I was eleven and about to graduate from Grade VI. My parents had started making arrangements for me to be enrolled at the Sta. Scholastica’s Academy in Manila. Since we lived in Bulacan at time (Papa was then the District Engineer of Bulacan), this meant that I would be staying at the school’s students’ 

dormitory. I was scared out of my wits. I did not want to leave home. You see, at eleven, I was still frequently wetting my bed and I was terrified that I would be ridiculed and scorned if an accident should happen at the dorm.

But my excitement at moving to the big city and going to high school was far greater than my fear that my secret would be found. My excitement and my fear drove me into a frenzy of praying, beseeching my guardian angel to work overtime and to make sure that I would wake up each time that I needed to go to the bathroom. "Please, please, please, dear guardian angel," my prayer went, "do not allow me to be embarrassed. Please wake me up, do something, anything, so that I would always wake up just in time." This became my mantra, my breath prayer during that entire summer.

Then the momentous move came. Viola! My sweet angel obliged! There were many ways by which I would be awakened: by the sound of a voice calling my name, by the sound of cascading water as from a waterfall, the sound of water drip-drip-dripping from a faucet, or the feel of being shaken by someone. My guardian angel healed me of an embarrassing bad habit that counseling with a seasoned psychiatrist would have taken many months to accomplish! Best of all, nobody in school ever knew!

15 Years Later… It was midday and I was keeping vigil in the room of my 2-1/2 year-old daughter at the Makati Medical Hospital where she was confined for pneumonia. My little girl looked so peaceful in her sleep. The hospital had piped in music, soft music, the ones that were popular at the time. The music was a soothing balm to my over-stretched nerves as my consciousness was tuned to the irregular beat of the machine that was helping my daughter to breathe. I turned away to have lunch when the machine began to beat regularly, which meant that it was now not just helping my daughter to breathe but that the machine was doing the breathing for her. Alarmed, I rushed back to her. She looked so beautiful with a half-smile etched on her lips, and nothing seemed wrong. As I closed my eyes and heaved a sigh of great relief, the piped-in music changed to an unfamiliar melody of such sweetness that it seemed to come from somewhere else. Suddenly, the room was filled with voices singing with such lightness and so heavenly that I thought a choir of angels had descended! On instinct, I checked on my child and noticed that her chest was no longer heaving. Time seemed to stand still – I felt this painful constriction in my throat, my heart seemed to stop beating… the tears welled and slowly, very lightly began to fall. I bent and gently kissed my precious little girl. I knew in my heart that she had gone home to her Maker. I rang the Nurses’ Station and the nurse that came pronounced her dead.

Earlier that morning, before Lucia died, I was in prayer at the hospital chapel. I thanked God for the wonderful 2-1/2 years that we had with her; for the joy that she brought into our life. However, unable to share in my daughter’s suffering, I asked God that if it be His will that Lucia should now leave us, to please spare her from any more pain and suffering.

Had she lived, Lucia would be forty years old today. But that day in the hospital is etched so vividly in my memory as the day it happened. Did the angels come to fetch my daughter? Yes, I know they did. It was our Almighty Father’s way of consoling me in my moment of grief and telling me: "Have peace, my child. I now hold Lucia in the hollow of my hand."

1996. I have just alighted from my car to go to the Metro Bank along Katipunan Avenue just across the street from the Ateneo de Manila University. This major thoroughfare was undergoing a massive road construction and diggings were everywhere. Between Katipunan Avenue and the bank is a service road used by cars for easy access to the business establishments that line the road. I was crossing this road when I felt, more than saw, this jeepney that was barreling its way towards me. In panic, I made a move to ran towards the embankment in front of the bank. As I did, I accidentally tripped on a stone and lost my balance. Everything that followed was like watching a scene in a movie on slow motion. I began to fall. Directly below me, my eyes caught sight of a block of cement with steel bars protruding from it. Those steel bars were waiting for me! Instantly, I pictured those steel bars piercing my body as there was no way of stopping my fall. It was then that I felt my body being lifted up by unseen hands, or by a mysterious power, all 172 pounds of me! My descent slowed down and I landed barely two inches from where I was supposed to land – dead center on the block of cement. Gingerly, I pushed myself up, pulled down my blouse, and checked my arms and legs for wounds or bruises. There was nothing to show what I had just gone through, except for a bruised ego and greater faith in God.

This incident was witnessed by the security guard of the bank. Perplexed, he approached me and greeted me with: "Ano po ang nangyari?" (What happened?) He had the same image of me pierced by those steel bars protruding from the block of cement and did not expect me to escape unscathed. What happened? I looked up at the sky. I wanted to hug the entire universe. God, through His angels, again had rescued me!

I believe in angels. I believe that God, in His infinite goodness, has sent angels to each one of us specifically to teach, guide, and safeguard us. Angel stories are not just for children, neither are they fairy tales. I am now 69 years old and I believe in angels as strongly as I did when I was a young girl.

For God commands His angels to guard you in all your ways. With their hands they shall support you, lest you strike your foot against a stone. - Psalm 91:11-12

I am sure all of us have our own angel stories to tell. THANK YOU, GOD, FOR MY ANGELS!

(As told to Edna B. Agustin, CORE Group member of PWHS)