This is a hard essay to write. I've put it off for years. But God keeps "nudging" me and I can no longer deny that God wants me to write about an experience I had many years ago. It's an experience I've told few people, mostly friends and family and twice to a Sunday School class. Even then, I was reluctant and for years, never mentioned it to anyone except family.

My reason for reluctance is pretty simple. I did not want to be branded as a "nut case" or another "dreamer" or to be known as someone "out there somewhere." And as a lawyer, I'm well aware of how such stories can affect one's reputation. But God has shown me that my resistance stems from pride and so, still reluctantly, I will give you here a story that is unusual, to say the least, but will be very instructive to some of you.

Some, after reading this, will roll their eyes and say, "Yeah, right." But I understand. I don't blame you. I'd have done the same years ago (still do to some of the "weird" stories I hear along these lines). But for what it's worth, I saw an angel, face to face, less than three feet distance, at the age of twenty. The really strange thing about it was that I did not believe in angels at the time. I didn't believe in devils, nor gods, nor angels, nor ghosts, nor goblins, nor Martians, nor any other creature or being that I could not see or had not seen.

That night altered my perspective on God permanently.

Let me give you some background. I grew up in the South, down in Louisiana, just outside a little town called Ponchatoula. It was a pretty happy time growing up down there. Instead of running the streets, I ran the woods, at times, literally. I used to love running through the woods, full tilt, feeling the sheer joy of being alive, invigorated with life. I spent a lot of time alone lying beside small creeks, or in a field of grass, or sitting high up in a pine tree. Life was good.

And it was essentially without religion, though there was a time I recall when I was very, very young, my mother attended a Baptist church. I only recall sleeping in the pew while they sang songs at night, and a few Sunday mornings sitting in a room with some other kids, a room that smelled strongly of fresh cut lumber, while some old man droned on about things of which I have no memory. But that was just a brief time in my life.

We moved to Phoenix, Arizona when I was eleven. That was in the early fifties. My Daddy was in the Merchant Marines, and usually was at sea, but he decided to leave the ships for a regular job. So, we moved to Phoenix to begin a new life. My youngest brother, K.C. had severe asthma and the doctor said to move to a dry climate or he'd die, so we headed west.

I moved from running the woods to running the streets. By the time I was sixteen, I was "street-wise" and life was still good. It was a great adventure for me. But I was also on my way to becoming an alcoholic, like my father.

I recall one night being out real late, and somehow I'd cut my finger to the bone. I'd looked at it and laughed, then later had gone home. When I came through the door my mother met me (my father by now had quit the "landlubber" life and left for the sea), and nearly had a heart attack. I was covered with blood. She thought I had been stabbed. I had blood everywhere. I passed out in a drunken stupor. Fortunately, she bandaged my finger and stopped the bleeding

After getting kicked out of school, I had the misfortune, while on a double date with a friend driving down Central Avenue (cruisin' we called it), to be stopped by a police officer, and given a ticket for reckless driving. My date looked at the ticket and said, "Oh, this is neat. The judge is my grandfather. I can fix it up."

Six weeks later (after wondering why she wasn't returning phone calls) she informed me that when she'd brought up the ticket to her grandfather, he'd become enraged that "some punk was driving reckless with my granddaughter," and informed her that he was going to throw me in jail.

So I joined the US Navy to escape.

But the judge insisted that I bring my father to see him in chambers. So, I informed my father (who was in between trips) that I had signed up for the Navy, that they wanted him to give the okay (I was only seventeen), and "Oh, by the way, Daddy, I, uh, need you to come down to the court house with me and see a judge about a ticket. He says you have to come with me."

In chambers, the judge chewed on me and asked me if I'd brought my toothbrush along. I informed him I was going into the US Navy, and his attitude suddenly changed. He actually smiled and said, "Well, since the city of Phoenix is getting rid of you, I think I can waive the jail time. I'll just put you on probation. How long is your enlistment?" I told him that it was for three years, so he put me on probation for three years and suspended my driver's license for the same period of time. As he put it: "I don't want you coming into my city on leave and driving for the next three years. Maybe by then, you'll have grown up."

A few deep breaths later and I was headed for San Diego and boot camp. Just before I was to get out of boot camp, I was sent to talk to an officer about where they were going to send me for duty. They'd taken a profile of me from a battery of tests and had decided that I was excellent material for submarine service. I liked the idea. They said I would be going to one of the first nuclear submarines. I would be assigned to the U.S.S. Thresher. But I declined their invitation. If I had not, I'd be dead for the Thresher went down in some deep, cold Atlantic waters in 1963. All the crew perished. I would have been just shy of my 21st birthday.

I turned them down because they wanted me to extend the duration of my duty to six years. But I didn't want to stay there that long. I wasn't used to the extreme restrictions on my movement. And I didn't like the idea of living underwater for months at a time, even if they did say my personality was that of a loner, and that I would come to love it. The money was tempting, but so was my liberty.

And so it came to be that I was sent to Treasure Island in San Francisco for Radar school, and a few months later, emerged as a Radarman assigned to a troop transport ship with a crew of about 350 men.

But my drinking rose with my enlistment in the Navy. I recall while being in school the time I learned my father's ship was tied up nearby. I went over to visit. We went to his little room, and he peeled back the top bunk; there lay about twenty pint bottles of whiskey, his stash for the next voyage. We shared some of his whiskey, and I left feeling my way down the gangway, feeling good that I'd been able to get drunk with my daddy. We'd never been close. This was one of the few times we'd shared time together, doing something together.

Life in the Navy was enjoyable. I got to see many places, went overseas for nine months, and even got to go through the Panama Canal during the Cuban crisis, where we sat off the coast of Cuba with munitions and troops, ready to invade if the word came down. After I came from overseas, I had thirty days leave. I left the ship with a friend, and went home with him to El Paso, Texas. We were old drinking buddies, and he had started his own band. I was the band manager, and mostly, the band played for drinks and some food, and a few bucks in the ports we hit. So, I went home with him, and we hit the bars in Juarez, since I was still only twenty. After a couple weeks, I left and hitchhiked back to Phoenix. There, I met with another friend and for a week, partied at his place.

Then I cleaned up and went home to see my mother. I arrived all freshly shaven, carrying my seabag, and looking like I'd just come in from the ocean. I didn't tell her I'd been in Phoenix a whole week and never called.

The first words out of her mouth after the initial greetings had to do with her recent conversion to Christianity. I recall having my seabag on my shoulder, walking through the door, and my mother immediately telling me about God and Jesus, and how she "got saved," and on and on. She insisted I come and sit down while she told me about it. So, I sat on the edge of her bed and listened.

After awhile, I could take no more, and I held up my hand. I said, "Mom, I'd love to hear all about what happened to you and I'm glad that you found God and all that, but I'm tired. I don't want to hear any more."

She stopped. And life for me, went to a pleasant, idyllic time of reading westerns, listening to the radio, visiting a few friends, and doing a lot of nothing.

And then it happened.

It was on the third or fourth night home. I had stayed up reading a western. Everyone else had gone to bed. Finally, I turned off the light in the living room, and went to my bedroom, which I shared with my two brothers. K.C. was on the top bunk, and Gene slept on the bottom bunk. I was in a single bed alongside the opposite wall. A window was just behind my head, and a streetlight gave some illumination to the room. Next to this bedroom was my mother's bedroom, which had a set of double doors that were mostly glass.

I laid down, and in those days, it usually took me a half hour or so to fall asleep (now, it's a matter of closing my eyes). I'd been asleep for some time when suddenly, I was awaked by a loud shout. It came from Gene. I sat up and called out to him, but he did not answer. I called again, this time louder. He awoke, and I asked him if he was all right. He mumbled that he was, and I told him he was having a nightmare and to go back to sleep.

At this point, I was wide-awake and all sleep was gone. I laid there staring at the ceiling for a long time, looked out the window some, and just lay there thinking, mostly about a party I was planning for the band in three months. I was in charge of everything and was looking forward to it.

Suddenly, I began to have a strong sense of someone looking at me. I shrugged it off, but it grew until finally, after about ten minutes, I knew that there was someone in the house. I could feel someone's presence. Now, I wasn't afraid, because at that time, I still thought I was John Wayne and Tarzan, so whoever was there, I was up to him. I could deal with him. I felt that I had surprise on my side since he would not know I was awake. And I knew he could not move in that house without me hearing him, because the floor was all wood and squeaked everywhere. So I waited. And waited. And waited.

Finally, I decided that I would close my eyes because I'd read once where the blind could hear better than us. So, I concentrated on listening for the slightest sound, breathing, anything. After about three minutes of that, I heard nothing, so I opened my eyes.

Never in my life have I been more surprised.

I beheld a figure, shaped like a man, bending over my brother, Gene. This figure was dressed in white, but not a white that I'd ever seen. It was similar to a florescent light, because the clothing of this being shimmered. I was seeing something that my mind and my experience said did not exist.

Quickly, I closed my eyes and reopened them.

This could not be happening. This was an illusion. I'm having DT's. I'm in a dream. This is a nightmare.

All these thoughts and more raced through my mind. I looked to one side, recalling the time at sea when I'd seen a ship on the radar, had gone to the bridge to look at it and while looking directly at the ship, saw it disappear. But when I'd look just to one side, it would be visible. So I looked to one side of this creature. It was still there. I pinched myself on my thigh beneath the covers and it hurt. I wanted desperately for this to be a bad dream.

Is it a ghost? From another world? What is it? Why is it here? What is it doing to Gene?

I had lots of questions but no answers.

As yet, although I was afraid, I still felt capable of dealing with the situation. I decided that I had to act. I assumed that my brother was dead, and that to wait for the creature to come for me was foolish. So I gripped my light coverlet and prepared to put my plan in motion. I would leap out of bed, toss the covers at this creature, and run for the door. As I ran, I'd yell loudly to alert everyone of the danger.

I was no longer John Wayne. I was ready to abandon family to save my life.

And then something happened that finished any bravado or courage I might have had. I gripped the coverlets, tensed myself for the action, and discovered I could not move. It was a strange feeling for I knew I had strength. I had the power to grip my covers. But I was unable to move.

At this point, I did something I do not recall doing ever before in my life. I prayed.

My prayer went like this, verbatim:"God, if you're real, help me."

Instantly, a voice came into my mind, unlike the "thinking" voice we usually have. It was a voice with a personality. It was a voice with power, a voice used to command. I cannot describe the voice except in those terms. But this voice said: "Do not be afraid. This is an angel of God and will not harm you."

Well, that was some comfort. I now knew what it was. But I was still concerned because I now knew there was this being called God, and there were these beings called angels (though I'd always thought they were supposed to have wings, and this one certainly did not). I was worried because I knew the life I was leading certainly was not consistent with being on good terms with God.

I asked, "Why is it here?"

I was told: "He is here to seal your family."

I was not told this by the voice, but there was an image that came into my mind, or an impression, something of that sort, that told me that this "sealing" was in the forehead. I had absolutely no idea what any of that meant. Indeed, it was not until many years later that I read of such a thing in the Bible, and understand now that every child of God is sealed in the forehead. But at this time, I only knew that "sealed" did not equate with "kill" or "hurt," and therefore, I was content, and was really not very curious about what it meant.

At this point, I was told to get out of bed and pray. I opened my eyes, and again was startled. The angel was no longer bending over my brother. It had moved, and now stood just a few feet off the corner of my bed, facing me. I could also now see that it was clothed in a robe, shimmering white, and very similar to the kind worn by the monks of old, with the hood. Where the face was, there was a veil of darkness that was unnatural. I should have been able to see that face because of the streetlight. But, the face remained hidden to me.

I got out of bed, slowly, somewhat afraid of this being. My fear was heightened because the only way to exit my bed was on the one side, which meant I had to come near this creature. It stood there, quiet, unmoving, arms down to the side. I was unsure of what I was supposed to do. In my mind, I recalled seeing pictures of the wise men prostrate before the baby Jesus in the manger scene, so, since this was an angel of God, I prostrated myself as they did, before the angel.

Instantly, this same voice, only now in a commanding, stern tone, said: "Do not kneel before the angel. You shall only worship God. Get up and kneel at your bedside."

I was startled and immediately obeyed.

I began to ask questions of this voice. Every question was met with an answer. Every one. God has removed the memory of most of my questions and answers, for although I know that I asked dozens of questions and got answers, I do not remember many of them. I only know that when I'd ask a question, I'd get an answer. Unfortunately, I was a pretty ignorant kid then, and most of my questions were probably pretty shallow. I was completely ignorant of the Bible, so it is doubtful that I asked any deep theological questions.

One question I asked was this:"Was something like this necessary for everyone like me?" I was told: "No, but there are some who, though an angel of God stood before their very eyes, yet they would not believe."

Frankly, I did not believe that, then. I do now. But, at the time, I thought that was inconceivable. How could anyone see this and not believe? That just did not make sense to me, then.

Finally, I was told to get back into bed, to "think of nothing but good," and go to sleep.

I got back in bed, closed my eyes, and began trying to think of something "good." Problem was, my idea of "good" wasn't really very good. And, I knew it. I thought and thought, and could think of nothing good. I really did not understand the concept. "Good" for me meant a whole host of things, all dealing with the appetites.

I said to the voice: "I can't think of anything good."

I was told to get out of bed and pray. I did. After a time, mostly spent asking questions and listening to answers, I was told again to get back into bed, to think of nothing but good and go to sleep. I rose and got into bed, and instantly, my mind became flooded with every wicked thing I'd ever done, or so it seemed. I struggled to gain control of my mind and failed. I'd always prided myself on having a strong mind, but I could not shut out this seemingly endless stream of filth; and so, I tried to focus on just one thought: ice cream. Why I chose that, I don't know, but I could not even focus on that. Everything I tried failed.

Something else happened during that time that has only happened one other time in my life. A sudden, powerful, evil presence came into the room. It was such a powerful presence that I felt it physically. I cannot describe it adequately. It was a malignant evil whose presences could be felt, physically. Then suddenly, there was a battle going on over my bed. I knew there was a battle. I don't know how I knew, but I knew. I heard some rustling, as if from the sound of cloth being whipped about, and could feel and sense a powerful swirling, whirling, and a flurry of movement in the air above me. I saw nothing, but something was happening. This I knew for certain.

In just a matter of seconds, it was over, and immediately, there fell over me a sweetness, I am unable to describe it. This feeling (a poor choice of words because it was far more than just a feeling) was so strong I could taste it. I use the term "sweetness" because that is the closest word I know. Some might call it a "peace" but for me, it was a physical taste, and feeling of sweetness. But, I suppose it was a kind of peace, since there was an attendant feeling of contentment as well.

I was told again to get out of bed and pray. This time, as I was kneeling, I heard something. It was the tinkle of bells. They tinkled three times, three times. "Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle. Tinkle, tinkle, tinkle." I looked up and saw in my mother's room another figure standing there. This being was robed in a different garment. There was no hood but I could not see the head. The clothing, the robe, if that is what it was, was different in that it was tasseled, and although white, also had colors of blue and other colors I don't recall, in it.

I'm sure I would have asked who this being was, and I am sure I would have been told, but I do not have any recollection of asking what would have been a logical question, nor do I recall any answer. I only know it was not like the other angel. I never saw it move. It just stood there facing my mother as she slept.

After a time, I was told again to get back into bed, to think of nothing but good, and to go to sleep. By now, I'd learned a few things, so instead of leaping into bed, I asked, "What is good? I don't know of anything good."

The voice said, "Think of God."

That made sense to me, but as I pondered it, a startling realization came to me. I knew absolutely nothing about God.

I said, "What shall I think about God? I don't know anything about God."

The voice responded: "Think of the name of God."

I remember smiling at that. There was something I knew about God after all. I knew His name. So, I crept back into bed and began thinking about the name of God. Sleep came quickly. I awakened the next morning and knew what had happened, knew it was not a dream, and knew life would be different for me thereafter.

I had decided that I would "live for God." That was a decision I'd made that night. However, I was not ready to "live for God" just yet. I wanted to wait until the party I'd been planning, was over. I'd have one last "fling."

I remember telling my mother about my experience that morning. I told her I was going to live for God. I didn't tell her when, but spoke in such a way that she would believe I was immediately going to live for God. I didn't tell her about my party.

My mother looked at me and spoke words that have never been equaled to this day in terms of their effect on me. When she finished, I knew that it had not been a message from my mother, but from God. I knew God had just delivered a message to me, and my mother was merely the messenger.

She said, "You know I love you and I don't want anything to happen to you. But, somehow I know you aren't ready to live for God. And God wants your life. If, after hearing what you've heard and seeing what you've seen, you don't give your life to God, you aren't long for this earth. I know you'll be saved, for God has heard my prayers. It might be in a car wreck and you'll cry out to God in the last seconds. But you aren't long for this world unless you surrender to God."

I did not react visibly to my mother. Indeed, she did not know about the effect of her words until a few years ago, when I told her. But inside, my defenses crumbled. Inside, I did what the Bible calls "repentance." I turned aside from my sins, and towards God. I said silently, "Lord, I am yours, and I'm going to live for you, whatever that means." I knew it meant turning from the lifestyle I had adopted. I knew it meant giving up a way of life and a philosophy that was anti-god. I didn't know all my sins, didn't know exactly what living for God meant, but knew I'd learn in time.

Instantly, I knew a peace that has never gone from me. I knew a presence of God in my life that has never gone from me. That feeling of the presence of God in my life has never left me. It's not been an easy life, but it's been a life with meaning. Where I once lived solely for my own pleasure, to do my own thing, to go my own way, I suddenly found myself seeking the will of God. What does God want me to do?

I still ask that question today, and hopefully, so long as I live, I'll still ask that question on a regular basis. I've not lived perfectly, without sin. I've had my "ups and downs," as all Christians have experienced. But, I can say it's been a growing experience with the Lord. He's shown me His strength in my weakness. He's given me so very much, and though I've oft doubted myself, and doubted my abilities to live for Him as I should, I've never doubted His love for me, nor His faithfulness to me. Moreover, He's shown me that my abilities to live for Him are totally inadequate, but His ability to enable me, to empower me to live for Him, are limitless.

Those of you who have read this might wonder about some things in the story. Feel free to ask. I'll respond to you. Just be patient. Sometimes I get to my email immediately (I try and immediately answer all mail, otherwise it gets unmanageable), but sometimes I get too busy.

But eventually, I will respond.

I hope the story has been of some benefit to you.

It was posted for that purpose.

(Heb 9:27-28) "And as it is appointed unto men once to die, but after this the judgment: {28} So Christ was once offered to bear the sins of many; and unto them that look for him shall he appear the second time without sin unto salvation."

 

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