, he pulled the bun behind him. It’s not over yet, but you can do it! I thought, laughing. Obviously, this squirrel and I had a lot in common. I had my own giant dinner roll to carry and my own trees to climb. I moved from one window to another to follow the squirrel’s progress. Slowly but surely, he made it to the road and stopped to check for cars. Keep going, I thought. You’re almost there!

The squirrel got his meal safely across the road. When he disappeared into the bushes, I cheered. Then I went upstairs to get ready for the challenge that lay before me. You can do it, I told myself. God had showed me I could.

Deer-ly Departed by Susan Kissel-Maute from Buffalo, New York

Both my parents were gone. Selling their house, where my sister and I had grown up, seemed like a logical step. But now that we had an offer, I was hesitating. What would Dad want us to do? I thought, stopping by the cemetery one day at dusk. Dad was the one I’d always gone to for advice.

As I walked among the rows of headstones, I looked around for the deer that often visited this time of day. But today, when I needed their peaceful presence most, the deer were absent. I hadn’t realized how much I was looking forward to seeing them, and I arrived at my parents’ graves, more confused than ever. Dad, if selling the house is the right decision, give me a sign.

Something moved to my left. A beautiful buck emerged from the tree line and looked right at me. I expected the other deer to show themselves any minute. I cleaned up my parents’ graves and watered the flowers. I was brushing off the headstone when the buck moved a little closer. A doe joined him. It crossed my mind that maybe they had a message for me. “Are you letting me know we should take this offer?” I asked.

The buck bobbed its head up and down as if it had understood my question and wanted me to understand its answer. A peace came over me. It was time to let the house go. We would accept the offer, with a blessing from heaven.

An Ant-Sized Sign by Susan Topham from Sprague River, Oregon

My family raised livestock on a 1,500-acre ranch in Oregon. We had cows, llamas, donkeys and horses. In 2018, we’d faced some particularly tough times due to “water wars.” Our ranch was in an area that required irrigation, and the state was on the brink of cutting our water supply from the groundwater irrigation wells and creeks. Things were tough, to say the least, and didn’t look as if they’d get better anytime soon. Our ranch was in real danger of going out of business.

One sunny May afternoon, I made my way to our back porch for lunch. I sat on the swing set, gazing out at our beautiful land, the fields I’d grown up on, the animals I loved, knowing that my family might lose it all. I hung my head in sadness. Just then, I saw something move near my feet. I leaned down for a closer look and gasped. Five carpenter ants had gathered in the most amazing formation: a perfect cross!

The hardworking creatures reminded me that God was at work on the ranch too, no matter what the future held.

For more angelic stories, subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.

5 Comforting Stories of Angel Encounters with Children

Posted on by The Editors

Pool-time Visit by Birgit Bostelman from Grand Junction, Colorado

I relaxed in our backyard under the shade of a big tree, while my five-year-old daughter, Paula, splashed and laughed in the pool. After a while, she hoisted herself up onto the edge for a quiet break. The sun shone bright overhead, our dog asleep in the grass. It was a perfect moment, everything hushed. A peacefulness hung over the entire yard.

I soaked in the stillness until something caused me to look over at the garage. I saw a figure dressed in a luminous, lacy white robe. Her feet did not touch the ground as she moved past us, radiating calmness, and disappeared behind the trees. Could I have really seen an angel? Was that possible?

My eyes met Paula’s, her face serene. “Mom, did you see that?” she asked.

“Yes, I did.” Without another word, Paula slipped back into the pool to play. Seeing an angel seemed to be the most natural thing in the world to her.

The faith of this child was all the answer I needed.

Holding Onto the Reins by Carol Sandberg from Demotte, Indiana

When I was 12 years old, I spent the summer with my cousins out in the country. Their friend across the road had a horse named Gray Eagle. I went over often to pet him in the barn. One day, he was saddled up for me to ride.

Off we went along the gravel road. I waved to my aunt as we passed by at the slow gait I was comfortable with. I would keep to the road, and pulled the reins toward the paved one. Gray Eagle had other ideas. He turned abruptly toward home. All at once he was running full speed at the low barn door. My head was going to hit the top of it!

I couldn’t think. I couldn’t crouch down. It was all I could do to keep hold of the reins. I felt a sturdy hand on my back. It gently pushed me down against the horse’s neck. Gray Eagle flew into the barn. I missed the top by inches, saved by an angel.

The Letter by Courtney Thomas from Douglasville, Georgia

Finally, the day we’d been waiting for. Nine months after our three-year-old daughter, Zoe, was diagnosed with leukemia, we were so close to the end of the hardest phase of her treatment. After this last round of chemo at the clinic, Zoe would be able to take an oral chemo drug at home. It had far fewer side effects than the drugs she’d been receiving through her port each month. I’d prayed for this day for a long time and gotten up early in anticipation.

My heart sank when Zoe woke up that morning with a fever. At the very least, her treatment would have to be delayed. My husband, T.J., took her into the clinic, while I stayed at home with our sons. T.J. called to tell me that Zoe was being admitted to the hospital. As I rounded up the boys to head over there, I felt so helpless and defeated.

I quickly grabbed the mail from the overflowing box as we left. It felt like everything was piling up. When I threw the mail on the seat of the car, I noticed a handwritten envelope with no stamp. I got behind the wheel and opened the envelope. “Dear Neighbor,” the letter read, “I’m 16 years old, and I’m writing this because God told me to. I heard about your daughter, and I wanted to tell you that I’m praying for you. God loves you and he is always with you.”

For the first time in a while, I felt peace come over me. It has brought me comfort throughout Zoe’s journey toward healing. I never discovered the identity of that thoughtful teenager, but I keep the letter on my nightstand even now. A reminder that God always knows what we need.

Heaven-sent Tent by Carol McNulty-Huffman from Maui, Hawaii

”I want a tent! I want a tent!” My eight-year-old daughter, Erin, had been chanting variations on the same theme for weeks. Clearly, she wanted a tent.

It had all started with a sleepover. Erin’s bedroom was so small that my husband and I had pitched our camping tent on the back deck to give Erin and her friends some space to have a good time. It was a huge hit. Since then, Erin hadn’t let go of her wish for a tent of her own.

“We should get her one for Christmas,” my husband said after Erin’s latest plea. A good idea, but it meant lots of patience—for Erin and for us—in the meantime.

A few days after we’d settled on Christmas bringing an end to Erin’s pestering, I looked outside and almost fell over. There in our front yard was a fully set-up tent. I called my husband to the window. He scratched his head, dumbfounded. Erin ran up to see what she was missing. “My tent!” she cried. “It’s really here!”

“Erin, that’s not yours,” I said. “Yours isn’t coming until Christmas.”

I went door-to-door in the neighborhood to see if anyone knew what was up with the mystery tent in our yard. Maybe someone needed a place to test it out? No one could explain. Or would explain? All I can figure is that Erin’s Christmas prayer was answered by an earth angel playing Santa.

Anna’s Angel by Melanie Castillo from Cedar Park, Texas

I stood in the kitchen, preparing lunch for my 18-month-old granddaughter. As I worked, Anna crawled around on the floor near my feet. I knew to keep a close eye on her as she laughed and explored, full of curiosity. After 31 years with the State Health Department, I was thrilled to have found an exciting new job in retirement: taking care of Anna. I watched over her every day while my daughter went to work.

Anna loved crawling all over the house, but her favorite spot had become the staircase. As I finished up her lunch, I turned to see that Anna had made her way there. She was already up to the third step! Before I could make a move, Anna tumbled backwards. In my mad dash to catch her, I saw her fall slowly, gently, as if she was being guided safely to the bottom. The invisible force cradled her as it brought her to the ground. Her head didn’t make a sound as it came to rest on the floor.

I picked her up and she looked up at me, smiling.

What just happened? I checked the back of her head but there was no bump. She was completely fine. I knew then that Anna’s guardian angel was also on the job, just beginning a long career of watching over my curious granddaughter.

For more angelic stories, subscribe to Angels on Earth magazine.