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I had moved to another town to be with my boyfriend who had found a job there. This was a strange town where I knew no one. We took an apartment together, and I soon found work. For a while, we were very happy, and then the situation began to deteriorate. He took to yelling at me and putting me down, and also slapped me around a few times. The situation became very painful, and I knew that I could not go on like this.  I was so hurt because I had been so much in love with him and felt betrayed.
One day we got into a fight, and he hit me hard on my upper arm.  A welt came up. He was also yelling at me and telling me how stupid and dumb I was. That was a common thing with him, telling me I was stupid and dumb just because I forgot to buy this or that, or forgot to pay a utility bill. He was noisily going through some drawers and cabinets that day, searching for some papers he needed, pulling stuff out or pushing things around in there in an effort to find what he was looking for. Then he’d slam the drawer shut and go on to the next one, while still cursing and yelling at me.  
I stood watching him as I held my sore arm, and saw a woman approach and stand next to him. She was tall and pretty, very sweet-looking, with long dark hair and was wearing something loose in purple and aqua. She was on the other side of him, so I couldn’t see too well exactly what she wore.  Anyway, she had this gentle smile on her face.  
At one point, Jason raised his head too fast and hit it on the open door of the cabinet above. He really let loose with some loud swear words. The woman just calmly watched him and smiled.  I could sense that she understood him very well. I could feel it. When he finally walked away, she was immediately gone.
Shortly after that, I left him and moved back home. I know that lovely woman was an angel. She was there for just a couple of minutes, but in that time I felt her peace and love. It’s hard to explain. I just knew she played a role in getting me out of there. It was as if she was telling me that he is not the right man for me, and I should go.

Lorrie F.

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 I was driving on a busy freeway in the San Fernando Valley section of Los Angeles late one afternoon some years ago.  Apparently, there had been an accident up ahead, because traffic across five lanes was barely moving and was  bumper to bumper.  At times, traffic stopped altogether, and the freeway looked like a parking lot.  
This stop and go movement went on for quite a while, but at some point traffic picked up speed, and we started rolling at better than fifty mph.  However, everyone soon had to brake and come to a stop once again, except me.  I had become lost in my thoughts, and although I was looking straight ahead, I was not seeing for some long moments.  Then I came out of my reverie and finally saw that the car ahead of me was totally stopped, and that I was about to plow into the rear of him at fifty mph. 

I hit the brakes so hard that smoke billowed out and stunk up the air. It was embarrassing because I thought all the cars were probably looking at me. In another moment, my car swerved into the lane to my left. There was a long, empty space there instead of a car.  I rolled to a safe stop, not hitting anything or anyone.  My heart was beating so hard, and I felt terribly embarrassed about my stupidity. 

Apparently, the car that should have been in that space in the lane to my left had not moved up with the traffic.  S/he may have fallen into a reverie, too.  I don’t know.  All I know is that something magical happened that day, and a space was created for me to safely take my car into.  
Although I can’t say I saw an angel during the incident, I feel certain one was around.  I also feel certain it was the Archangel Michael.  He has been there for me on more than occasion in my life when I desperately needed help.

S.L.

 

I had an old painting in a pretty golden frame that I wanted to use for another painting I had recently completed.  So I took the old painting out and slid it behind a bookcase in my bedroom.  It seems there was something sharp on the backside of that bookcase, because one day weeks later, I discovered a few deep gashes on my old painting.  That painting was of ballet dancers on a very dark stage with just one spotlight beaming down on them.  So the background of the painting was totally black, causing those gashes to really stand out a lot. There were some lighter gashes, too, on the costume of the female dancer.  By the way, the black background after all those years had faded a bit, and probably now was more like a dark charcoal gray.

I showed the painting to my art teacher, who made suggestions for how to repair the gashes.  But I took the painting home, thinking that this was just an old painting that had been hanging in my living room for many years already, and I was not interested really in repairing it.  I could now see, after all this time, some technical mistakes I had made when I was a much younger artist, and really didn’t feel like bothering with it any more. So I leaned it up against a wall in my bedroom and placed a white piece of cardboard on top of it that was about the same size. The white cardboard was to keep it from getting dusty, or actually from showing dustiness.

One day, about a year later, when I was cleaning in my bedroom, I picked up the painting from behind the white cardboard.  I had not wiped it down for all that time. I was amazed as I looked at it, because the big gashes on the faded black background had been repaired.  It was as if someone had mixed up exactly the right shade and covered over the gashes.  But it had not been me.  That painting had not been out of my house since showing it to my art teacher, and I had absolutely no recollection of repairing it myself. 

 I tried really hard to remember if and when I done the repairing, but I just couldn’t remember.  I certainly would remember mixing up just the right shade of dark charcoal gray in order to properly fix the gashes. 
When I told a friend about this, I said that I must have done it in my sleep!  For quite a while, I thought that I might be losing my mind more than I realize. After that, I used to frequently take the painting out from behind the white cardboard and just stare at it, hoping something would jar my memory.  But that never happened.

One more thing:  If I had painted over the gashes, I would have stood the painting against a wall without any cover over it. When you have wet paint, you do not want to cover it over.  You want the air to get to it in order for it to dry. But for a year, that white cardboard had lain on top of the painting.

All I can think is that I know I have a guardian angel who has visited me a few times in my life.  I think this was my angel’s way of letting me know s/he is still around.  This was not the first time something unusual had occurred.

J.R.

                            
             
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I asked my Guardian Angel to reveal him- or herself to me.  I did this over a period of three weeks or more about a couple of years ago.  One night while I was laying in bed slipping into slumber, something prodded me awake, and I opened my eyes wide to see a face on the ceiling above my bed.  The face was about the size of a football and was very clear.  I'm not sure any more if it was a female or a male.  It was not looking at me.  The face remained there for just a minute or two, and then like a bubble bursting in the air, it burst and was gone. 
The face was not your typical angelic face.  It looked older, like a face of someone in their 40s.  It definitely was not the sweet, cute cherubic kind of angelic face you see in religious literature or in paintings, and it was not smiling.  It did not look happy or unhappy.  And it definitely did not look familiar.  It was not a face I had ever seen before.  But clearly it came in response to my requests.  
I do believe that if you ask, you will receive. 

Sandra L