Then Along Came an Angel

Kids on Angels

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Wed, 07 Jan 2009 16:45:00 +0000

I only know the names of two angels, Hark and Harold.
-Gregory, 5

Everybody's got it all wrong. Angels don't wear halos anymore. I forget why, but scientists are working on it
-Olive, 9

It's not easy to become an angel! First, you die. Then you go to Heaven, and then there's still the flight training to go through. And then you got to agree To wear those angel clothes.
-Matthew, 9

Angels work for God and watch over kids when God has to go do something else.
-Mitchell, 7

My guardian angel helps me with math, but he's not much good for science.
-Henry, 8

Angels don't eat, but they drink milk from Holy Cows!!!
-Jack, 6

Angels talk all the way while they're flying you up to heaven. The main subject is where you went wrong before you got dead.
-Daniel, 9

When an angel gets mad, he takes a deep breath and counts to ten. And when he lets out his breath, somewhere there's a tornado.
-Reagan, 10

Angels have a lot to do and they keep very busy. If you lose a tooth, an angel comes in through your window and leaves money under your pillow. Then when it gets cold, angels go south for the winter.
-Sandra, 6

Angels live in cloud houses made by God and his son, who's a very good carpenter.
-Jared, 8

All angels are girls because they gotta wear dresses and boys didn't go for it.
-Antonio, 9

My angel is my grandma who died last year. She got a big head start on helping me while she was still down here on earth.
- Chuckie, 9

Some of the angels are in charge of helping heal sick animals and pets. And if they don't make the animals get better, they help the child get over it.
-Vicki, 8

What I don't get about angels is why, when someone is in love, they shoot arrows at them.
-Sarah, 7

True Angel Story: Angels Save the Day

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 03:05:00 +0000

Angels Save the Day
by David S. Milotta

I felt the three distinct rivulets of sweat trickling down my back under my clergy shirt, as they joined forces, and streamed south. It was a hot August Saturday afternoon for my first funeral service with my new congregation. The Lord had placed me in a multi-ethnic, neighbor island church in Hawaii, in the middle of a rural sugar plantation community.

“We really need a fan up here,” I muttered, as the sweat dripped into my eyes. The men in the congregation were sweltering in their shiny, well-worn, funeral-only, suits. I was wearing my obligatory white clergy robe with Hawaiian motif stole on top of my black clerical suit and collar (minus the jacket).

The service was going well with touching family testimonies and colorful stories recounted by fond friends. My turn came, and as I mounted the pulpit, my eyes swept over the congregation. Among the supportive smiles of members I could also see the old time samurai types who were forced to attend out of family obligation. They were watching me with neutral faces, but their body language, with arms firmly crossed over inflated chests just shouted “Try to impress me, newcomer.”

“Lord I place this service into your hands,” I silently prayed and proceeded to hold forth with an evangelical message worthy of the old missionary preacher, Rev. Hiram Bingham himself.

“Nobody knows when death may strike.” The words were barely out when an elderly gentleman in the center of the third row just keeled over. I was stunned, not knowing what to do. The organist rushed over to him rendering aid. A deacon headed for the office phone.

My first thought was, If you’re going to die, just have the decency to crawl out to my office and die. But don’t do it here, in the middle of my well-planned service.

My brain sort of snapped back and I saw the people in a commotion as pews were moved to make room for him on the floor. I knew I had to take action. But what kind?
Feelings of helplessness and desperation overwhelmed me as I was losing control of the crowd.

“Oh Lord, help me now,” I nodded my head and prayed.

I looked up and suddenly, to my unimaginable surprise, I saw two giant angels in the back corners of the church, standing from the floor to the ceiling. I was totally mind blown. These were not gentle cherubs. These were experienced warriors. I instantly knew they were angels of the Lord, the very same who slew the one hundred and eighty-five thousand Assyrians recorded in Isaiah 37:36.

These angels radiated power, influence, control, experience, and authority. I got the impression that they had their glory turned down like on a dimmer switch for a light. They could go to full blast at any moment and kill with their blazing presence. They stood on watch with their arms folded. The angels looked like men in armor that the Israelites wore. They had swords, beards, and helmets. If they had wings, I did not notice any. They were greenish and not bright. I understood that their muted appearance was an accommodation for me.

I felt transformed by the angelic presence, like I had been supernaturally given the ability to take command of the situation. I immediately led everyone in prayer. We prayed for the afflicted man as well as the deceased. The church organist was a nursing instructor and knew how to help the stricken man. Thanks to the quick-thinking deacon’s prompt call, by the time I finished the prayer the nearby fire department had arrived with oxygen. It turned out that the man had fainted because of the heat and he didn't have a heart attack. He wasn't admitted at the hospital and went home later that same day.

Many people returned home thinking how well I handled a difficult situation. Only I had seen the angels in the back of the church that had strengthened me with supernatural poise and leadership. When I was in a desperate situation God answered my plea for help. God doesn’t always answer our prayers in this dramatic fashion, but for me, his angels saved the day.

Winners!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 22:41:00 +0000

Thanks to all the wonderful bloggers who helped make this tour a success! Your help is very appreciated and your posts were wonderful. I do hope that the book also touched your heart as you read it. If you might be so inclined, please consider also posting your review on Amazon for the book.

Congratulations to the winners of the angel book tour!

BLOGGER EXTRAORDINAIRE- This huge gift bag goes to Kailani from An Island Review for 136 comments before her 7 day cut-off. That's totally amazing. Great job, Kailani!

Runner-Ups who also get a mention are All Because Two People Fell in Love with 69 comments and MomStart with 38 comments. Great job, ladies!

HEAVENLY COMMENTATOR- This gift bag goes to Wanda, who commented on Sage & Savvy.

Thanks to all of you for the help!

True Angel Story: A Kitty Named Sly

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 18:04:00 +0000

Last summer was a rough time for our family. My dearest aunt died after slipping into a coma for three days and our favorite kitten suddenly got Lymphoma and passed away within two months.

After my aunt died, I dreamed that she was sitting under a cabana having some wine. She was happy and relaxed.

"How are you feeling now?" I asked her.

She said better but she was still just a bit cold. I wanted to comfort her with one
of the crocheted blankets that she had made for me over the years but she said, "No you keep the blankets."

In the distance I heard a mournful cat crying and crying and woke up. I felt agitated by the sadness of the cat's wailing but comforted by the connection with my aunt.

Two weeks later my kitten, Sly, developed cancer. We tried everything to heal him including expensive vet visits, medicine, herbal products, love, and prayer.

I would let him sit on the special blankets lovingly crocheted by my aunt and he seemed comforted. He would sometimes stare up at a small picture of Jesus I have above my bed.

My husband even had the people at Mass pray for Sly. A week before we lost him, I saw the tiniest of white angels fluttering outside the window in our redwood tree. I held Sly tightly, afraid they were taking him that day.

Another week passed and I again saw the tiny white angels tapping on the bathroom window as if to say, "Come on Sly-it is time to go to heaven." Sly was a fighter just like his namesake, Slyvester Stallone, and hung on for a few days longer.

But a few days later when we were driving to the vet, I sensed what I needed to do. I held his paw and said, "You can go now if you need to go". He gasped and peacefully died right as we drove over a bridge.

I didn't see the tiny angels again but this experience convinced me that angels come to us in our dreams as well as our waking life. I felt somewhat comforted by my encounter with angels.

(c) 2008 Terry Haugen

Four Day Countdown!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Mon, 24 Nov 2008 18:08:00 +0000

The angel tour starts in (yikes!) four days! Are you ready? I am excited and I hope that you are as well. And now, I have a horrific confession to make. This week, my computer crashed and one of my losses is the spreadsheet that has all the blogger's information on it. Yes, indeed! Your name, addresses, posting date (although I think that I got all of you on the online schedule here-if not, please email me asap), and more! Such a treat! Although I did back most everything up a couple of months ago, I could never back it all up (too much), there were some very important recent documents that I lost and that was one. Dell can't ship my new one until 12/23 and I am scrambling to find a rental as this particular loaner is very limited and I can't even post to many of my blogs. (Or Twitter) So I appreciate your patience with me as I have three blog tours starting in a couple of days and may be re-asking you at some point for your information. My apologies...

Tour Prizes Announced!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Mon, 10 Nov 2008 07:45:00 +0000

I had no idea that procuring, cataloging and organizing prizes would take so long but it was totally worth the effort. What a ton of fun. I am so looking forward to actually getting prize winners and sending out the goodies. If you haven't yet done so, check out the prizes for the Chat. And here, without any further rambling, are the prizes for the angel blog tour.

BLOGGER EXTRAORDINAIRE (with the most comments on post by the 7th day after their post goes live) will receive:

1. Book- "Uncovered: What Really Happens After the Storm, Flood, Earthquake or Fire" by Mark Goldwich.

2. Book- "I Just Want my Kid to be Happy: Why You Shouldn't Say It, Why You Shouldn't Think It, What You Should Embrace" by Aaron Cooper, PHd and Eric Keitel, M.ED.

3. Spiritual Cinema Circle DVD- Short, Quality Films with lessons for all of us.

4. Organic Sicilian Blood Orange Juice

5. "I Have an Attitude of Gratitude" Black Tank Top (Med) from EmpoweringStuff

6. Jungo PC Game from Mumbo Jumbo.

7. Large tote bag, mouse pad and eye brightener from MomLogic.

8. Book- "Angels and Wonders" by Joan Wester Anderson.

9. Coheso Calorie Smart Nutrition Calculator.

10. GermyWormy Sanitary Sleeves for kids

VALUE- $172.00

HEAVENLY COMMENTATOR (name drawn from everyone who comments on one of the blog posts) will receive:

1. Large tote bag, mouse pad and eye brightener from MomLogic.

2. "Dreams Come True" T-Shirt (Med) from EmpoweringStuff.

3. Softress Deep Moisturizing Skin and Hair Care, Winter Formula.

4. Spiritual Cinema Circle DVD- Short, Quality Films with lessons for all of us.

5. Organic Sicilian Blood Orange Juice

6. Internet Safety Course for Parents from ParentLearningBoard.

7. Book-"Then Along Came an Angel: Messengers of Deliverance" by Julie Bonn Heath.

8. Book- "Angels and Wonders" by Joan Wester Anderson.

9. GermyWormy Sanitary Sleeves for kids

VALUE- $118.00

Prizes for Chat Announced

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Sun, 02 Nov 2008 00:55:00 +0000

I am SO excited to tell you about the prizes lining up for the blog tour and chat with Joan Wester Anderson. Companies have literally lined up to donate prizes and I have even had to turn some down. There will be more to come that are still arriving but for right now, prizes that will be available to those who participate in the chat on 12/1/08 at 6PM Pacific Time AND buy a book during that time period will be eligible for:

GIFT 1- 1 Membership to a marketing program for writers. Includes coaching, website and more. Value of $997.00

GIFT 2- 1 night at Ocean Front Lodge in beautiful Cannon Beach, OR. Some blackout days apply. Value of $100.00+

GIFT 3 and GIFT 4-
1 Large canvas tote bag, mouse pad and eye brightener from Mom Logic which includes 1 gift certificate for a set of personalized flashcards from GoosieCards ($28 value), 1 Natural Animal Soap on Nailbrush from WettGiggles ($10 value), 1 free course on Internet Safety from Parent Learning Board ($29 value), 1 book, “The Parent Trip” by Jenna McCarthy (value $16.95), 1 Free Membership to member-only quizzes and teacher resources at Grammar Book ($29.95 value), 1 Book, “The Busy Mom’s Guide to a Happy Organized Home: Fast Solutions to Hundreds of Everyday Dilemmas” by Kathy Peel and published by Tyndale, 1 DVD: “Spiritual Cinema Circle: The Heart and Soul of Cinema, Vol 4” from Spiritual Cinema Circle, Rose Pin, "I Don't Have to be a Star to Sparkle" t-shirt from EmpoweringStuff ($26.90 value), Discovery PC Game from Mumbo Jumbo ($25.00 value), Kitty Wool Ball from PurrfectPlay ($6.00 value), Smart Mom Teething Bling endorsed by Tori Spelling ($21.00 value) and a Swiggies Wrist Water Bottle ($13.00 value) and GermyWormy Sanitary Sleeves for kids. FULL GIFT BAG VALUE OF $227.00

GIFT 5- 1 Large canvas tote bag, mouse pad and eye brightener from Mom Logic which includes 1 free course on Internet Safety from Parent Learning Board ($29 value), 30 Minutes Free Coaching from Sapience Life Coaching ($130.00 value), E-Book "Clutter-Free Gift Giving Resource Guide" by April Welch, CPO/Certified Professional Organizer ($10.00 value), Book- "Holler for Your Health" by Teresa Holler (23.00 value), Leash Pouch made from reclaimed sweaters by PurrfectPlay ($15.00 value), Softress Soft Hands Spray (value $15.00), 90210organics Apple Pear Shea Butter ($18.00 value), Green Bag 25# weight limit from GenGreenLife, Earth Cinema Circle Short Films DVD ($22.00 value), PoweredGreen Laptop Energy Seal ($16.00 value), "It's not just a movement" t-shirt from GenGreenLife and GermyWormy Sanitary Sleeves for kids. TOTAL VALUE OF GIFT 5- $278.00

DOOR PRIZES ARE ALSO available to all who attend the chat-no buying necessary. They include:

1. Book- "Uncovered: What Really Happens After the Storm, Flood, Earthquake or Fire" by Mark Goldwich.
2. "Be Organic" T-shirt from Just Be. ($15 value)
3. "It's not just a movement-it's a way of life" t-shirt from GenGreenLife.
4. Book- "Angels and Wonders" by Joan Wester Anderson. ($16 value)
5. Discovery PC Game from Mumbo Jumbo ($25 value)
6. Polar Sports, Vol 1 PC Game from Mumbo Jumbo ($25 value)
7. Books- "Let's Get Ready for Kindergarten" and "Let's Get Ready for First Grade" by Stacey Kannenberg. ($28 value)
8. Gift certificate for a set of personalized flashcards from GoosieCards ($28 value)
9. Natural Animal Soap on Nailbrush from WettGiggles ($10 value)
10. Free course on Internet Safety from Parent Learning Board ($29 value)
11. Free Membership to member-only quizzes and teacher resources at Grammar Book ($29.95 value)
12. 2 Packs of 8 Germy Wormy's ($10.00 est value)
13. “Spiritual Cinema Circle: The Heart and Soul of Cinema, Vol 4” from Spiritual Cinema Circle ($22. value)
14. Swiggies Wrist Water Bottle ($13.00 value)
15. Wool Kitty Ball from PurrfectPlay ($6.00 value)

Please join us to chat on 12/1 at 6PM Pacific. Just go here and enter the chat room during that time. It's easy, fun, and there will even be an opportunity for you to ask questions of Joan and I.

See you then!
Julie

Tour Schedule

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Sun, 05 Oct 2008 00:18:00 +0000

Previous Mentions of "Then Along Came an Angel" include:

Why Stories Work
Liana's Stories
Disabled Artists Network
Leigh Platt Rogers
Is it Odd or Is it God?
Love to Know

VIRTUAL BOOK TOUR SCHEDULE:

10/2/08- Carole's Blog featuring the story, "That Smile" by Carole McDonnell.

11/3/08- Chris at Best Christmas Stories featuring the story, "Christmas Angel" by Julie Bonn Heath.

11/8/08- Julie on anthology writing at Global Write/Rule of Three.

12/1/08. "Angel Talk" with Julie Bonn Heath and Joan Wester Anderson from 6pm-7pm (Pacific Time), a live chat. We will answer your questions about angels (those answers we know anyway) or any other angel topic that you can think of. To chat, go to http://www.julierheath.com/chat.html and click "Enter" (only on December 1, 2008 at scheduled chat time).

12/1/08-Louise at Mom Start.

12/3/08-Rhonda Clark with Beach Reads.

12/3/08- Andrea at Chocolate Fingerprints.

12/3/08- Angela at Moms in a Blog.

12/4/08- Betty at Bella Online.

12/4/08- Melissa at All Things Girl Magazine.

12/4/08- Diana at Forgetful One.

12/5/08-Melissa at Bibliophile's Retreat.

12/5/08- Sarah at Genesis Moments.

12/5/08-Terra with Terra Garden.

12/5/08- Gem with Sage & Savvy.

12/5/08- Becca at Becca's Blog from the Left Coast.

12/6/08- Kailani at An Island Review.

12/7/08- Leah with O Momma Reviews.

12/7/08- Stacey at All Because Two People Fell in Love.

12/8/08- Maria at Maria's Space.

12/9/08- Melissa with From Melissa's Desk.

12/10/08-Alicia at Mom's Monologue.

12/10/08- Tara with Tara's View of the World.

Share Your Angel Story!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Fri, 03 Oct 2008 19:07:00 +0000

If you have a true angel story that you would like to have featured on this blog, please email it to me. Don't worry about the writing-I can edit it if needed. I am also happy to link to a website if it is an appropriate, family-friendly link.

Thanks for sharing!

Meet the Angel Authors!

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 06:01:00 +0000

Although four of the stories in "Then Along Came an Angel: Messengers of Deliverance" include my byline, my main role was as a compiler and editor. There were multiple authors of this book-many of whom I am proud to say have since published one or books of their own and moved forward in their writing careers with articles, columns and more. Some of course, were already accomplished before they submitted an angel story. Either way, they are an invaluable bunch!

The additional authors who wrote the stories this amazing book included:

Patricia Kay

Donna J. Shepherd

Shirley M. Corder

JoAnn Reno Wray

Leigh Platt Rogers

Carole McDonnell

Lea Peters

Kriss Erickson

Carolyn L. Reeves

Rebecca Petrone

Marcia Wagoner

Glen Blesi

Sue Stidham

Heidi AW Kiminski

Joanie Kensil-Bradsher

Marie Thomas

Julie Thomas-Zucker

Laisa Jones

Michele Cotton

Vanessa Bruce Ingold

Nancy B. Clark

Marilyn R. Prasow

Bonnie Compton Hanson (for Vikki De Nisi Hanson)

Robin Ehrlichman Woods

Katharine Wool Parrish

Maureen Chevalier-Seawell

Sandra Ray

Linda Robertson

Mary Lynn Mercer

Angelique Butler Sharps

Mishel Hawas

Shelley Hussey

Joie Fields

Anne Culbreath Watkins

Liana Metal

Melva Cooper

Mark Louis Burgio

Susan L. Wiener

Sandy Williams Driver

Felicia Bridges

Sharon Riddle

Thanks to these great authors for sharing their incredible stories of miracles!

Virtual Blog Tour Information for Then Along Came an Angel

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Mon, 22 Sep 2008 15:42:00 +0000

The main part of the virtual tour for "Then Along Came an Angel", a book of true angel stories, will occur from December 1-15, 2008.

We are excited to announce that Julie and bestselling angel author, Joan Wester Anderson, will hold a live "Angel Chat" during this time period open to the public. It is scheduled for December 1, 2008. See information on tour schedule below.

If have a high-traffic blog and are interested in receiving a free copy of "Then Along Came an Angel" and posting about the book during that time period (or anytime), please email Julie at juliebonnheath@earthlink.net.

What You Need to Know:

1. By signing up and receiving a book, you are agreeing to post about the book on the date you choose. We will need to know this date ahead of time of time to post it on the Tour Itinerary.

2. You choose the format of posting that works for your blog, but a picture of the book cover must be included with a provided link to purchase the book.

3. Suggested formats include: A Book Review, A Story from the Book, An Interview with Julie or one of the other authors in the book, A Commentary on Angels or Miracles, An Article written by Julie or by you, etc. Contact Julie if you need more ideas.

4. We also need you to visit at least 5 other blogs on the tour and post a comment on the Angel Post to support the tour efforts.

NOTE: We will be offering prizes for this tour. One $50.00 Gift Bag for BLOG HOST EXTRODONAIRE and Gifts for HEAVENLY COMMENTATORS and BLESSED CHATTERS. If you host the book, comment on other's posts AND attend the chat with Joan Wester Anderson and I on December 1, 2008 (6-7 PM Pacific Time), you are actually eligible to possibly win in all these categories. More details.

Previous Mentions of "Then Along Came an Angel" include:

Why Stories Work

Liana's Stories

Disabled Artists Network

Leigh Platt Rogers

Is it Odd or Is it God?

Love to Know

TOUR SCHEDULE

Host the Angel Book

Story from the Book: Angels on Duty

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Thu, 20 Apr 2006 20:24:00 +0000

Book Tour Information
Home

by Shirley M. Corder

As I said goodbye to my nineteen-year-old son, Stephen, that Friday morning, little did I suspect what lay ahead. I watched with pride as he walked jauntily to the car, his navy kit-bag bouncing gaily over his shoulder. A tall good-looking young man, with fair hair and a gentle and unassuming nature, he was on his way to take an important exam at the Johannesburg College. He enjoyed his studies in Information Technology and anticipated good grades in the tests. My husband, Rob, drove him as far as the local railway station. From there he would catch a suburban passenger train to the station near the campus.

After waving goodbye to his dad, Stephen waited for the train. He ignored the people milling around at this busy time of the day, as he went over some memorized facts in his mind. The train pulled alongside the platform, and people surged forward to reach the doors.

Stephen walked more slowly, looking for a ‘non-smoking’ carriage. He was anxious to find a quiet space that would allow for last minute cramming. The ‘non-smokers’ were likely to be less crowded than the others. Pleased, he noticed an empty coach and climbed on board.

He settled into a corner and reached into his kit-bag for a study manual, unaware that he had just stepped into extreme danger. By the time the train pulled out from the station, he was engrossed in skimming through his notes. He didn’t notice three shadowy figures ease themselves through the door at the far end of the carriage and sidle down the aisle towards him.

He jumped as a shabby individual wearing nondescript clothing plumped down next to him. “I’ve left my wallet at home. Can you perhaps give me some money for food?” the man mumbled.

With a sense of unreality Stephen realized that he was in trouble. By choosing this particular coach he had totally isolated himself from fellow passengers. There was no point in shouting out. No one would hear him above the clatter of the train. In one sickening moment he realized that he was about to become ‘another statistic’. Assaults on the trains were reported daily. People were held up, robbed and even thrown from the windows of moving trains.

Remembering what he had been told many times – ”If you are ever held up just give them what they want; it’s not worth your life” – Stephen tried to smile. His dry mouth struggled to form words. “Why sure …”.He reached for his kit bag. His mind raced. He tried to ignore his pounding heart and the foul, stale smell of the man’s breath. What could he do to distract him?

He jerked back as his assailant, presumably thinking he was going for a gun, struck him on the arm. Vaguely aware that his attacker was aiming for his head, Stephen threw his arm up to shield his face. The mugger rained blows on his body.

For the first time Stephen became aware that the man was not alone. Time stopped as he tried to take in what was happening. Between blows, he saw two other men grab his bag. They rifled through it, dropping books, papers and his lunch-box. They stuffed their pockets with smaller, more valuable items—his good pens, the up-scale pocket calculator he was so proud of, his student card. Why did they want his student card?

Above the train’s noise he heard the window thrown open. He saw his empty kit-bag hurtle out onto the hard gravel beside the speeding train. Stephen stiffened in terror as two of the thieves laid hold of him, grappling for a better grip. There was no time to even try to break loose. He was trapped. As he sent up an urgent prayer for a miracle, his feet left the floor. Stephen closed his eyes and steeled himself for the plunge.

He stumbled and nearly fell as his feet thumped back to the ground. His attackers swung around to gape at the end of the aisle, and their grip slackened. They shoved him towards the dirty green leather coach seat. Falling over each other, pushing and shoving, they fled down the aisle, glancing frantically over their shoulders. They wrenched open the nearest carriage door and vanished.Stephen stared in awe up and down the coach. There was nothing, no-one, to be seen. He was alone. Shaking, Stephen noticed a bright, red stain spreading over his white, long-sleeved top. In horror he realized that the man who hit him had been armed with a knife. He yanked up his shirt and found gashes on his side and chest. He attempted to pull together the edges of a long jagged wound on his arm.

As the train slowed for the next station, any thoughts of the now not-so-important exam left his mind. Gripping the back of the seat, he rose and staggered to the door. He stumbled across the platform and commenced a long walk, over a deserted field, to a nearby shopping center. He forced one foot to follow the other as he attempted to staunch the flow of blood from the various gashes that were now beginning to throb.

As he approached the parking lot of the large mall, he noticed people stop to watch in morbid fascination. By now he was reeling from loss of blood. ‘I’m going to pass out. Why doesn’t someone help me? How much further to a phone booth?’

Up ahead he noticed a small red car pull out of a parking space and start to move slowly away from him. Then it stopped and reversed back to him. An elderly lady climbed out from behind the steering wheel, rushed around to the other side of the car and opened the door. Carefully she eased the boy into the front seat, reassuring him that she would get him to help, “. . . in next to no time.” Once he was safely in the car, she sped toward the main road, swinging the car in the direction of the nearest hospital. If it occurred to her that her actions were not wise in the current South African crime-wave, she ignored her thoughts.

The following Sunday our teenaged son stood up in church and gave testimony. “I didn’t see him, but I know without doubt that those thugs saw a great big angel walking down the aisle of that train. They were terrified out of their wits. I pray that they will never be the same again.” Nor did he forget the heroic actions of a little old lady who did not hesitate to get involved when other onlookers were too afraid. “She saved my life.”

Today as I look at my young son with his beautiful wife, I give thanks that where we, as parents, were unable to protect him during that frightening event, the Lord sent an angel so big, so terrifying, that three armed men took flight. And I thank Him too for the other angel, dressed as a little old lady, who drove a small, red car.

"Angels on Duty" is an excerpt from the book, "Then Along Came an Angel: Messengers of Deliverance" by Julie Bonn Heath. Links are welcome, but please do not copy and paste this story, or include it in any written publication without permission from the copyright owner, Julie Bonn Heath. More info at www.juliebonnheath.com

Story from the Book: Lady Kiah

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Sun, 04 Sep 2005 21:09:00 +0000

Book Tour Information
Home

“Michelle did everything she could for her beloved dog. After three surgeries and an immense amount of therapy, it was obvious that Kiah’s health was rapidly declining. Michelle was distraught. Her best friend—whom she had raised and loved for over 10 years—was passing away before her eyes.”

by Leigh Platt Rogers

My sister experienced an event that changed her perception of life and death. Michelle has always been a down-to-earth, no-nonsense kind of person. She believes that if she can see it, taste it and touch it—then it’s real. Otherwise, it doesn’t exist.

Lady Kiah (pronounced "ki-ya") was my sister’s best friend. Michelle raised her since puppy hood. She was a gorgeous Rottweiler, and my sister loved her dearly. When Kiah had her first litter, Michelle could not bear to give away all of the puppies so she decided to keep one of the males. She named him Sir Byard—after King Charlemaine’s horse—but everyone called him Bear. It turned out to be an appropriate name for him since he grew immensely large.

Bear and Kiah went everywhere with Michelle. Bear was the more difficult of the two to control as he never really outgrew being a puppy, however, my sister made very sure that both dogs were so well trained that they actually responded to silent commands. Kiah, in particular, was extremely intelligent and very close to my sister.

One day while the dogs were romping in the park, Bear spotted a squirrel—his favorite thing to chase—and bolted after it. Unfortunately, Kiah just happened to be in his way and he ran smack into her, bowling her over. The collision resulted in severe injury to Kiah’s neck upper shoulder. She was never the same after that.

Michelle did everything she could for her beloved dog. After three surgeries and an immense amount of therapy, it was obvious that Kiah’s health was rapidly declining. Michelle was distraught. Her best friend—whom she had raised and loved for over 10 years—was passing away before her eyes. Finally she could not stand to see her dog in such pain and agony and asked her vet for help. He understood and to make it easier on both Michelle and Kiah, he came to the house and administered one final pinprick. Kiah died peacefully in Michelle’s arms, covered in warm tears falling from my sister’s eyes. Bear was there as well and witnessed the passing of his mother. He understood his mother was dead after spending only a few moments with Kiah after her passing.

Bear and Michelle deeply mourned their loss. A large part of their life was gone and they missed Kiah terribly. Bear was despondent—he became lethargic and listless—and nothing Michelle did could bring him any comfort. She even had to beg him to eat, feeding him by hand. Finally, Michelle decided to try another tactic. She would take Bear to one of their favorite parks, about an hour from their home. Perhaps that would lift his spirits.

The day they went, she had to coax and cajole Bear into the car, a far cry from before when he would joyfully leap around at any mention of "going to the park." They left in the early morning hours so that they would have the park to themselves. Michelle could then let Bear off his leash and hopefully he might find some enjoyment and comfort at one his favorite places.

It was a clear, cold morning in late October. The trees were still covered in fall leaves, and there was a faint mist covering the grass. Michelle let Bear out of the car and watched as he slowly walked a few steps and then sat down. Her heart sank. It wasn’t going to work.

"Oh, come on, Bear. Please? Come on," she said and urged him forward.

She began walking and he got up and reluctantly followed. Suddenly, he let out a joyful bark and bounded forward. He raced across the grass and then jumped, rolled, stood up, shook, and then bounded away again, his barking almost sounding like laughter. Michelle looked around—bewildered at the sudden change—and tried to locate the squirrel or whatever was attracting Bear’s attention. Although she was very happy to see him like this, she could not figure out what he was so excited about.

Just then, Michelle noticed a couple sitting on a park bench at the far end of the park. The couple seemed to be loudly debating something and they kept looking over at Bear.

Bear’s size often unnerved people—especially when he was not on a leash—so Michelle walked over to the couple to reassure them of his harmlessness. As she drew closer, she saw it was not really a couple but an elderly Asian woman sitting with a younger Asian man. There were similarities in their looks, so she guessed that they were mother and son.

Before Michelle could open her mouth to say hello, the young man waved her over and patted the bench, gesturing for her to sit down. Michelle hesitated and looked for Bear who was still excitedly racing around the park. She decided there was no harm in joining them briefly.

"Hello," she said as she sat down.

"Hello," replied the man. He spoke in a strong Asian accent. "My mother wants me to ask you something. She does not speak any English. You might find it strange—but she has been insisting that I talk to you."

"Well, okay. What does she want to know?"

The young man said something to his mother in a different language. She jabbered something unintelligible back and waved her hand towards Bear.

"She wants to know if that is your dog," he told Michelle.

"Yes, that’s Bear. He’s big but he’s perfectly harmless if your mother is worried."

Again the man relayed the information to his mother who nodded and smiled at Michelle. She said something else and the man asked Michelle "Is he two?"

"Oh no, this is an old boy. He’s eight years old."

The man shook his head and, with his mother interrupting, again he asked about "Bear and two." Michelle started to get confused because of the side conversation going on in another language and the man having to go back and forth in translation. She kept telling them that Bear was eight years old—not two. Finally—shaking his head in defeat—the man turned to Michelle and said, "My mother wants to know if you see two?"

"Do you mean she wants to know if I see two dogs? No–no–there is only one dog." With the hair rising on her neck, Michelle leaned forward holding up two fingers and asked the old woman,

“Do you–do you see two dogs?"

The woman nodded, jabbering to her son. The man lifted his arm and held it in the air at Bear’s height. He told Michelle that his mother saw Bear playing with another dog like him but smaller–and he dropped his hand to where Kiah’s height would have been. My sister’s arms broke out in goose bumps and her heart beat fast.

With her head whirling, Michelle said, "But – but that’s not possible. His mother is dead. There is only one dog out there. Do you see two dogs?"

"No," he said, "I don’t. But my mother says there are two. She tells me that one is wearing a blue collar and the smaller dog has a green collar."

Michelle gasped, "Bear’s collar is blue—but how could she possibly know that Kiah’s was green?" She paused, "Maybe you have been here before, or seen us here in the past?"

The young man shook his head, "No. We’ve never been here. It was my mother who told me she wanted to visit this park this morning. I had no idea there was even a park here."

Michelle took in a deep breath and tried to calm herself. Her mind was racing and her head was spinning.

How is this possible? This is crazy!

Then her eyes fell on Bear, who was now contentedly sprawled on the grass—tongue out—breathing heavily from his antics. He looked like he was grinning from ear to ear. With her eyes filling with tears, Michelle realized now why he was so happy. He was spending a glorious, special moment with his beloved mother. It was at this very moment that Michelle felt an incredible shift in herself and her views on life and death.

Michelle now realized that Kiah’s love would always be with her and Bear. Something had led her to this park this particular morning where Kiah was waiting for them. Seen through the eyes of a stranger, Kiah appeared as real to the old woman as she did to Bear. For Michelle, this meant that Kiah was just as much a part of them in death as she was in life.

Eventually it was time to go and Michelle rose and thanked the two strangers. A feeling of comfort and solace had entered her heart with her newfound knowledge. She especially thanked the old woman who nodded, smiled and lifted her hand with two fingers up.

"Yes," Michelle told her, "Yes, I believe you. There are two of them here today. Thank you so much."

Michelle whistled to Bear who leapt to his feet and raced over to her. He looked like his old, happy, bubbly self, which gave Michelle a great sense of relief and thankfulness. She turned to wave good-bye, but the park bench was empty. She looked around, expecting to see the two strangers walking away but saw nothing. She rubbed her eyes and looked again. There was no one in sight.

That is just not possible; there’s just no way they could have moved that fast!

My sister glanced around as she and Bear walked to the car. Driving away from the park she started to wonder if the whole thing had really happened, but one look at Bear and his return to his former demeanor told her that it was true. She bowed her head and gave a silent prayer of thanks. She now knew that there was more to the world than the finality of life ending in death. There was everlasting love and the true existence of divinity.

"Lady Kiah" is from the book, "Then Along Came an Angel: Messengers of Deliverance", (c) 2005 Julie Bonn Heath

Story from the Book: Miraculous Return

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Sun, 26 Jun 2005 05:18:00 +0000

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“I was looking for you, Mommy. But I couldn’t find you anywhere.” These words have stayed with me since my son Michael spoke them when he was three years old. The memory of the story behind this still brings me to tears—and reminds me that angels do exist.

Michael was a beautiful, chubby, precocious and friendly three year old. He had an amazing vocabulary and a magnetic personality. The sun always shone around him—and his love for life was contagious.

While I worked as a childcare consultant for the New York City Parks Department—I sometimes left Michael at a neighborhood park playgroup. Then I could go to meetings without worrying about him becoming bored or cranky.

Michael fit in easily with the children in the group, and was assured that I would return after lunch to pick him up. We kissed and hugged goodbye—never knowing the drama that would ensue in a few hours.

After a successful session with my supervisors, I received the go-ahead for a summer program on the Lower East Side of Manhattan. As I walked the twenty blocks back to the park and my home—I made a mental note to pick up a treat for Michael before we left to get his sister Diana at school. He loved to visit her there and would take his “big boy book bag” along with him.

When I entered the park house, I was surprised to see that Michael wasn’t busily chatting away with the six other children in the program.

Perhaps he’s in the bathroom.

Before I could precede any further, Ms. Rose, the playgroup’s director, met me.

“Michael was picked up more than an hour ago,” she said.

Alarm hit me like a battering ram. My husband worked in the field as a news videographer and rarely could stop at home during the day. No one else had permission to pick up Michael—and Ms. Rose didn’t seem to recall how, or with whom—Michael had left her care.

I ran outside and checked the toddler play area, public bathrooms, ball field and park benches.

No Michael!

Where is he?

I quickly called my husband Woody at work. Perhaps he had left early and picked Michael up as a special treat.

But Woody was aghast when I asked if he had our son with him. My heart ached as we both considered the horrible situation. Where could a three year old be—in busy midtown Manhattan?

My next call was to the police. Officers arrived in minutes and questioned Ms. Rose while searching the area. We lived near the East River, the Midtown Tunnel, a heliport and many hi-rise office and apartment buildings.

Soon after, Woody arrived—his route shortened with the aid of state police escort. His job in television news helped him forge friendships in all walks of life—and everyone reacted to Michael’s disappearance with alacrity.

As officers walked me back to our apartment a few blocks away—I stopped neighbors, friends and strangers. I asked them if anyone had seen Michael. Less than three feet tall, he should have attracted attention walking without adult supervision in this busy area.

The superintendent of my building had heard the police call on his scanner, and started a phone chain. He called all doormen in the immediate area—and asked them to keep a lookout for Michael. Phone company and gas utility workers offered to use their trucks to search for our son. My husband went along with them, photos of Michael in hand.

Two hours passed and there was no sign of Michael. Our neighborhood was a hotbed of activity. Volunteers scoured the area. Police officers searched apartment buildings and rooftops from our home on First Avenue—to Fifth Avenue.

I ran back and forth from home to the park, hoping that Michael had been hiding somewhere, afraid to come out. By now, he had missed lunch and his afternoon nap. Was he as terrified as we were?

Gruesome thoughts filled my head. A men’s homeless shelter was only five blocks away, and the park was a place where some men frequented to panhandle. Was Michael in the East River? In the dark tunnel?

Time passed in a disjointed blur. I couldn’t believe that Michael had just vanished without a trace…Yes, I could! This had happened before to other children, with horrible, tragic results. I shook off my sense of doom and went back to the park to wait.

As afternoon started fading—my hopes dimmed along with the sunshine. Michael had been gone too long for the outcome to be positive, I was sure. Friends had picked up Diana at school and she was unaware of the unfolding family drama. I couldn’t concentrate on anything else but the search for my small son.

My husband ran from the park to our apartment over and over, meeting with police officers, our building superintendent and friends. Dozens of people looked for Michael—his picture in hand. I tortured myself with worries. Had he been hurt? Was he out wandering the streets—easy prey for a derelict or pervert? How could he cross the busy avenues alone? He was only three, after all.

After one last trip back to the park, without my son in sight, Woody and I arrived back at our apartment building once again. I was so nervous—I was ready to jump out of my skin. A detective asked Woody for more photos of Michael, and they walked back upstairs to our brownstone apartment. I couldn’t go anywhere—I had to stay out on the street, waiting and watching for Michael. Our phone must have been ringing off the hook, but I couldn’t bear to speak to anyone but the police. No time to waste on useless conversation. Beyond comforting, all we could do was pray that Michael was safe, and that he would be with us soon.

Suddenly, the walkie-talkie next to me squawked to life. I overheard something that sounded like “Child found.” Could it be true? Was it Michael? Was he found - alive? Moments later, Woody came outside with our son in his arms. Where had he been found? On the roof? In the basement?

My first glimpse of Michael showed a very tired, dirty boy—tied up in a child’s jump rope. Woody and an officer had tears in their eyes. Amazingly, after the last trip up the stairs (our building had no elevator), Woody and the officer had seen a flash of color near our doorway. It was Michael’s brightly striped polo shirt, and he had been found curled up, fast asleep on our welcome mat.

As Woody carried our son to a waiting ambulance—my mind exploded with questions. It took effort to compose myself and focus on our son.

The seven-block trip to the hospital was just a precaution—Michael didn’t seem to be injured. However, he was very dirty, dehydrated and hungry. Amazingly, he began chatting away happily with a detective, whom he called “Inspector Gadget.” He was delighted by the gift of a police cap—and asked for food and his “moofie.”(pacifier). The pediatrician assured us that Michael needed some food and liquid and a good night’s sleep. He had not been given any drugs—nor was he molested in any way.

We have never been able to find out exactly what occurred that day. Three year olds don’t analyze situations and cannot verbalize events in an orderly fashion. A child psychologist informed us that Michael might never remember what had happened to him, since he was so young. We don’t know where the jump rope was from—or why he was tied up in it. We’ll never know how he got back to our apartment unnoticed by police and search crews.

All Michael has said of that day was: “Where were you, Mommy? I looked for you and couldn’t see you. A man held my hand and crossed the street. He had a pretty light around his head. He brought me home. I want pizza.”

We surely were the recipients of a small miracle that day. I can only wonder whose hand guided Michael back to us. Whether through divine or mortal intervention—our three year old found his way back home. He had an angel on his shoulder that day, and I am in awe of the power of prayer and love. Watching over one of His little ones, God ensured that he returned to our arms.

Author Bio: Robin Woods is a lifelong New Yorker currently "in exile" in Montclair, New Jersey. Relocating to suburbia so that her children could play outside, she spends her time writing about their escapades. Her fervent hope is that these stories will thrill and embarrass them. Revenge is sweet!

More Information: This story is from the book, "Then Along Came an Angel: Messengers of Deliverance" and is copyrighted by Julie Bonn Heath. This story may be used for no charge in newsletters or e-zines, as long as the full title of the book is included with it. Please contact the copyright owner at juliebonnheath@earthlink.net if you desire to post it on the World Wide Web. More information available at www.juliebonnheath.biz.

Story from the Book: Night Angel

noreply@blogger.com (Julie Bonn Heath, Marketing and PR) — Fri, 20 May 2005 17:16:00 +0000

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“I told my friends about the violent arguments my parents thrived on, that often ended with my father pounding his fists against my body. I hoped that if they could see what life was like in my house when no one was looking, that they’d show me compassion in regard to my lack of style.”

Night Angel
by Kriss Erickson

The summer air was deep with the scents of life—freshly mowed grass, hydrangeas, the mingled oils and essences of adolescent perfumes. I was at a party in East Orange, New Jersey, hosted by a family who attended my church. Chips, dip and punch festooned the dining table in the roomy brownstone home. Laughter chimed up the stairs from the basement where my friends danced to the hits of the 70s.

Though surrounded by friends, I felt alone. I sat on the basement stairs, watching couples dance, for the first hour of the party. My rumpled jeans and long-sleeved cotton shirt couldn’t compete with my girlfriends’ stylish dresses, cute pantsuits and upswept hairstyles. No one asked me to dance. I knew my unpopularity was at least partially due to my frumpy appearance. But when I tried to explain, my friends didn’t believe that my parents wouldn’t allow me to wear trendy clothes or style my hair.

"You just don’t like to dress up!" one friend said. "If you’d just try to fix yourself up, people would like you more."

Sometimes I felt rejected by more than my friends. Sometimes I doubted that God loved me. If He did love me, why wasn’t He there for me when I needed Him?

On my way home from school, I often stared at the beautiful clothes hanging in the window of our local department store. But my parents insisted that wearing stylish clothes was sinful. Neither did they allow me to "show off" by styling my hair, even though that meant looking more like a boy than like a girl.

By the time I was sixteen, I was so desperate for someone to believe me that I did the unthinkable. I told my friends about the violent arguments my parents thrived on, that often ended with my father pounding his fists against my body. I hoped that if they could see what life was like in my house when no one was looking, that they’d show me compassion in regard to my lack of style.

But my father was a deacon’s assistant and my mother helped on many church committees. Instead of understanding, I received outrage and anger.

"How dare you talk about your parents like that!" A friend snapped after I told her that my parents didn’t even wait to get out of the church parking lot before they began criticizing everyone they’d spoken to at services.

I knew that it sounded terrible to talk about my family in such a way. But once my father was so angry that he tore off the bathroom door and threw it down the stairs at my mother. My main responsibility was to remain silent and not mention how they’d beaten and yelled at me since before I could walk.

When I realized that my friends didn’t believe me, I thought that they didn’t care about me inside, only about how I looked. That night at the party, I decided for sure that God didn’t care either or He would have fixed my life.

I grew up in a small town where it was relatively safe to walk after dark so although I’d never been to East Orange before, I finished watching my friends dance and left.
Besides, if no one else cares about me, why should I?

I walked several blocks down the empty, eerily quiet street. Though it was only a little after ten, the houses I passed were dark. Few cars traveled the streets. I realized that I might not recognize the house where the party was being held if I went too far, so I walked back the way I’d come. By this time, I’d worked up a big ball of angry, hurt feelings.

"For sure they don’t care," I muttered darkly. "I bet they didn’t even notice I was gone."

The large number of cars parked around the house and the shining porch light made my destination easy to find. But then I had the same issue as before I left--should I listen to the adults talk or sit on the basement stairs, watching my friends dance?

Instead of going inside, I sat on the front steps, my elbows resting on my knees and cupping my hands beneath my chin. The more I thought about how lonely I was, the sadder I felt. When tears began to course down my cheeks, I didn’t wipe them away.

Suddenly, I was jerked by my hair into a standing position. In the light of the single bulb that lit the porch, I saw the glint of a rusty knife blade an instant before it poked lightly into my side.

"You comin’ with me, girl!"

A scruffily dressed boy with a red bandana tied tightly over his head and knotted at the back glared at me with cold earnestness. He looked about two years older than me.

"Get up!" He jerked my hair again for emphasis.

All the years spent defending myself against my father caused me to cry, "No!" as I tried to pull myself away.

Dropping the handful of hair that had ripped from my scalp as I resisted, he shoved me hard. I landed in the rose bushes, scraping my right forearm deeply on the thorns. The boy grabbed my hair again and jerked me upright. He marched me across the front lawn, toward the dark street.

I was so scared that my body stiffened from my toes to the top of my head. I walked beside my attacker woodenly, as if I had no knees. I felt the rusty knife against my side, and saw the empty caverns of a parking garage across the street. All the beatings my father had given over the years hadn’t prepared me for anything like this. I wasn’t sure what this boy wanted, but I was sure that if I let him lead me into that parking garage, I might never come out. We were almost to the sidewalk. I had to do something—fast!

I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and prayed. It was a short prayer, but I felt my urgent request fly from me to God’s beckoning arms. Please God--help me! I screamed internally. Then I yelled.

“No!"

With my eyes still closed, I jerked away from the boy, expecting to feel his knife slip between my ribs. I jumped as far as I could from him, landing in a half-crouch with my hands balled into fists. Since this boy had attacked me so brutally on the front porch of the house, I knew he’d be more vicious now that we were nearly to the street and out of site.

It took a few moments for the pounding of my heart to back out of my ears. Once it did, I realized that there was no sound. Cautiously, I opened my eyes, and blinked.

When I’d sent up my desperate prayer, I’d been at least fifty feet from the front porch. I now stood close enough to the porch steps to touch them, which I did, to prove they were really there. The boy who’d attacked me was gone. I didn’t hear him run away, but he was nowhere in the yard.

Just as I was beginning to wonder if I’d imagined the attack, my right arm began throbbing from the gash received in the rose bushes. The pain of that scratch opened the wound of the loneliness I’d felt by turning my heart away from God when it felt like other people would never believe me. I realized that turning from Him had made me blind to the heavenly helpers who were always with me.

There was only one way that I could have traveled nearly fifty feet in the space of a breath. There was only one reason that I’d escaped from my attacker with nothing more than a scraped arm. God had sent an angel to answer my prayer. The angel carried me back to the porch steps, and sent my attacker away.

I knew now that even if my parents didn’t love me and even though my friends didn’t believe me, God cared. He could see and hear me, and He loved and believed in me. Though I’ve had lonely nights since then, I’ve never felt as alone as I felt on the night of the party. Because ever since that night, I’ve realized that I’m really not.

Kriss Erickson has been a freelance writer since 1981. She holds a Master of Arts in Counseling and a Certificate in Spiritual Direction.

The above story is an excerpt from the book, "Then Along Came an Angel: Messengers of Deliverance". Order the book at http://www.pleasantword.com/