Angels Among Us

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Angel (noun): Possibly derived from the Greek word "Angelos", or "messenger".
Some of the definitions are as follows:
    1. A spiritual being believed to act as an attendant, agent, or messenger of God, usually depicted as a winged human form in a long robe.
    2. An attendant spirit, especially a benevolent one.
    3. A kind, compassionate and brave individual.

Do you believe in angels?  Not angels with wings and a halo but real angels sent by a higher power, supernatural beings who help humans, sometimes saving them from disaster, while other times just offering comfort, or even testing us?  Well, I do and I have a real life story to tell.

It was 1960, in the North Texas town of Wichita Falls and I was 8 years old.  Though my parents took me everywhere with them, this one night was special, so they hired a baby sitter.

I don't recall much about the baby sitter, as she didn't speak much but when she did, she referred to me as "Miss".  I do remember that she was a nice lady of African heritage, who lived clear across town, on the "East Side".  In those days we still lived in a segregated world.

I don't know for sure how my parents met this lady but my mother did volunteer work, at the St. Vincent de Paul Store, near downtown Wichita Falls, where most of the regular customers were black and very poor. I recall later as a teenager, that I would go after school to the store, every Tuesday that my mother worked.  I would help her sort donations, hang clothes on hangars, price them, help 'customers' and even run the ancient cash register and adding machine.

Another thing that stands out in my memory, is how everyone, from the elderly down to most small children, were very polite, though suspicious of us 'white folk'.  I suppose the 'sitter' was a customer that agreed to stay with me, while my folks went out and had a good time.

We ourselves were not rich, by any means.  My dad was a machinist and my mother stayed home, all accept her volunteer work once a week, or to go to meetings for the Federated Missionary's Society (which later my mother was president of the chapter).  Despite modest earning on Dad's part, I am sure he paid the sitter well.

After my folks got home that evening, we all got into the car and drove across town to take the sitter home.  I was sitting in the back with the lady, who didn't speak the whole time. Well, except when we got stuck on the railroad tracks.

It was the wee hours of the morning, not a soul in sight. Everything was pitch black, except the street lights behind us, as we crossed the railroad tracks on 7th Street. The engine died on the old Oldsmobile, right at the top of the tracks.  My dad got out and raised the hood but could see nothing in the dark, so he fumbled around, checking wires as best he could.  He got back inside and tried to start the car again, to no avail. 

It was at this point, that we all realized the peril we were in. To our right (South), there was the distinct high pitched "woo woo" of a train whistle and I could just make out the distant headlight, getting bigger and brighter.  The train was coming and it wasn't stopping!  Dad yelled for us to get out of the car and though we all tried, the doors would not open!

As the train's headlight was now shining right upon us, we were trying like mad, to get out and I heard my baby sitter say, "Oh, Lord Jesus!  Save us!"

As the train whistle screamed and the headlight blinded us from the right, there was suddenly a calm, then a brilliant light from behind the car, as the whole rear end of the 4500 pound automobile was lifted up into the air and the vehicle moved forward and off the tracks, just as the train passed behind us, right where we had been stuck.

Still visibly shaken, my dad jumped from the driver's seat and approached the three huge black men, who seemed to come out of thin air, picked the rear end of the car up and saving us all.  Being the honest and generous man that my dad was, he insisted on paying our rescuers but they politely refused.

Dad turned to tell my mother that they would not accept any reward and before he could turn back to our angels of mercy, they were gone, vanishing as quickly as they came. 

Both my dad and mother looked everywhere for our rescuers but even in the huge open area of the street and railroad tracks, they were no where to be seen.

The only thing else that I recall of that night, is that the woman who sat with me in the back seat, was gone.  I don't recall taking her home but I do recall my mother telling my dad, "those were angels".

To this day, I know that we were saved by angels but that wasn't the first time my mother had dealings with such beings.

My mother has been gone a long time now, she herself a guardian from Heaven.  She watches over my children and grandchild, this I know.  But it was my mother's encounter just after the 'great depression', that stands out for me.

So many people had been hard hit by the depression and hunger was rampant and jobs were scarce.  However, my dad did have a job.  He was the best machinist in all of North Central Texas and Southern Oklahoma, or so the later write-up in the 'Times and Record News' said.

Before I was born, my mother took care of my dad's mother; doing the cooking, cleaning and general care of home and Grandma.  At the time, my mother was in her early 30s, had been valedictorian of her graduating class and in later years I grew to realize, that she was one of the most intelligent and resourceful people I have ever known.  She was not prone to "flights of fancy." 

My mother had just made a big pot of beans and cornbread.  That was a meal that would last for most of the week. And this is the story my mother related to me, which I will relate to you, just as she told it to me.

"I had just finished up in the kitchen, when I heard a knock on the front door.  The screen door was closed and an elderly gentleman was standing on the porch. 

I walked to the door, said hello and asked what he wanted.  He asked me if I had any knives or scissors he could sharpen.

I didn't have any money to pay him and I told him so but he just smiled and kept standing there. The old man had clean but old and worn clothes on. What stood out most, were his features.  He had white hair, a long white beard and the most kind and gentle face that I had ever seen. To my eyes, he was 'beautiful'.

I told him no, that I was sorry I could not pay him in money but I had just made a pot of beans...

I was about to close the door when he said that beans would be just fine!  He asked me to bring him all my knives and scissors, that he would eat when he was done.

The man sat on the edge of the porch and sharpened all the knives I brought him.  When he was finished, I took the knives inside, then handed him a large bowl of beans and a slice of cornbread, which he devoured with vigor.  He wiped the bowl clean, stood up and as he handed me the now empty bowl, he said with a sweet smile, "God bless you."

I said, "God bless you too." then turned to sit the bowl on the small table just inside the door.  When I turned back, he was gone!  I stepped out and walked to the end of the porch and looked but he was no where in sight.  I walked out into the yard and looked up and down the street, still I did not see him anywhere. 

It was at that moment I realized the old man was really an angel."

[Note:  I still have one of my mother's kitchen knives and it is still as sharp today, as it was the day the angel sharpened it.]

My mother often wondered if she had been tested that day, by an angel sent by God.  Then years later, we were all saved by beings with enormous size, strength and gentleness.

There have been many accounts of angelic-like beings, who suddenly appear, do what needs to be done, then slip away, or vanish.  I think this is a distinct possibility, just as there are living, breathing 'angels' among us, as in ordinary people doing extraordinary things, during trying times.

Whatever, or whoever these angels are, their deeds of love, kindness and compassion affect us all, in a positive light and teach us that we too, can be 'angels of mercy'. -Sunny Williams

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In a Dream, a Spirit's Life After Death

Soul Reflection

January 31, 2012

I had a spirit come to me in a dream last night.  I don't know for sure if she wanted my help but she definitely wanted to tell her story.

She died young, just barely into adulthood.  She was in an auto accident and didn't survive like she thought she had.

This is where it gets really interesting. For a long time she didn't know she was dead.  The reason is that there are more people than we know of, live human beings that can see spirits and many of them can interact with spirits.

Some people don't actually see dead people but sense they are there, or hear a whispering voice;  Some people see apparitions; only veiled wisps, or transparent forms with vague features.  Then there are those that see them as if they are alive, a complete body, face and voice.  These live people can see and speak to the deceased person like they would anyone else, interacting with the spirits, as if they were still alive. 

In fact, there are a few live people who can't quite discern the difference, so they treat the spirit as if they are alive.  And that is confusing.  Thus, a spirit came to me and told me her story in first person, literally.  For a brief while in my dream, I became her.

It started out, I was in bed.  I was attempting to clear my mind and sleep when I heard my dog growl ever so softly.  He does that when certain spirits are around, or if he hears a strange noise that bothers him.

Right then I knew a spirit had entered my home but I was tired and had few other concerns at the moment.  Sleep was more important than greeting a ghost at the door.

I never caught this spirits name but as her story unfolded in my mind, I became her, seeing through her eyes, her mind.  For now, I will call her Annie.

Annie was a lovely young lady, attending college and enjoying her young adulthood.  She vaguely recalled an accident but thought she was OK. For some time it never dawned on her that some people who she knew in school and home, totally ignored her while others spoke with her, smiled and then moved on. 

It didn't dawn on her that the party dress she liked in a store window just seemed to appear on her body, or that her attire changed at just a thought. She was confused but accepted it as normal and continued trying to live a life she no longer had.

Then in one moment, it all changed and the horror (to her) of what she is, became clear.  There were denials and she begged those around here not to tell her the truth but too late.  It was her own mother that told her how she died in a car accident and that it was her mother's love that kept her in limbo, in the living world. 

In Annie's state of denial, she approached every person she saw and begged of them, "You see me, don't you?  I'm real, I'm real!"

Most people ignored her, for they couldn't see or hear her but there were some who could and they made things worse.  They could see her but were afraid, or couldn't tell her what she needed to know.

And so, Annie came to me in a dream. She "relived" her sad story in my mind and before I could tell her that indeed, she is dead, Annie faded away and left me with the memories of a sad and broken spirit.

Annie, if you are reading this, it's OK.  You are OK.  Love, peace and happiness await you in the light.


[Note:  I really did experience this.  I would be interested to know if anyone else has had an experience like this and if so, would you be willing to share your story? -SW]

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T'is the Season!

Christmas UFO

Click on either image for larger view.

Last year I decorated the front of the house with lights and created what looked like (at night), a landed flying saucer with multicolored chase lights around it. 

In the evenings after dark, I noticed quite a few people stopping out on the road and then speeding off.  I guess they thought it was a real UFO. hehe

As I was looking through last years photos, I came across one of the house that has an anomaly.  Can you see it? 

Look close, just to the left of the doorway.  A Christmas spirit, perhaps?

If you have had ghostly encounters at Christmas time, I'd love to read your story and possibly post it here.  If you have photos, that would be even better.

Send your stories and photos to me.

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El Muerto - A Texas Ghost Story

Bigfoot Wallace

Here's a headless horseman tale, from a true life Texas legend.

El Muerto

A Texas Ghost Story

retold by S.E. Schlosser

After getting the lay of the land, so to speak, frontier man Bigfoot Wallace moved from Austin to San Antonio, which was considered the extreme edge of the frontier, to sign up as a Texas Ranger under Jack Hayes. In them days, Texas was as wild as the west could get. There was danger from the south from the Mexicans, danger to the wet and north from the wild frontier filled with Indians and desperados, and to the east the settlements still had problems with the Cherokee Nation. General Sam Houston himself had appointed young Captain Hays, a hero from the battle of Plum Creek, to raise a company of Rangers to defend San Antonio. Hayes had high standards for his men. They were the best fighters in the west, and they had to be, considerin’ the fact that they were often outnumbered fifty to one. A man had to have courage, good character, good riding and shooting skills and a horse worth a hundred dollars to be considered for the job. Captain Hayes knew all about Bigfoot Wallace and signed him on the spot.

So armed with Colt pistol and a Bowie knife, Texas Ranger Bigfoot Wallace once more took on the Wild West, and quickly made his mark on Texas folklore. In them days, the Rangers tended to handle stock theft at the end of the rope, so to speak, stringing up the bandits, forcing a confession out of them, and then leaving the bodies swaying in the wind to deter other outlaws. Only it didn’t work, and the bandits kept right on stealing, sometimes passing right under the bodies of their fellow outlaws to do it.

Now Bigfoot’s fellow Ranger, Creed Taylor, had a big spread lay west of San Antonio, in the cedar hills clear on the edge of Comanche territory, and he was constantly losing stock to bandits and Indian raids. The last straw came for Taylor the day famous Mexican raider and cattle thief Vidal and his gang rounded up a bunch of horses from his ranch and took them south toward Mexico. Most of the Rangers were heading north to pursue some Comanche’s out on a raid, but Taylor and a friend went immediately in pursuit of the thief, and when they bumped into Wallace just below Uvalde, he joined them.

Bigfoot was always ready to hunt horse thieves and desperados, especially those of Mexican descent, never forgetting what happened to his brother at Goliad. Bigfoot decided it was time to put an end to Vidal’s gang once and for all. He would track the wiry Mexican bandit to earth. The three men located the camp where the horse thief and his gang lay sleeping, and snuck in from downwind, so as not to alert the horses. Vidal was wanted dead or alive, so all the thieves were shot and killed in the gunfight that followed.

That was when Wallace got an idea. Obviously, hanging horse thieves hadn’t gotten the message across to the outlaws raiding the ranches of the good folk of Texas. Perhaps a more drastic example of frontier justice would do the trick. Severing Vidal’s head from his body, Bigfoot and his fellow Ranger tied the body to the saddle of the wildest mustang in the stolen herd and secured the severed head to the saddle horn so that it would bounce and flop around with every step taken by the mustang. Then Wallace gave a shout and sent the horse running away with its headless, dead rider, hoping the gruesome sight would deter future cattle thieves.

What he managed to do was frighten everyone in South Texas. Folks would be peacefully walking down the road of an evening when a terrible headless rider would gallop pass on a midnight black stallion with serape blowing in the wind and severed head bounding on the saddle horn beneath its sombrero. Nothing could deter the terrible specter – not bullets, not arrows, not spears. It was years before a posse of cowboys finally grew brave enough to bushwhack the horse and release the withered corpse from its back.

But on moonless nights, the ghost of El Muerto continues to ride across South Texas to this day with his long black serape blowing in the wind and his severed head bumping on the saddle beside him.

You can read more Texas folklore and ghost stories in Spooky Texas by S.E. Schlosser.

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