Are angels real or imaginary?

Real

1 of 151

by Catherine Graham

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I am reminded every day that angels are real. They appear out of nowhere and go just as quickly, showing me the light at the end of every tunnel.

Many people believe that angels are to be only thought of as a beautiful creature with long flowing hair, surrounded by a glow with wings. When given this description, it can make it sound a bit unbelievable.

On the contrary, I have been shown angels, in many ways, in many different forms. They came when I was in a time of need and was desperate to know that I could and would get through the experience.

When I was sixteen years old, my father died of cancer. He and I had always been particularly close, and the loss was a devastation to me. I slipped into a depression, resenting the time that we had lost, angered by the words unsaid, and saddened by the times I knew would never be. Music had always been a constant connection between the two of us when he was still alive, and after his death, it was what kept me going through the darkest hours. It was in these darkest times, that I felt my father come to me, through music. When I was crying over whatever was happening in my life, a song would come onto the radio, and it would speak to me, as though it were really him there doing the talking. I mentioned this to my sisters and they admitted that they, too felt as though he were coming to them through music.
One particular song that held a great memory for me was Hotel California, by the Eagles. Whenever my dad had heard the song, he would start to sing it, and play the air guitar as if he were the lead singer of the band. The memory always brought a smile to my face. The day I went to pick up my wedding dress, I was feeling particularly low, as I thought of how my father would not be able to walk me down the aisle. As I sat in the parking lot, Hotel California came on the radio, and I felt at peace. Three times that day, the song played, and every time, I felt his presence beside me, telling me that everything would be okay, and that he was by my side.
This happens all of the time. When I feel at my lowest, I will hear the familiar picking of the guitar strings, as the song starts up. Each and everytime I am filled with an unspeakable peace, a warming. Strength and courage. He doesn't have wings, or a shining glow. He doesn't have long flowing hair, nor is he dressed in white. What he brings is so much better than an image someone has created. He brings me belief.

Another angel I met, was what I like to refer to as my Earth Angel. As a writer, I am constantly receiving feedback on all of my writing, sometimes good, and other times quite cruel. I had been given the oppurtunity to do freelance writing for a local newspaper, and although I was excited at the thought, I also feared the comments that might be made when I wrote of my opinions. My heart was buzzing, but my head was nervous. How could I possibly hold on to a job such as that? My partner and I were making our way to the bus stop as I presented him with all of my fears. What ifs kept popping out of my mouth. What if people don't like what I say? What if no one wants to read what I write? What if I can't get anything published? My list of fears and thoughts of failure went on and on. Jon tried to reassure me that everything would be fine if it was meant to be, it was meant to be. When we got to the bus stop, I sat down, and a few moments later, a somewhat scruffy man sat down next to me. He was singing American Pie, and when he was finished he looked at me, and started speaking. "Why do people complain about what an author writes?" he asked me. I shrugged my shoulders. "If people don't like what you write, than fine, but there's no reason to complain. An author exposes their thoughts, ideas and dreams into words and people complain. I just don't get it." His words spoke right to me. "I just hope authors don't give up." He stated, and lit a cigarette. We sat there in silence a few moments. My mind was at ease. "Did you hear that?" he suddenly asked. I shook my head. "I swear I just heard someone say thank youvery quietly, but I heard it." He shrugged it off, and went back to smoking his cigarette. It was in that moment, that I realized, this man, who was scruffy, a little dirty, and who smelled a bit too much like alcohol, was speaking directly to my soul, when I needed that extra push to get out and do things. Whether he heard my own soul whispering, or the voice of my guardian angel, he heard the thank you that I was unable to speak. Our bus came and we parted our ways. I have never seen the man again. I don't know if I ever will. But the relationship we had, if only for a moment, changed my life forever.

Angels come in many colours, shapes and lifetimes. Sometimes they will be with you for a few moments, sometimes a few hours, sometimes, for a lifetime. Earth Angels, or Spiritual Angels, they all bring you the same sense of hope and love for a better tomorrow.

That's something worth believing in.

Live love and love life

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