ANGELS AND VEHICLES
THE TOW TRUCK FROM NOWHERE:
It was just past midnight on December 24, 1983. The Midwest was shivering through a record-breaking cold spell, complete with gale-force winds and frozen water pipes. And although our suburban Chicago household was filled with the snug sounds of a family at rest, I couldn't be a part of them, not until our twenty-one-year-old son pulled into the driveway.
At the moment, Tim and his two roommates were driving home for Christmas, their first trip back since they had moved East last May. "Don't worry, Mom," Tim has reassured me over the phone last night. "We're going to leave before dawn tomorrow and drive straight through, We'll be fine!" Kids. They do insane things.
Under normal circumstances, I figured, a Connecticut-to-Illinois trek ought to take about eighteen hours. But the weather had turned so dangerously cold that radio reports warned against venturing outdoors, even for a few moments. And we had heard nothing from the travelers.
Distressed, I pictured them on a desolate road. What if they ran into car problems or lost their way? And if they had been delayed, why hadn't Tim phoned? Restlessly I paced and prayed in the familiar shorthand all mothers know: "God send someone to help them."
By now, as I later learned, the trio had stopped briefly in Fort Wayne, Indiana, to deposit Don at his family home. Common sense suggested that Tim and Jim stay the rest of the night and resume their trek in the morning. But when does common sense prevail with invincible young adults? There were only four driving hours left to reach home. And although it was the coldest night in Midwest history and the highways were snowy and deserted, the two had started out again.
They had been traveling for only a few miles on a rural access road to the Indiana toll way, when they noticed that the car's engine seemed sluggish, lurching erratically and dying to ten or fifteen miles per hour. Tim glanced uneasily at Jim. "Do not--" the radio announcer intoned, "--repeat--do not venture outside tonight, friends. There's a record wind-chill of eighty below zero, which means that exposed skin will freeze in less than a minute."
The car surged suddenly, then coughed and slowed again. "Tim," Jim spoke into the darkness, "we're not going to stall here, are we?" "We can't," Tim answered grimly as he pumped the accelerator. "We'd die for sure." But instead of picking up speed, the engine sputtered, chugged and slowed again.
About a mile later, at the top of a small incline, the car crawled to a frozen stop. Horrified, Tim and Jim looked at each other in the darkened interior. They could see across the fields in every direction, but, incredibly, theirs was the only vehicle in view. For the first time, they faced the fact that they were in enormous danger. There was no traffic, no refuge ahead, not even a farmhouse light blinking in the distance. It was as if they had landed on an alien, snow-covered planet. And the appalling, unbelievable cold! Never in Tim's life had he experienced anything so intense. They couldn't run for help; he knew that now for sure. He and Jim were young and strong, but even if shelter was only a short distance away, they couldn't survive. The temperature would kill them in a matter of minutes.
"Someone will come along soon." Tim said, "You heard the radio. Everyone in the world is inside tonight--except us." "Then what are we going to do?" "I don't know." Tim tried starting the engine again, but the ignition key clicked hopelessly in the silence. Bone-chilling cold had penetrated the car's interior, and his feet were already growing numb. "Well, God," he prayed, echoing my own distant plea, "You're the only one who can help us now." It seemed impossible to stay awake much longer...
Then, as if they had already slipped into a dream, they saw headlights flashing at the car's left rear. But that was impossible. For they had seen no twin pinpricks of light in the distance, no hopeful approach. Where had the vehicle come from? Had they already died? But no. For, miraculously, someone was knocking on the driver's side window. "Need to be pulled?" In disbelief they heard the muffled shout. But it was true. Their rescuer was driving a tow truck.
"Yes! Oh, yes, thanks!" Quickly, the two conferred as the driver, saying nothing more, drove around to the front of the car and attached chains. If there were no garages open at this hour, they would ask him to take them back to Don's house, where they could spend the rest of the night.
Swathed almost completely in a furry parka, hood and a scarf up to his eyes, the driver nodded at their request but said nothing more. He was calm, they noted as he climbed into his truck, seemingly unconcerned about the life threatening circumstances in which he had found them.
Strange that he's not curious about us, Tim mused, and isn't even explaining where he came from or how he managed to approach without our seeing him.... And had there been lettering on the side of the truck? Tim hadn't noticed any. He's going to give us a big bill, on a night like this.
I'll have to borrow some money from Don or his dad.... But Tim was exhausted from the ordeal, and gradually, as he leaned against the seat, his thoughts slipped away. They passed two locked service stations, stopped to alert Don from a pay phone, and were soon being towed back through the familiar Fort Wayne neighborhood. Hushed, Christmas lights long since extinguished and families asleep, Don's still seemed the most welcoming street they had ever been on.
The driver maneuvered carefully around the cul-de-sac and pulled up in front of Don's house. Numb with cold, Tim and Jim raced to the side door where Don was waiting, then tumbled into the blessedly warm kitchen, safe at last. Don slammed the door against the icy blast. "Hey, what happened?" he began, but Tim interrupted. "The tow-truck driver, Don--I have to pay him. I need to borrow--" "Wait a minute."
Don frowned, looking past his friends through the window. "I don't see any tow truck out there." Tim and Jim turned around. There, parked alone at the curb, was Tim's car. There had been no sound in the crystal-clear night of its release from the chains, no door slam, no chug of an engine pulling away. There had been no bill for Tim to pay, no receipt to sign, no farewell or "Thank you" or "Merry Christmas...."
Stunned, Tim raced back down the driveway to the curb, but there was no taillights disappearing in the distance, no engine noise echoing through the silent streets, nothing at all to mark the tow truck's presence. Then Tim saw the tire tracks traced in the windblown snowdrifts. But there was only one set of marks ringing the cul-de-sac curve. And they belonged to Tim's car. (Where Angels Walk, pp 133-135, Joan Wester Anderson)
IN TIMES OF DECISIONS
WHEN THE CAR STOPPED: It was July of 1942 that Dave, a Christian young man of 18 years faced a crisis in his life about whether to marry a girl whom he loved and had gone with for several years. Pressure for them to get married was being applied by the girl and her parents, but Dave felt like he was not yet ready for marriage, for his goal was to go to college and become a minister.
Finally because of his love for this girl, and because of the pressure of her parents, he consented, and they were engaged and began to plan the wedding. But still he did not feel right about the situation. His parents were not in favor of it, for he was immature for his age and they felt it would be a mistake.
As the time for the wedding drew near, Dave became more and more ambivalent and concerned and still did not know whether he should go through with the plans. He prayed earnestly about this, and finally decided he had to give her a decision one way or the other.
As the day came when he decided to go and talk to her, he earnestly pleaded with the Lord to give him a sign so that he would know what to do. He asked the Lord that if he was not to marry her that a unmistakable sign be given to him.
Having done this, Dave got into his little 1931 Buick and headed down the 20 some miles to see her, not knowing what his decision would be. He was driving up a road that wound between some hills, when all at once the engine quit, just like someone had turned off the ignition switch. He coasted off to the side of the road wondering what had happened.
He got out, lifted the hood and checked the wiring to the coil, but all seemed fine. He next took off the distributor cap with the 8 wires going to the spark plugs, to look at the points which open and close to make the spark which fires the spark plugs. And lo, to his amazement, a part called the rotor, which distributes the spark to each of the 8 spark plugs as it rotates on a shaft was laying down along side the points. The rotor fits tightly on a shaft coming up from the engine. The only way with the rotor to have come off is if it had broken, or if the distributor cap had come off. Neither of which happened.
That was the first of two signs the Lord gave him that he was to break off the plans for the wedding. Amazed at what had happened, he put the rotor back on the shaft, snapped the cap back into place, and the car started up instantly and ran perfectly for several miles. He had just turned a corner at an intersection, when the car began to act up again, but this time differently. It acted like it was out of gas, even though he the tank was 3/4's full.
He pulled over and took the gas line loose thinking that maybe some dirt had gotten into the line, but it was clean. He turned over the starter to see if the fuel pump was working, and it was fine. He finally screwed the line back on the carburetor and started the car, which again ran perfectly. It was with a heavy heart that Dave continued on to see his girl and tell her the bad news. He dearly loved her, but an angel of the Lord had indicated to him most clearly what he must do.
WHEN ANGELS SPEAK
WARNING OF DANGER:
A Voice from Beyond: Margaret walked the dog every morning; Her husband, Paul (not their real names), did so at night. There was a small park across the busy street in front of their house, and Paul usually took the dog there. He was a reserved man who enjoyed solitude and rarely showed his emotions.
About nine one April evening, Paul and the dog started out on their customary jaunt. "I'm never in the garage after dinner," Margaret relates. "But that night, I happened to go there for something. The garage door was open even though it was almost dark outside.
I had a perfect view of Paul going down our driveway to the sidewalk." Paul had to wait a few moments until there was a break in the traffic. While he was standing there, Margaret heard a voice calling. "Paul!" That was all. "It was a male voice, the kindest-sounding voice I'd ever heard," she says.
"There is shrubbery alongside our driveway, and I assumed our next-door neighbor, hidden from my view by the garage wall and the foliage, was calling Paul. "But I know his voice, and this wonderful voice was not his. A second later I remembered that the neighbor wasn't home." Paul did not appear to have heard the voice. Maybe it had been her imagination. OR the sound of the wind? But there was no wind. Someone in a passing car? But the voice had been coming from her direction, as if the caller was near. Puzzled, Margaret wondered what, if anything she should do.
Again, as her husband started to step down from the curb, the kind voice called his name. "Paul!" Now Margaret saw Paul stop. Had he heard the voice this time? Incredibly, a large tree in the park started to fall. Down it came, almost in slow motion, until, with a loud crash, it came to rest across the park path, its highest branches lying almost into the street. The spot was where Paul always walked, where he would have been at that moment had a voice not delayed him. Stunned, Margaret stared at the tree.
Paul, in his usual unemotional manner, crossed the street, went around the tree, looked at it for a moment, and continued on his way. But by the time he returned he had had a chance to think. "Someone called my name," he said to Margaret. "It happened twice, Did you hear the voice?" "Yes. I wondered if you had." "But there wasn't anyone around, unless you saw someone." "No, I didn't," Margaret told him. "And from the garage, I would have had a good view." They looked at each other. "Well, then," Paul said in his usual calm fashion, "it had to have been my guardian angel." (Where angels walk, pp 133-135, Joan Wester Anderson)
IN EVERYDAY LIFE:
Beyond the occasional manifestation of angels that appear to people and working through circumstances, events, there are a scant few individuals who have the gift of an awareness of supernatural activities, such as happens to prophets of God.
These persons are aware of the presence of angelic beings, both good and bad. They can see the spiritual warfare that is going on within and around. They both see and hear the great controversy being fought on the battleground of their heart.
Angels may present themselves in their true angelic form or sometimes visit in the form of humans. They have told their names, and at times may present themselves while a person is at work. They come to encourage, comfort, or instruct.
A Gift Received: Some people experience the continual presence of angels in their home and communicate with them almost as if they were speaking with them face to face. Angels have left gifts like Bibles and books which they inspired people to write. On one occasion an angel hid a small book of poems entitled "Pictures of Silver" under a pillow to be found later by the recipient of the gift. This is a small book of poems many may have seen in Christian book stores.
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