I believe in angels. I believe in the Bible’s description of them. Angels look different from the world’s view—no cute, cherub faces. No humans-turned-angels, ever. These warriors and worshippers, created by God, are formidable foes against evil. They do the Lord’s work at His bidding, most times without our knowledge. But sometimes—and more than once in my life—I’ve felt their sure presence. Here’s one account:
My mom and I were on an unfamiliar, isolated, and overgrown country road; I was driving. We had no idea that a train was just ahead, approaching our path at lightning speed—no crossing bar, flashing light, or visibility. Just tall, thick weeds blocking the view. So as it barreled toward us, Mom and I chatted, laughed, and motored on at fifty miles an hour, completely unaware.
I wonder now about something else we couldn’t see: An Ephesians 6 battle between light and dark at that very railroad crossing.
Just as we neared the hidden tracks, an object hit my foot. Hard. I thought it was a heavy Coke bottle or textbook sliding under the seat. I remember thinking, “That’s weird. We aren’t on a hill; why are things moving around on the floorboard?” To check it out, I stomped on the brake to look down, coming to an almost-stop when a fast moving train blew by in front of our faces, not twenty feet from the stopped car.
Mom and I sat in dead silence. The only sound filling our ears was the roar of a Death Beast just missing us. Above our heads, I believe another sound filled the invisible air, angels rejoicing at victory: “God will command His angels concerning you….They will lift you up in their hands so that you will not strike your foot against a stone” (Psalm 91:11-13).
In the following moments as our almost-demises set in, Mom said two things I’ll never forget. One: “God sent His angels to save our lives.” Amen, Mama. Amen. Two: “Aren’t you glad I was with you? The Lord clearly has more work for me to do.” Humor in any situation. Praise the Lord for laughter. 🙂
After the train passed, we searched the floorboard for that lifesaving object nudging my foot. Nothing was there. Not even a gum wrapper. The only evidence? A lingering sensation on my ankle. And breath. Merciful, God-honoring breath.
Straight from my journal, without much fuss (or much editing). God’s sweet truth often reveals itself with my Bible open, pen in hand. And more and more frequently, I’m prompted to share and encourage, even though the thought of putting myself “out there” without carefully crafting a piece is uncomfortable. But isn’t that what growth in Christ is all about? And doesn’t hope shine through no matter how eloquently it’s stated? All signs point to “yes.”