A Treasury of Miracles for Women

by Karen Kingsbury

  “They look like nice daddies.” Cody shrugged. “But they're not daddies, they're angels. Because that's what they said they were.”

  Throughout the Christmas season, Cody continued to speak matter-of-factly of the angels who pulled him from his mommy's car, set him on the soft bush, and kept him safe until Mommy could reach him.

  For Jackie, the story is proof that though they lived in a remote part of the state, God still cared for them, still kept his watchful eye upon them.

  Left with no other explanation, she and her husband believe their son is telling the truth about what happened that August afternoon. About his very special encounter with angels.

  Angel in the Darkness

  The bad news came just eight days after Christmas.

  Until then, Julie and Bryan Foster were by most stan dards one of the happiest couples anywhere. They were in their early twenties, lived in Nashville, Tennessee, and shared a passion for country music and the outdoors. They constantly found new ways to enjoy each other's company, whether by mountain-biking, hiking, or playing tennis to gether. Attractive and athletic, Julie and Bryan seemed to live a charmed life in which everything went their way.

  Then Bryan got sick. At first the couple believed he was only suffering from a bad cold. They wondered if he had mononucleosis. But the doctors ran blood tests. Finally, on that cold January day, Bryan's condition was diag nosed as acute lymphatic leukemia.

  At age twenty-eight, Bryan was suffering with the deadliest form of cancer.

  “You have to live, Bryan,” Julie told him when she heard the news. “I can't live without you.”

  Bryan wrapped his arms around her. “Don't worry, honey. God will take care of us.”

  During the next three months, Bryan's cancer slipped into remission and he stayed the picture of health. Muscu lar at six feet two inches and two hundred pounds, Bryan looked more like a professional athlete than a man suffering from leukemia. During that time, he continued to work and at Julie's request, neither she nor he talked much about his illness.

  At the end of that period, doctors discovered that Bryan's brother was a perfect match for a bone marrow transplant. But before the operation could be scheduled, Bryan's remission ended dramatically and he became very ill.

  “I'm afraid he's too weak to undergo a transplant,” Bryan's doctor explained as the couple sat in his office one afternoon. “The cancer has become very aggressive.”

  The doctor recommended that Bryan be admitted to Nashville's Vanderbilt Medical Center for continuous treatment in hopes of forcing the disease into remission. Within a week, Bryan and Julie had taken medical leaves of absence from their jobs and both moved into the hospi tal. The nurses generously set up a cot for Julie so that she could stay beside Bryan, encouraging him and strengthening him emotionally during his intensive chemotherapy and radiation treatments.

  “This isn't happening, Bryan.” Julie told him as she clung to his hand his first night at the hospital. “You're going to be fine.”

  Living in a cancer ward was very depressing for the Fosters, who had previously seen very little of death and dying. The couple talked often about how their lives had become little more than a nightmare in which Bryan fought for his life amidst other people like him—people with no real chance of overcoming their cancer. Bryan began to spend a great deal of time in prayer, asking God to take care of Julie no matter what happened to him. He prayed for remission, but also asked God for the strength to accept his death if his time had come to die.

  Months passed and doctors began to doubt whether Bryan's cancer would ever again experience remission. By Christmas—a year after his original diagnosis—Bryan weighed only one hundred pounds. His eyes were sunken into his skull, and he had lost nearly all of his strength. He was no longer able to walk and only rarely found the energy needed to sit up in bed. Doctors told Julie that there was nothing more they could do.

  “I don't think he has much longer, Julie,” one doctor said. “I want you to be ready.”

  Julie nodded, tears streaming down her cheeks. She felt completely alone and knew that no matter what she told the medical staff, she was not ready for Bryan to die, not ready to say good-bye to the only man she'd ever loved.

  How had their happy life turned so tragic? And what if Bryan died while she was sleeping? Julie couldn't bear the thought and she began sleeping in his room, dozing only an hour or two before rushing back to his side.

  On January 4, Julie fell into a deeper sleep than usual and was awakened at 3:00 A.M. by a nurse.

  “Mrs. Foster,” the nurse said, her voice urgent, “wake up! Your husband has gone.”

  Thinking that her husband had died in his sleep, Julie sat straight up, afraid of what she might see. Bryan's hospi tal bed was empty.

  “He's gone? Where is he? What happened? Where did you take him?” she asked frantically.

  “We haven't moved him, ma'am,” the nurse said quickly. “He must have gotten up and walked somewhere. We came in to check his vital signs and he was gone.”

  Julie shook her head, willing herself to think clearly. “He can't walk. You know that.” She was frustrated and her voice rose a level.

  Bryan hadn't walked in two months. Even if her hus band had found the strength to get out of bed and shuffle into the hallway, he would have been seen. His room was on the circular eleventh floor of the cancer hospital, and the nurses' station was a round island in the center of the floor. There was no way he could have gotten up and walked out of his room without someone spotting him. Es pecially since his arm was attached to intravenous tubing.

  Julie jumped to her feet and ran from the room toward the elevators. As she ran, her eyes caught a subtle movement in the eleventh-floor chapel. Heading for the door and peering inside, Julie was stunned by what she saw.

  Inside the chapel, with his back to the door, Bryan was sitting casually in one of the pews, talking with a man. He was unfettered by intravenous tubing, and although still very thin, he appeared almost healthy.

  Anger worked its way through Julie's insides. Why had Bryan left without saying anything? And who was this man? Julie knew she had never seen him before, and he wasn't dressed like a doctor. Where had he come from at three in the morning? Julie stared through the window trying to make sense of what was happening.

  After several minutes passed, she walked into the chapel toward her husband. At the same time, the stranger looked down at the floor, almost as if he did not want Julie to see his face. She noted that he was dressed in a red checked flannel work shirt, blue jeans, and a brand new pair of lace-up work boots. His white hair was cut short to his head, and his skin was so white it appeared transparent. Julie turned toward Bryan, still keeping one eye on the man across from him.

  “Bryan?” she said, questioningly. “Where have you been?”

  He looked up and smiled. “Hi, honey.” He chuckled and appeared stronger than he had in months. “I'll be back in the room in a little while.”

  Julie turned toward the stranger and he looked up at her. Julie was struck by the brilliance of his clear blue eyes.

  Who is he, she wondered. How was he able to make Bryan laugh? How had he helped her husband appear so at ease when only hours earlier he had been barely able to move? Julie stared at the man, mesmerized by the look in his eyes, searching for an explanation as to his existence.

  “What's going on?” she asked, turning back toward her husband.

  “Julie, please, I'll be back in the room soon!” Bryan's voice was gentle but adamant. Julie knew he wanted her to leave them alone.

  Reluctantly, Julie turned to go making her way back to the center station, where she informed Bryan's nurses that he was in the chapel. They were relieved and did not at tempt to bring him back to his room.

  For thirty minutes, Julie waited alone in the hospital room until finally Bryan joined her. Julie almost didn't rec ognize him. With a wide grin on his face and a twinkle in his eyes, Bryan was full of energy and he walked toward
her with a strength that simply wasn't possible. He was obvi ously at peace.

  “Okay, who was he? Why were you talking to him? What did he say? And how come you're walking so well? What happened?” Julie fired the questions at her husband in succession and he began laughing.

  “Julie, he was an angel.”

  Bryan's words were so confident they left no doubt in Julie's mind that he believed what he said. She was silent a moment, allowing herself to ponder the possibility that the man had indeed been an angel.

  “I believe you,” she said softly, reaching toward her husband and taking his hand in hers. “Tell me about it.”

  Bryan told her that he had been jerked awake and in stantly experienced an overpowering urge to go to the chapel. His tubing had already been removed, something none of the nurses remembered doing when they were asked later. As he climbed out of bed and began walking, he was suddenly able to move without any of his usual weakness. When he got to the chapel, he quietly settled into a pew and kneeled to pray. He had been praying when he heard a voice.

  “Are you Bryan Foster?” the voice asked gently.

  “Yes.” Bryan turned around and the man was there, dressed in a flannel shirt and jeans. The man sat across from Bryan, their knees almost touching. For a moment the man said nothing. When he spoke, Bryan had the feeling he already knew the man.

  “Do you need forgiveness for anything?” the man asked.

  Bryan hung his head, his eyes welling up with tears. For years he had held bitter and resentful feelings toward a rel ative. He had always known it was wrong to harbor such hatred, but he had never asked for forgiveness. Slowly, Bryan looked up and nodded, explaining the situation to the man.

  The man told Bryan that God had forgiven him. “What else is bothering you?”

  “Julie. My wife,” Bryan said, the concern showing on his face.

  “I'm worried about her. What's going to happen to her?”

  The man smiled peacefully. “She will be fine.”

  The man knelt alongside Bryan, and for the next twenty minutes the two men prayed together. Finally, the man turned toward Bryan and smiled.

  “Your prayers have been answered, Bryan. You can go now.”

  Bryan thanked the man, and although nothing had been said he somehow was certain the man was an angel.

  “Then I came back here.” Bryan smiled.

  Suddenly Julie leapt to her feet. “I have to find him,” she said as she left the room.

  Julie believed Bryan's story but she was overwhelmed with the need to talk to the man herself. She ran back to the chapel but the stranger was gone. Next, she checked the guards who were at their post at each elevator. She de scribed the man Bryan had talked with.

  “A man in a flannel shirt and jeans,” the guard re peated curiously. “No, haven't seen anyone like that.”

  Julie hurried into the elevator and traveled to the first floor. The guards at the hospital's main entrance had also not seen anyone who fit the man's description.

  “But that's impossible,” Julie insisted. “I know he had to have gone through these doors less than fifteen minutes ago. He couldn't have just disappeared.”

  “Sorry, ma'am,” the guard said. “I haven't seen anyone like that all night.”

  Feeling defeated, Julie returned to Bryan's hospital room where he was sitting, his arms crossed in front of him, with a knowing look on his face.

  “Didn't find him, right?” Bryan said, grinning.

  “Where did he go? I really want to talk to him.” Julie was frustrated, baffled by the man's sudden disappearance.

  “I guess he went to wherever he came from, honey. He did what he came to do and he left.”

  Slowly, an understanding began to dawn in Julie's heart. If he was an angel, of course he'd disappeared. Bryan was right. The man had completely disappeared, perhaps to return to wherever he had come from.

  The next day when Bryan woke even more energetic than he had been the night before, both Julie and Bryan thought he was miraculously in remission. He was happy and content and spent much of the day visiting the other patients on the floor and offering them encouragement by praying with them or listening to them share their strug gles.

  Many physical manifestations of his illness seemed to have lessened or disappeared in the hours since the man's mysterious visit.

  Then, two days later Julie awoke to find Bryan staring at her strangely.

  Suddenly nervous, Julie sat up in bed. “What?” she asked.

  “I dreamed about Bob last night,” Bryan said, clearly confused by the dream. “You told me to tell you if I ever dreamed about Bob.”

  Bob, Bryan's best friend, had died in a car accident the year before. For reasons that were unclear to her, Julie be lieved that if Bryan ever dreamed about Bob, it meant Bryan's death was imminent. She hadn't told Bryan these thoughts but had asked him to tell her if he ever dreamed about Bob.

  Now Julie was confused. Bryan couldn't be near death. He looked vibrant and strong. And if his prayers had been answered, as the flannel-shirted man had told him, then he must have been on his way to recovery. Something wasn't making sense.

  “What about the angel?” she asked Bryan, her voice filled with anxiety.

  Bryan shrugged. “I don't know. You just asked me to tell you if I ever dreamed about Bob.” Something in Bryan's face told Julie he knew why she had considered the dream significant.

  That afternoon, Bryan suffered a pulmonary hemor rhage. He began bleeding from his mouth and nose, and immediately there were dozens of doctors and medical ex perts swarming around, desperately trying to save his life. Julie moved to a place behind Bryan's head and placed her hands on his shoulders.

  “Come on, Bryan,” she shouted frantically. “Stay with me!”

  One of the doctors asked Julie to step aside so they could work on him. She backed up slowly and found a spot in the room against the wall where she sank down to the floor and buried her head in her hands.

  While the doctors hurried about Bryan, shouting “Code Blue” and trying to save his life, she began to pray. Almost instantly, she felt a peace wash over her and real ized that this was part of God's plan. Bryan had prayed that she would be all right, and in that instant—even though it didn't seem possible—she knew she would be. No matter what happened.

  “Julie!” Bryan's voice was clear, calm. Julie jumped to her feet and took her husband's hand.

  “It's okay, honey,” she whispered, her tear-covered face gazing down at him. “It's okay.”

  Two minutes later Bryan was dead.

  Now, more than ten years later, Julie believes that Bryan's prayers were indeed answered that night when he was visited by what she believes was an angel. Since his time on earth was running short, he had been given the gift of peace, of accepting his fate and not fighting it in fear. Also, he had been released from the bondage of bitterness and hatred and graced with the gift of God's forgiveness. That fact was evident in the happiness and contentment of his final days.

  And finally, he had been given assurance that Julie would survive without him. An assurance Julie clings to still.

  “I looked that man in the eyes and watched the trans formation his visit made in Bryan's life,” she says now. “As far as I'm concerned, there will never be any explanation other than the one Bryan gave me that night. The man was an angel.”

  The Littlest Angel

  Dr. Deidre Givens was exhausted. After fifteen years of neurological work in Boston, the single woman had developed an extensive list of patients and an equally im pressive reputation. But Deidre—who found her strength in a strong faith in God—paid a price for her success, es pecially on days like this.

  The hospital had been overcrowded because of the cold, wintery weather that January, and the accompanying increase in illnesses. In addition to helping tend to the swarms of people who seemed to line the halls of every floor of the hospital, Deidre had been busier than usual with exceptionally burdensome work: several examinat
ions and two tiring surgeries.

  At home that night, Deidre peeled off her sweater and shuffled into the kitchen. She had just poured herself a cup of coffee when there was a knock at the door. Not now, God. Please. I'm tired.

  It was nearly nine o'clock, bitterly cold, and snow had been piling up outside for the past two hours.

  Deidre released a long sigh and headed toward the front room.

  “Yes?” She opened the door.

  There, shivering on the doorstep, stood a little girl dressed in torn rags, a tattered coat, and worn-out shoes. Deidre guessed the child couldn't have been more than five years old. She was crying and she turned her huge brown eyes up at Deidre.

  “Ma'am, my mother is dying,” the girl said, her voice choked by the sobs. “Please could you come? We don't live far.”

  Deidre felt her insides melt with concern for the child. She had the sweetest, purest voice. It was a sound that cut through Deidre's tired body and caused her to spring into action. She grabbed her coat and her medical bag and took the little girl's hand. Then the two headed into the storm.

  Less than two city blocks away, in a section of tenement apartments, the little girl turned into a doorway and led Deidre up two flights of stairs.

  “She's in there,” the little girl said, pointing toward a bedroom at the end of a narrow hallway.

  Deidre moved quickly toward the bedroom and found a woman who was very sick, fever racking her thin body. Immediately Deidre began making an assessment and found that the woman was nearly delirious from the illness and very near death. A quick listen to her chest told Dei dre that the woman was suffering from pneumonia and that her fever needed to be reduced if there was any chance to save her life.

  For more than an hour Deidre worked over the woman, soothing her hot, dry skin with compresses and ar ranging for her to be transported to the nearest medical fa cility.

  Finally, when the woman's fever began to subside, she slowly opened her eyes, blinking because of the bright light. Deidre continued to work tirelessly, sponging her head and trying to cool her body with wet rags.