Let me tell you about seeing my guardian angel and remembering it. The time was October (1994).

In September and October of that year my family dealt with the news of my 43-year-old niece's cancer and death within a 6-week time period. During the time of her hospital confinement she told her mother that she felt the rustling of angels' wings in her hospital room and felt peacefully reassured that the angels would usher her into heaven. She was a very assertive person, much like me, and she looked like me, and she was a very devout Christian.

Time and circumstances had led Ann and me apart during the last 20 years, and even though we talked and met at my brother's house from time to time over the years, we were not close. Since we were much the same in personality, when we were together the truths and realities of life often were the topics of our conversations. I saw her frustrated over life's problems occasionally and marveled at how together a person she was with her husband away with the military and having to live independently with two small sons and at that 2,000 miles from her closely knit family of five other brothers and sisters, all living here in the Charleston, South Carolina area within 10 miles of each other and my brother and sister-in-law, her parents.

Her death in Colorado at 6:30 on a Saturday evening occurred unknown to me on a warm evening in South Carolina as my husband and my spirits were lifted by a spiritual concert at a local garden concert. We tearfully received the news from her mother the next day, and that night I saw my guardian angel. She appeared in a time when you wake from a sound in the night as typical human/angel form with a translucent light-filled face in a totally darkened room and spoke to me by telepathy. She said, "Carol, I am your guardian angel and come to offer you condolence because you are heartsick over the short life of Ann on earth."

She also told me that in my lifetime no human could offer me the comfort that God would, now or in any of life's events. She telepathed to me that she was sent by Him as a physical sign, and that I would always feel her presence whenever I thought of her at any time and the warmth would overflow me with Christ's love.

In time I would be able to accept her presence without becoming teary eyed, and would always feel comforted from this eternal promise of love. And my angel said I would be peaceful and comforted during the week of the funeral. And I was. The Christian faith of the entire family and our friends gathering near us kept us all in unity. We experienced other spiritual anomalies at the time of the funeral and at the funeral, which I will relate to you in my next story!

I of course, set out on a search for total angel knowledge and am still awed by her presence even though I have never seen her since. A few weeks after I saw her, while looking at china in a shop I went straight to a china angel statue holding a bird. It was the physical likeness of my angel in china shape with wings; even though I never saw my heavenly angels' wings, I purchased the statue and named her, what else, "Angelica."

It is this similar physical form that I am now painting in pastel, being a visual artist of watercolors as well as pastels. My first is a large painting with a green garden cherub flying among the leaves and blossoms of a purple plant. It is titled "May the Circle Be Unbroken." Other paintings I have completed of angels are: "Angels at Play," "Angelica," "Elizabeth/Lil Halo."

Everyone I know is becoming the model for angel and cherub paintings. What fun I am having with this! My 70-year-old friend Hazel imagined herself as an angel and gasped. I said I wouldn't put the wrinkles and grey hair on her or give her silvered/greyed wings, but would paint her as the curly-haired little blond girl that smiles at me from her childhood photograph that I see every time I come into her house! I told my husband "Watch out, you'll be the next angel painting with wings." Think of your dog or cat with wings. My husband, Leo, says that our black cockerpoo with wings would look strange! Throughout history artists have painted angels. I painted fairies a few years back never thinking I would one day paint figures with angel wings. Now I am doing this. I may with time attempt the master artists' painting techniques, perhaps in oil with angel's helping me paint! --Carol Ruth Resch copyright 1995

My husband, two sons, and I had ventured off to a vacation that offered promise of rest, relaxation, and freedom from work for just a short five days, but we were determined to squeeze forty-eight hours into every twenty-four and yet return rested with memories to fill a picture album. After hours of loading the van Saturday evening, we returned to our beds to catch a few winks before our early morning escape to Florida. As we lay with excitement mounting, we glanced at each other knowing what was in each other's hearts. Why not travel late at night beating the heavy morning traffic and enjoying the refreshing coolness of the late night? It was early August and by 10:00 am., temperatures could already hit the mid 80's.

Tense with adventure and our adrenaline pumping, we loaded up our sons and sneaked off into the darkness, a flight from the year's pressures of work. We had driven straight through from Kentucky to Gulf Shores, Florida, with anticipation of a week of tranquility, frolicking along the ocean, and soft white sand to tickle our feet. Within 14 hours, we could smell the ocean's breath that announced we had finally arrived.

On our fourth day of our vacation, I had decided that an excursion aboard a real Naval aircraft carrier would not only be educational but a delightful break from the mystical daily pull of the Gulf's white shores, plus I had been grounded from going out during the afternoon due to a severe case of sunburn, my usual gift from Florida. Pensacola's famous S.S. Lexington was docked and offering guided tours of this heroic aircraft carrier. As we pulled into a parking space along the street, I decided to hide my purse under the seat explaining to my husband it would be one less thing to carry.

The sweltering heat of the day had already begun leaving its mark on us as tempers flared. Anxious to board the carrier, our sons leaped from the van as I was tucking my purse beneath my seat. "Don't forget the cam-recorder," I reminded my husband as he was about to pull the keys from the ignition. Instantly, he turned to the seat behind him and grabbed it and hit the automatic lock button securing the van's contents. As all locks simultaneously clicked and the final door slammed shut, a look of frustration crossed his face. "Hun, give me your keys. I forgot to pull them as I was getting the cam-recorder," he nonchalantly stated. "Don't you remember, I told you I was hiding my purse under the seat. They're in my purse," was my reply. As we all began pulling and tugging on the many stubborn doors of the van, we soon realized what a real predicament we finally faced.

My husband became the focal point of anger and blame. Trying to liberate himself from the mounting hostility, he announced that he would break one of the side windows to enable us to retrieve the dangling keys that were in clear view. I hastily interjected to gives us another chance to recover the keys since a broken window would leave our van wide open for thieves.

My oldest son began angrily jerking the back door though my husband had previously tried breaking through. Once again, whose fault was being tossed about like a ball from one to another. Seeing no other alternative, I walked to a nearby pay phone a couple of blocks away to summon the city's police since a few years ago, I had locked my keys in our S-10 truck and our local police had used a jimmy stick to finally unlock my door.

Within a few minutes, a patrol car drove by the deserted street. My sons and husband must have been a startling sight as they were all banging and pulling on windows and doors still trying to break into the van. After a brief explanation of our plight, the police politely replied that it was against the law for them to use a jimmy stick but they would be more than happy to drive me to my home for another set of keys not realizing we were from Kentucky. Our only hope left was to wait a few hours for a locksmith to alleviate the frustrating mess.

The temperature was now hitting close to 100 degrees and so were tempers. Waiting was not going to be easy. Throughout the incident, I had forgotten to even pray. Then, as if my guardian angel had whispered into my ear, "Pray, Shirley", the message clicked, and I began to silently plead my case with Constance, my angel, that this prayer needed answering soon. By then, the rage had developed into a battle of blame which I had also become a victim, since I had chosen to conceal my purse with the extra set of keys.

With apprehension, I walked toward the back door of the van to pull expecting my miracle when my sons and husband yelled out with irritation that they had already tried to budge the handle almost snapping it off, but it stubbornly refused to open. "But I asked my guardian angel's help," was all that tumbled from my mouth hoping Constance would come to my rescue. Placing my fingertips inside the handle and pausing briefly from fear of my prayer being turned down, I took a deep breath and gingerly lifted the handle. Pop went the door! I began to breathe again as a wide grin ran across my face and sweat continued to slide down from my temples. YES! I was in!

My hands trembled as my family flocked around the door meticulously examining it in bewilderment and asking me what I had done since they all had tried in vane to pry it open. With confidence I announced, "It was Constance; I told you I asked him to help us." Secretly, I, too, was in shock that my request had been granted.

One of my philosophies in life has been, you have not because you ask not, so I ask. I am constantly asking for everything. Majority of the time the answer is a big, fat no, but when He finally says yes, I know I must be ready to receive my request. I also knew we had all failed one of God's tests on patience and understanding, and therefore, would be tested again in the future to see if we are learning our lessons in this life. I hope I am passing this time. I'd hate to do this over again. Life's lessons are doors to the soul's learning. --Shirley Lakes