Sunday, January 16, 2011

Grandfather's Angel Dust

I was reading today in a book called, “Chocolate for a Woman’s Spirit”.  Someone gave it to me a long time ago, and though I had every intention on reading it, it went on my bookshelf and stayed there.

Today I saw it and felt compelled to take it off and see what exactly the book was about.
It’s wonderful.

It’s like “Chicken Soup for the Soul”, but focuses on the spiritual experiences that others have had. 

One of the earlier stories in the book (after all I just started it) is entitled, “Grandfather’s Angel Dust”.  I hope I’m not breaking any plagiarizing rules, but I’m going to share it with you.

As I drove home on the familiar two-lane highway one clear autumn night, the sky glistened with the brilliance of the stars.  I remember enjoying a breathtaking moment soaking in the beauty and tranquility of the night, followed by a jolt back into reality with two bright red taillights in front of me.

A car with its left signal light blinking slowed down to turn and then stopped because of oncoming traffic.  I immediately slammed on my brakes, but I knew I couldn’t stop in time.  Oh my God!  I’m going to hit them!  I heard a sickening crunch of bending metal and shattering glass.  I bumped my head hard, and my chin hit the steering wheel.  An ominous silence settled in.

I stumbled out of my car, dazed by the impact, and saw a woman frantically running from her car, screaming repeatedly, “You killed the children!  You killed the children!”  My car had gone right through the back of her hatchback, where two little girls had been playing.

This can’t be true!  I couldn’t kill anyone!  I thought.  My heart pounded violently, and time seemed to stand still.  The surroundings were a blur.  I heard crying.  I heard yelling.  I heard sirens in the distance.  Then I distinctly remember someone shouting, “The girls are okay!  They’re shook up, but they seem fine!”

The sight of the other driver hugging the two children brought some momentary comfort as they whisked me into an ambulance.  Still, I felt uncertain that they were really OK.  The emergency doctor assured me that they were unharmed.  I learned the aunt was driving her two nieces to visit their grandparents, who lived on a farm.  Miraculously, the woman driver and the two girls were sent home with no noticeable injuries.  With a bump on my head and minor bruising, the medical team released me almost immediately.

A police officer walked with me to the door as I left the emergency room feeling shaken but grateful.  “I can’t believe it, “she said.  “With the speed of your collision, it’s amazing that no one died.  You are all very lucky to be alive!”

The next day, I needed to know for sure that the woman and her nieces had no injuries.  In my jacket pocket I found a scrap piece of paper with a phone number.  I didn’t remember who gave it to me.  When I dialed the unfamiliar number, the children’s grandfather answered.  He reassured me that his daughter and grandchildren were unharmed.

“You were protected by invisible hand,” he said with certainty.  I had to agree.  My car went through the hatchback into the area where the children were playing; yet they didn’t get a scratch or a bruise.  An invisible wall of safety seemed to shield them from my invading car.  The wheels of the hatchback were turned in such a way that a sudden force should have pushed them car forward into the other lane.  For us, the opposite happened.  My car somehow latched onto their car and held it back from the approaching vehicles.

When I hung up the phone, I had an overwhelming sense of the presence of my own beloved grandfather, who had died about a year earlier.  But I rationalized that the man I had just talked with had a sensitivity and a wisdom that merely reminded me of grandfather.

That evening, for some unknown reason, I felt compelled to visit my great-aunt, who is my grandfather’s sister.  I had decided not to tell her about the accident so she wouldn’t worry needlessly.

During our conversation she said, “I had a dream about your grandfather.”

“When?”  I blurted out.

“Two nights ago,” she answered.

Like a true-to-life experience, she vividly described her dream:  “Your grandfather came to visit me.  Overcome with joy, I wanted to discuss things together as we’d always done in the past.  He told me he couldn’t stay because he had to make it out to a farmyard and that he must be there by dark.  Then he left.”

My great-aunt felt slighted that in this dream Grandfather didn’t take the time to talk with her.  With tears in my eyes I quietly said, “I think he needed to come and save me and two beautiful girls, who now have their lifetime ahead of them.”

Written by:  Helen Taupe

I feel such a connection to this story.  I’ll write why in my post tomorrow… but today I am deeply grateful for Grandparents who, no matter how near or far away they may be, are always looking out and praying for the well being of their grandchildren.

1 comment:

  1. Oh my goodness! What a beautiful story. I believe that our loved ones who have passed are our guardian angels. I believe their work on the other side is to protect us, bring us those "goosebump" feelings and show us the way, all through the power of our Savior.

    Thanks for sharing this story.