by April Trice

Created on: January 14, 2009   Last Updated: January 19, 2009

My relationship with the Angelic realm began when I was around seven years old. I was born skeptical and needed to see concrete evidence before I'd make up my mind to believe in anything. So in true skeptic fashion, I set forth to perform an Angel-validating test. The test of all tests. The test that would convince me that Angels were actual beings, flitting around with their wings and halos.

"Angels. If you're real, touch my hand when I hold it out."

I'd squeeze my eyes shut and slowly extend my hand into thin air, all seized up with anticipation. I'd hold it there for a few seconds. Sometimes longer. And each and every time I was disappointed.

I blamed myself for a couple of years. Maybe I wasn't worthy. Or maybe they'd seen me throwing my vitamins behind the kitchen cabinets when Mom wasn't looking. At around nine years old, I gave up on the whole Angel theory and surmised that the entire idea of Angelic beings was a crock.

I have since learned that our Angels dwell just outside of the physical realm. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for us to "feel" them. They move and speak to us sometimes through dreams, sometimes through actual people.

I have several "Angel" stories but there is one in particular that still leaves my husband and me reverently speechless. Our car had broken down on a dark and deserted road in the middle of Iowa on a night so cold that warnings had been issued to bring all breathing being indoors. Livestock, dogs, plants, people.

Our car simply stopped running and wouldn't start back up. It was 3 o'clock in the morning on a road that barely got traffic during rush-hour. After surmising that we were in no position to identify the car's problem, we began calling 9-1-1. Both of our phones were from out of state and we had no idea where exactly we were located, so after about forty-five minutes of desperate dealing with confused phone operators, we gave up.

We put every piece of clothing on that we had and sat still, waiting and praying for a vehicle to come along. Our talking eventually ceased and we sat in numbed silence. Our breathing became shallow and neither one of us had the energy or ability to move from the positions we were in. I'm not sure how long we were there. Long enough for me to realize that maybe we weren't going to make it through this. That maybe this would be one of those unfortunate accidents you read about or see on television.

Out of nowhere, we were blinded by glaring floodlights, making it impossible for us to see. I was unable to move, so my husband crawled out of the car to explain our situation. Within a couple of minutes, a man had gotten out of a truck and under the hood of our car. He hooked up some jumper cables, fiddled with a couple of wires and my car started right up like it was brand new. My husband reached into the car for a piece of paper to get the man's name so he could send him a "Thank You" and when he turned back, the man was gone. The truck was gone. The road we were on was a straight shot. You could've seen a car coming or going from a mile off. We saw nothing but empty road.

To this day, neither one of us can give a description of that truck or the people inside of it. All we remember is a man, woman and child. Three Angels, who for a brief moment, gave God skin.

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