Talking to God and My Angels

For most of my life I believed there was a better way to pray, a better way to connect with God, and that more existed than what I was being taught at home and in church, but what did I know? I was only seven years old.

Prayer. CCO Creative Commons, Pixabay

I had not only been born recognizing that there was a higher power, but that I would one day travel the world as a writer or teacher, sharing my experiences about Him and his angels. At the time however, it never occurred to me to talk with angels, only that I knew they existed and that they protected us kids. We were never encouraged to talk with them or ask for help because that was God’s job.

CCO Creative Commons, Pixabay

Even at a young age, I knew there was something different with the world, but could not explain it using words that my parents would understand. Make no mistake, I knew how to articulate how I felt and what I wanted, but how could I tell my mother that I saw relatives I had never met, hanging out on her sofa, or that I knew who was calling before the phone rang? Instead, I wrote about it. I drafted stories of relatives who had passed on and come back to visit. I turned them into guardian angels before I knew what one was. I wrote because I was prompted to; some inner voice guided the direction of my writing. The more I wrote, the more the ideas flowed.

I loved writing in color as a child. CCO Creative Commons, Pixabay

I never talked about seeing spirits in our living room however, because it was not a topic of conversation that was openly discussed. I knew my mother saw and felt similar energy though because she mentioned being an ‘Irish witch’ and feeling the presence of those who had passed before receiving acknowledgement that they had.

Talking about seeing spirits in our living room was an entirely different matter. Neither of us spoke about that. That conversation would not happen until I moved to Thailand, almost three decades later.

CCO Creative Commons, Pixabay

Then there was God. My sister and I were raised that God must be feared and that although He was loving, kind, and forgiving, He must be treated with the utmost respect and regard. This meant that speaking to God required one to pray on bended knee, with hands together. We would begin by thanking Him for our blessings before asking Him what it was we wanted. Having a jovial conversation like He was a friend sitting across from me was out of the question.

In college I took a missions trip to Quebec and Montreal and over four days we attended seventeen masses. I thought I was going to die of boredom. It was not until we attended a mass in French that the two and a half hours flew by.

CCO Creative Commons, Pixabay

Ah, ignorance is bliss. I did not speak the language, so instead marveled at the stained-glass windows and statues of saints without a hint of guilt. It was in the quiet moments that I felt a glimmer of hope that there was something more to my life than just church. I may not have been Catholic, but I could feel the serene peace caressing the statues, people, and pews. It felt like a warm breeze pulling at my heart strings and encouraging me to be open to more. I felt my soul connect to God in a way I did not know was possible. It was there in that church that I had my first down-to-earth (no pun intended) conversation with God and I was not on bended knee.

CCO Creative Commons, Pixabay

As I approached my mid-thirties, I began acknowledging that angels and spirit guides were here to help us. How do I know? I had drawn the correlation that the divine had gone to great lengths to get my attention with the blinking lights in my apartment and then condo. It only took seven years.

Once that acknowledgement occurred, I began asking for signs that my angels were with me. One day while I was out walking, I looked down and saw hundreds of tiny white feathers swirling around my ankles. There was no business for them being there as I was on a street corner in Bangkok. Then a faint breeze caught them, and they swirled up and around my body. It was magical.

CCO Creative Commons, Pixabay

There was also no reason for there to be even a slight wind as it was bright and sunny with no hint of rain. Unless there is a threat of a storm or I am trekking through the jungle, there is no breeze in the city.

Later, when I returned home, I was walking under the car park towards the lobby when something white caught my eye. Looking down yet again, I saw a pure-white feather at my feet. I almost walked past it but after the encounter with the swirling feathers, I bent down to pick it up. As soon as I did I felt a loving presence surround me in a hug. I thanked the angels for giving me a sign, saw some sparkles out of the corner or my vision, and walked into the lobby.


Sparkles were the next step in my awakening. Now I see them all around me, but more so when I am writing. It is always in the quiet moments when they appear the brightest.

Keep an eye out for Wednesday’s post on “Divine Protection During the Longest Night of My Life in Saudi Arabia”.


Any grammar and mechanical issues are the responsibility of the author, and even though she’s an English teacher and does proofread, there may be some errors.



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