Angels are for Real

A Mother's Heavenly Escorts at Death

My mother had been diagnosed with emphysema, and her doctors believed she only had a short time to live. My husband, Frank, was active as an Episcopal Bishop of Florida, and our lives were quite busy. Even so, we wanted to be with her, so we moved her into a lovely condominium near our home.

My mother was an incredible believer, having had her life transformed by the power of the Holy Spirit, and she was excited to live close to Christian Healing Ministries. I would often go into her home and hear Francis MacNutt’s voice on tape and wonder if he was visiting her, which, thankfully, he did many times. Because of her deep faith, the MacNutts and many of the community of the faithful, my mother experienced a very holy death. She was not afraid to die. In fact, she looked forward to joining my daddy and others who had gone before her.

My friend Sue would often play her harp, and we would all gather around my mother’s bed and sing praise music. Once Mother bolted straight up in the bed and said, “Am I dead yet? This dying is not bad at all!”

One day, Bishop Frank held a Diocesan Convention and wanted to bring Mother Holy Communion before the meeting. When he walked into her bedroom, she said, “Emmy, did you see that angel fly in over Frank’s head when he opened the door?” I hadn’t seen it, but she clearly had.

Frank gave her communion and prayed with her. A few hours later, Mother called me into her room and said, “Emmy, do you see those angels in the corner of my room? There’s a path of beautiful flowers on either side, and the street is lined with many, many angels.” The picture was so vivid to her. As I sat quietly by her bed, she said, “Emmy, the angels — do you see them now? They want me to come and go with them. I believe I am ready to go — please come hold my hand and help me join them. Wait! Honey, call your brother to be with us.” As we stood on either side of her bed, she said, “I am ready to join them...” Then she quietly departed with the angels.

I remember singing, “This is holy ground.” And holy it was — the room was filled with the heavenly hosts. I will never be afraid to die.

I was prepared for this time through teachings we had received from the MacNutts and Father Frank Dearing, a local beloved Episcopal priest. We learned that healing takes many forms. In my mother’s case, as in the case of many I have known, death was a friend. Death for her came gently, beautifully and in the presence of the holy angels. Blessed are those who have had the privilege of learning to expect them. Angels are real, if only we have eyes to see them! — Emmy Cerveny

A couple of year ago, my husband and I developed a close relationship with a precious eight–year–old girl. Her family sat next to us in church every Sunday, and she would draw pictures for us during the sermon.

One day at school, she became very belligerent. She was hitting, yelling and spitting at the other children. This behavior was totally uncharacteristic of her. Because of this, the school asked her parents to take her home. Seeking help, her parents had her evaluated by a child psychologist, who diagnosed her as schizophrenic and admitted her to a children’s psychiatric hospital.

As a member of my church’s healing prayer team, I met weekly with the group to pray for those in need. One morning as we were praying, I had a vision about this little girl. I saw in my mind’s eye a figure who I “knew” was the Archangel Michael. He was standing in the door of the girl’s hospital room, guarding her. He was large in stature and was holding a double–edged sword slanted across the open door to her room, barring any entrance. His eyes were fierce. He was dressed like a Roman soldier, with a short tunic gathered at the waist by a leather belt. The “skirt” of his outfit was made of tooled leather strips hanging down to his knees. He wore sandals that were laced and wrapped around his strong legs. The neck of the tunic was rounded, and the sleeves were part of the shoulder seam. I knew he was protecting this child from some sort of evil. I shared my vision with my prayer group as we continued praying.

The next day, a friend called to say that the girl had been released from the hospital. She was perfectly fine and was back at school being the sweet girl everyone loved. Later when I saw her at church, she leaned over and said, “I have a new friend. His name is Michael, and he takes care of me.”

I thank God for this beautiful child’s healing and for Michael the Archangel, who delivered her and guards her still. — Prim Brown