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A Miraculous True Story!!Want a book so fascinating, so unusual and so real, it will change your way of thinking for ever? And lift you to a spiritual realm higher than you ever dreamed possible? "Angels Walk With Me" Is the shocking yet heartwarming true story of one woman’s hard struggle from child abuse, street life, alcoholism and mental institution to a glorious encounter with the supernatural. Followed by an unusual ministry full of breathtaking miracles, still inspiring the hearts and minds of thousands. The detailed accounts of each miracle will bring you into the very heart of these phenomenal happenings. You will see angels in all their dazzling beauty! You will see healing miracles so unusual it will take your breath away! This 211 page true story is by far the most powerful book you'll ever read! Known throughout the U.S. for her supernatural experiences, Angela E. Buck dares to open up spiritual depths beyond anything you've ever heard or seen before. The multitudes that are being blessed and the many who have been healed supernaturally are a living and continual witness to Gods' great Power and Love for us all. You will cry with her in her deepest valleys and laugh at the devils defeats! You will feel her greatest sorrows and rejoice with her on the mountain tops of glory! And above all, you will shout, "What God has done for one poor street woman He can and will do for me. This unforgettable true story will truly turn your eyes upward and give you new hope and confidence in a Love and Power beyond this world.
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"I Saw Heaven Open" by Angela E. Buck
An Amazing Journey through Heaven with an Angel!!
Caught up in a beam of light, past the clouds and into the portals of heaven. With an angel as your guide, you will be brought to the very threshold of the City of God. You will see the mansions He is even now preparing, hear the reasons for the white robe, the crown, the jewels and so much more. You will meet with saints who, have died in the faith and hear what they may have said and felt in their last moments on earth. You will meet the one who carried the cross of Jesus, and the soldier who nailed Him to that cross. As well as Moses and the Apostle Paul, and others. And hear their inspiring stories. Their trials, their sufferings, their secret thoughts, their faith and how they overcame and were carried by angels through the Golden Gates. You will come to the River of Life and feel as if you too were drinking water that flows from the Throne of God. You will laugh and smile with the angel, while listening to words of comfort, hope and real encouragement to faithfully finish your earthly journey, that you too might walk on streets of gold through everlasting glories of heaven.
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A Heart Challenging Novel!!
Hattie had told her to go to the river. But, she didn’t want to go to the river. The night was beginning to darken, the sounds of crickets scaring her, trees disfigured and menacing.... And, then he came. Darker than the darkness around her. Stealthier than any snake... a pain deeper than she had ever imagined. How old was she? Six? Seven?.... how many times had she ducked under only to come up unclean? Sheryle’s world has always been a little mixed up. Locked in a world far different from her peers, she begins to hate her house, her foster mother and then herself as sinking slowly into death, she finds the only one she has ever loved parting. From a house that is not pretty, a foster mother rarely around and an ailing foster brother, Sherry must learn to trust not only her social worker, Miss Horner, but the angel of a man. The man she had seen so long ago. The man whose eyes reveal something Sherry has yet to find. Something she desperately wishes she can have. But, what is it? What is this hope offered to the hopeless? This contentment given to the restless. And, above all, what is this house? This house, far different from her own and... "not made with hands, eternal in the heavens...."
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-------he walked toward the front of the bus, and when the driver opened the door He seemed to fade away, and the bus started up again as if the whole thing never happened. But when God says He's going to bless you, dear reader, He's going to bless you, and nothing this side of heavens glory can stop it!
As daylight approached, and with the glory of that wonderful experience still lingering, my mind started to trace back over the years to the beginning, when Gods hand first touched me.
(1947, Eugene, Oregon two years old)
How can you understand someone except you've walked in their shoes? Can you understand a timid, scared two year old, hugging a dirty blanket and peering out from under an old bed into a cramped room? I could hear the crackling of smoking kindling in a wood stove only six feet from where I lay. Pieces of wood shavings mixed with dirt and dust covered the torn linoleum. My baby brother Ben, slept within arms length of me on a soiled blanket, his scrawny eleven month old body was deathly still.
Voices drifted from the small cluttered kitchen, then moved slowly toward me. A light flickered and I shuddered. Fearing everything, I quickly ducked back under the security of the bed.
"If that sh__ (referring to me) and that bast___ (referring to Ben) mess with my things again, I'll ..", Hiiee slammed her purse on the table and scowled. "I can't keep anything around those brats", she said, glancing around to see if we were within slapping range.
Even though sound asleep Ben seemed to sense what was coming, and he suddenly awoke and crawled into the corner behind mothers bed.
Then another boy, who from all appearance was from a complete opposite scene, came out of Hiees room wearing crispy new clothes from Sears and Roebuck. Though only a year and half older than me, he seemed much taller as he stood there clutching a shiny red truck. Glancing over at him, Hiees expression quickly softened. The cruel hatred she had for Ben and me, wasn't there for my older half brother.
She despised my father and seemed to enjoy the fact that Gene's father was some man in an army uniform. Although she wasn't sure which one, she spun her own stories, making him out to be a hero and horribly degrading Ben and I.
Completely unaware of the cruel sufferings of his younger siblings, Gene continued to stand there, carefully examining his truck with a happy look on his face. He was distant and untouchable and I dare not get too close, lest I feel the cruel sting of Hiees heavy hand come down on my head or back.
(1948, three years old)
It was late morning, and steady rain pattered against the dirty window sills as I watched mother sitting at the table splashing another coat of bright red to her manicured hands. I was fascinated with her bleached hair that seemed to glitter so bright in spite of the dimly lit kitchen.
I was only three but something deep inside me silently cried," Do you love me, mommy"?
But staring out the small window, outlined with dirt stained worn wood, mother's thoughts were far away from that cramped four room house that was so void of happiness and peace.
I too strained to see out, and it seemed a ray of light peeked out of the darkened sky and squeezed past the dusty window, beaming down on me. With child like hope I reached out my hand in vain to catch some of it.
Just then Ben, who was now two, began to cry. He wasn't yet old enough to know what the consequences would be, and without warning Hiiee reached over and slapped him. I winced at the sound of her hand on his head and tried to stay hid behind the stove. Instantly Ben began to scream loudly. I pleadingly glanced over at mother but she went right on with her finger nails, unaware of it all.
Shadows were beginning to form in the late afternoon and my stomach told me I was hungry, but daring not to utter a word, I kept quiet. A big, angry hand, often laying blows to my head and back had taught me never to plead with my mouth, but my eyes would silently plead as do the eyes of so many hurting children who live in a harsh, cold world where people, preoccupied with their own burdens, will not hear.
The world was my enemy, and I believed it to be so, for I was told repeatedly that it was. I could hear the repetitions of Grandma Hiiee, "Your just no good, a good for nothing wretch". But the God who created me, no matter what anyone else thought of me, loved me as much as He loved the most beautiful child ever born.
Dirt and soot clogged my mouth and nose as I huddled under the bed as far against the wall as I could. I had to go to the bathroom but was too scared to come out. Looking up at broken springs in the bottom of the bed, I was fully aware that this was my only refuge. This, and withdrawing into my own mind. The latter becoming so much a part of me that for years to come, I would greatly struggle to overcome it.
Finally I couldn't hold it anymore and soon a chill shook my body as I lay on the cold floor in wet clothes. But no one would care as long as I stayed out of the way. A long time seemed to pass and, though hungry, damp and cold, I fell into a fitful sleep.
I was crying uncontrollably and the more I cried, the more Hiiee hit me. After hitting me again and again I fell to the floor. Stumbling over trash on the floor, she looked at Ben and swore, "D___ you". His little body shook with fear as she raised her hand to hit him, and he scrambled as fast as he could to the corner behind the stove.
Her frustration mounted as she again turned toward me, and soon a blow to the back of my head numbed me. It appeared to be from a distance now that I watched her face, twisted and distorted come at me again. I could sense the hate, but how could I possibly understand it? Can a child understand when adults do not even understand why they hate?
Hearing a knock at the door, and fearing the visitor would hear my screams, Hiiee grabbed my neck with one hand and with the other covered my mouth and nose while mother stood at the door talking with a man. Time stood still at that moment! My chest felt like it was caving in and I could no longer breathe as mother continued talking with him. She didn't hate me, she just seemed to live in her own world.
"Please help me", my mind cried out as the room blackened and I became limp. Then suddenly, a strong unseen Hand took hold of the door, and quickly closed it, causing Hiiee to release her hold on my mouth. Air rapidly filled my lungs again. But, it would be weeks before I could move my jaw without much pain and even today, I am left with a reminder.
"Don't let them in", Grandma Hiiee shouted in a fearful voice as mother peeked out the door at two friendly looking ladies. "They're holy rollers. Once you let them in, you can never get rid of them. They just go on and on about their religion and hell". "Oh, horses a__ anyway", she added, and then the door shut as if to shut out God.
Truly that day, even as the famous painting portrays Jesus knocking at a wooden door in loving hope that someone inside will open, the Saviour stood knocking at our door. He wanted so much to come in and "set at liberty them that are bruised, and preach deliverance to the captives and to heal the broken in heart". But, His Spirit is gentle. He will not force His way into an unwilling heart.
"Come back", a soul cried in the distance, but it was too late, I could hear their feet on the gravel road as they slowly trod away and up to the main street never to return again.
"Oh Jerusalem, Jerusalem how often would I have gathered thy children together even as a hen gathereth her chickens under her wings, and ye would not". Matthew 23:37. These words Jesus so cried out, weeping with deep sorrow as He looked down upon Jerusalem from the mount of olives.
(1950, five years old)
I'll never forget the day Hiiee came home from my greatgramma Mary's funeral. It seemed I had waited all winter for it to snow and that day big flakes fell on dirty sidewalks where children played, pounding each other with snowballs. I stood at the window, with my face pressed firmly against the glass, watching with envy.
"Hiiee will be home soon", mother said, putting on more lipstick and smacking her lips in the mirror. She was restless, desperately reaching in vain to fill the unhappy void, and was anxious to go again where bright lights and men were.
Trembling when I heard the key turn in the lock, I stumbled backwards, tripping over the woodbox and bumping my arm on the hot stove. I winced in pain but kept quiet as I saw Hiee opening the door. Swearing and muttering under her breath she seemed to be the same old Hiee.
But,then I saw big haunting eyes, red and swollen, staring back at me. Wearily she took a seat at the table, and slowly looked at mother.
"Do you think Grandma Mary went to heaven?", she then asked with teary eyes.
The longest silence followed. Finally, mother, with her voice quivering answered with a feeble, "Yes". Then, hesitating, as if a door to her heart opened for a brief moment, and closed again, she added, "Yes of course!", and abruptly got up and walked away.
Soon, all was forgotten. But, I could not forget. It was the first time I'd heard the word "heaven" and it rang deep in my soul. This house was all I'd ever known before. How could I possibly even imagine a place filled with unspeakable beauty that I'd never ever seen? Yet a child can often see when adults do not.
Closing my eyes I could clearly see a lush green meadow filled with big yellow daffidills. The sun shone very bright but didn't hurt my eyes. Three full rainbows with their seven distinct colors shone over the landscape. For a brief moment I was neither hungry nor thirsty and felt overwhelmingly happy and peaceful, for I was someplace else, far away from this house of sorrow and sadness.
Then a gentle loving Voice said to me, "Some day I will take you to this place and you will never know sorrow again".
(1956, Eugene, Ore. eleven years old)
Sometimes, the tunnels God allows us to go through get very long and dark before we see any light at the end.
It was my eleventh birthday and when the phone rang that morning, I just knew it was my daddy wanting to see me again.
"He wants to pick you up tonight", mother said indifferently, as she hung up the phone and continued to put rollers in her bleached yellow hair. Then stopping, she studied every detail in the mirror, checking to see if the curls were even. Later she left with her boyfriend, engrossed in her own plans.
Hiiee had already gone to work at the little cafe about a mile away and as usual I was alone again. Forcing myself to put on my best dress, though soiled but not as shabby as the others, I sat down on the couch and waited.
Except for the crackling of the wood stove, the house was quiet. The sun was starting to go down and as shadows darkened objects, the much too familiar sense of deep loneliness and depression hovered over me like a heavy cloud, as if trying to swallow me up.
Finally, the sound of wheels grinding on the gravel road broke the silence and I could hear daddy's car come to a sudden halt in the driveway. Defeated, I yanked my coat from a nail in the wall, and slowly went out to meet him.
The thick smell of alcohol hit me in the face as I opened the car door. "How're you doing, kid?", he said with slurred speech.
Wiping his sweaty palms on his pants leg, he reached over and patted my hand. Cringing in disgust, I wanted to draw back but couldn't. "Oh come on", he whined, "I'm your daddy".
It was all too easy for me to withdraw into my own world and soon I was imagining that I was a beautiful princess riding a white horse in a land far away.
After driving for some time, drinking and talking wild, he stopped at a light and reached for me. "Stop it, daddy, I'm not your girlfriend", I said as I pushed him away.
But I wasn't surprised. It was the same old thing. Whenever he picked me up, and after drinking for a while, he would mistake me for his girlfriend. "No daddy", I said, inching closer to the door.
Suddenly he swerved to miss a parked car, and cursed me, adding, "I'm a German and will kill you". Then after jabbering something unintelligible that was supposed to sound as if he was speaking German, he said, "I'm an Indian", and babbled more words. Finally ending with his favorite saying, he loudly proclaimed, "The big bird will never stop flying". I shook with fear, even though somewhat hardened to this repeated experience.
Finally spilling his cup of beer mixed with whiskey on his pants leg, he stomped on the brake, and the car jerked to a stop. "Get out!" he yelled.
I peered helplessly into the unfamiliar neighborhood as he cursed at me and yelled again, "Out!" Finally having no choice, I jumped out, and without glancing at me again, he sped off.
Shivering in the night air, and pulling my thin coat around me, I tried to shrug off the hurt and shame. As I watched headlights approach and then fade into the night, I knew he wouldn't be back.
The smell of hot cooked food drew my attention to the house behind me. Turning my head I could see through a big picture window, a family preparing to eat supper. Laughter riveted through the glass as they sat down to a long table spread with a full course meal. Wood blazed in a stone fireplace in the background, and for a long torturous moment I stared into the warmth of those flames. (Can you possibly make known such a scene to one who has never known it?) My mouth watered as I watched them eat, and a deep sense of loneliness came over me as I stood there, alone in the dark.
"I don't belong in a family like that", I thoght, "no one wants me".
No one wanted me. I was just a piece of dirty trash, to be trampled on by others, and especially by men. Reluctantly I turned my eyes away and trudged the long walk home, faintly remembering that I had turned eleven that day.
The following year did not go by quickly nor without sadness. Can you understand an eleven year old on her way to school trying desperately to hide beneath her torn, smelly clothes? Or understand the pain as her peers push past her, grabbing, pulling, mocking? Children can be very cruel.
But that year, the faithful Shepherd who loves us all the same, came knocking at our house again.
"Would you like to come to church this Sunday?", the elderly neighbor lady asked mother as she stood at the door.
"No", mother replied, indifferant, as if her thoughts were some place else. But then pointing to me as I stood in the corner with my hands clenched behind my back and staring at the dirty ceiling, lost into my own imaginary world again, she said, "But she can go".
As Mrs. Hemmerly began to walk toward me, a gentle unseen Hand touched me and I was drawn back into reality. But the real world often hurts, and her clean neat appearance made me all too aware of who I was. Glancing down at my own skirt, soiled and worn, I felt humiliated, and my face turned red as I tried to loosen my too tight sweater which clung to an over developed chest. Being all too aware that this hovel of a house was the only place where I fit in, I didn't want to go anywhere, ever!
But God ordained it, and with worn unsightly clothes, hair chopped off uneven and a big cold sore protruding from the corner of my mouth, I sat in a little church the following Sunday. I don't know what others in that church thought of me but for the second time, His Presence came near to me. I did not know Him, but He knew me, and every thing about me, yet He loved me still. And I was powerfully drawn to that wonderful love.
The Holy Spirit was secretly at work, and for the next few weeks I waited each Sunday in anticipation for Mrs. Hemerly. The drive to church seemed so short as she, with her face raptured in joy, told of the many wonderful things Jesus had done. Yet, each Sunday left me with a feeling of emptiness and despair. One day, she said sadly, "I can't take you home anymore, but you can go with them", pointing to some people in the church I didn't know at all.
I felt like an outsider as I rode in the back seat of a new station wagon with a strange family. The topic of their discussion was always where they would eat their Sunday dinner while my stomach growled with hunger. Then almost invariably their little girl, with her pretty dress and soft curls would proudly display some coins hid beneath her frilly pockets and declare, "I'm gonna buy me an ice cream sunday with a cherry on top!" It hurt to look at her new dress and I would quickly look away.
The ride was long and torturous and I always pretended to be looking out the window at something else while trying to hide the awful hurt inside me. Finally they would say their hollow goodbyes, and leave me staring as they drove off.
A depression hovered over that cold, empty house on sundays more than any other day and followed me into every room. Mother was gone as usual and Grandma Hiiee was at the cafe. Gloom filled the kitchen as I studied the dirty dishes, piled in the sink, and the half empty cans left forgotten on the counters.
Looking for something to eat, I opened the refrigerator door, but bits of stale leftovers sickened me. Loneliness and insecurity mocked me as I sat down on a drab soiled couch and stared out the window at the gravel road that lead to our house.
But, one Sunday was different. Everyone was going to the altar. And though I understood very little I could feel Someones gentle hand as He took ahold of mine and led me to the front of the church where others were praying. As I was kneeling there, His light beamed down on me, and flooded me with joy unspeakable.
Oh glorious day it was! Darkness and gloom fled away, as He came into my soul and I was overwhelmed with happiness. Then He saturated me with His great love, and a beautiful cloud surrounded me and angels with long shiny gowns were all around me, looking at me lovingly. The attention I received from them felt so good, being long depraved, and deep within, my spirit begged hard to stay there forever!
Suddenly, a man nudged me and I opened my eyes and looked around. Everyone had already left the altar. Half in a daze, with the glory of God still upon me, I slowly got up and was led back to my seat.
No day was more dark and dismal than that afternoon when they dropped me off. As I trudged toward that empty house there was a steady, dripping rain that soaked my worn out shoes, making my feet wet and uncomfortable. Nothing had changed. I had no reason to be happy while stepping over the garbage strewn across our muddy yard. But, for a reason I couldn't explain, I was bubbling over with happiness and joy unspeakable.
"Wake up", I screamed, shaking my baby brother. He wouldn't wake up so I ran to my older brother. "Wake up. We're dying, we're all dying". "Get away", he said, "I'm not interested".
I had never heard the word leprosy before, nor did I know the spiritual meaning, but our bodies seemed to be half eaten away and covered with terrible sores.
Frantically I ran to mother and pulled at her sleeve, trying to find her hand. But it wasn't there. I screamed again, "Wake up, mother wake up!"
"Go back to bed", she muttered, still asleep, "I don't care".
Panicking, I ran throughout the house crying, and screaming "Help me, we're all dying".
Then a Voice said, "If you can find the door, you can get out and be saved".
Banging on the walls, I tried desperately to find the door. But, there seemed to be no door. Once again, I ran to mother and pleaded with her to wake up. A Voice said again, "Find the door".
Sobbing and desperate, I flung myself at the walls again until finally a narrow door appeared. Quickly, I squeezed through and the door closed again, shutting my family in a house full of death.
I awoke. It was just a dream, or was it?
Sometimes it gets darker and darker before the light shines again. Mrs. Hemerly died and after three weeks nobody from the church came to pick me up anymore. Surrounded by everything but God, I soon forgot my wonderful experience.
My twelfth birthday had passed and three safety pins held my worn out bra together. Watching mother go out to eat with her boy friends and watching her come back with something nice made me aware that I too could get something nice if I knew what to do.
One day not long after that I looked up into the slobbery face of a middle aged man. Harsh lines showed through my heavily painted face and being well developed, he had no idea I was only twelve.
I tried hard to push him away as he came at me, pressing his wet lips that smelled of alcohol and sweat, against my face. Angry that I was trying to hinder him and breathing hard, he overpowered me.
Filled with shame, and with what innocence I had left now gone, I reached for the bottle of vodka on the table and drank until it deadened all sense of feeling. When I awoke, he was gone and I was alone in the house. Fumbling in my purse for my comb and fighting back tears, I stumbled to a mirror.
"You are a wretched b____ ", I said to the face in the mirror that stared back at me, haunting me with a pain that only hard liquor could numb. And with the effects of the alcohol wearing off, I couldn't bear it, and somehow I had to get another drink.
"I'll do anything for a drink", I thought as I glanced around searching desperately for another bottle. But seeing there wasn't any, I left that house, but not the memory, and walking toward the main street, I held my head down in shame.
It was getting late but I knew I couldn't go home. The welfare office had already contacted mother twice concerning me. "If you don't make her go to school", they said, "We'll place her in a home that will".
Frustrated, for fear of losing her ADC check, she slammed the phone down. Glancing at me with a threatening look she said, "Do you think I care?"
Often she would be gone somewhere with a boyfriend when I came home anyway. And the house would be locked up, forcing me to find shelter elsewhere.
And so, as the sun began to set and businessmen, with hands tucked in their overcoats, hurried past me for home, I began to play out in my mind where I might spend the night.
(1960 Eugene, Oregon two years later)
Two years of street life, pleasing men just for a bottle and a place to sleep, will age and harden any young girl. And as I sat in a cheap tavern, my face told of a much older girl and I wasn't questioned about my age even though I was only fifteen.
Soon it would be dark outside and I was anxious for a place to spend the night and, as always, another bottle to tide me over 'til morning.
Eyeing an older man I quickly moved over closer to him. Older men became an easy target as long as I was willing to satisfy their desires. He offered me a drink and I hastily spoke up, "Whiskey please". But while I tipped the glass to my mouth, he left without me.
It was close to midnight and the bartender dimmed the lights and began settling up the numerous tabs for the day. "One last drink", I thought downing the last drop and reluctantly I went out into the dark street.
With my hair messed and my clothes smelly, I stumbled over to a well dressed man in a suit. "Get away, you slut", he muttered.
I felt dirty. It hurt because deep inside I didn't want to be this way, but I was well accustomed to rejection, and as men used me, I would learn to use them too. With bitter hatred, I swore as I spit at him, cursing, "Maybe you will all die".
Staggering over to the edge of an alley I crawled into a corner by a trash can and curled up. The alcohol did its job well and feeling no pain I fell asleep.
(1961, Stockton, California sixteen years old)
Clutching a half empty pint of vodka, I stumbled on the sidewalk, while people glanced at me as they hurriedly went on. Faces, cold and indifferent, lost in their own world, they never really saw me.
And I was lost in my own world too! Hugging my bottle like a child would his teddy bear I couldn't face the real world with a sober mind, it was too harsh and cruel. Grown people seemed the same as children who mocked me as a child with their cruel words and laughter. "Does anyone care?", the unwanted souls of the street cry out. "No one", I silently echoed back.
Another year had passed, and my head pounded as I stood on a street corner. By now I was well acquainted with a hangover headache. It was late morning in Stockton, California, but the sun shone too harshly as a neatly dressed lady smiled and said, "Would you like to come in?".
"Me? With my filthy clothes and unkempt hair?", I replied.
Straining my eyes, I peered into the door of a tiny storefront church. Though half in a daze, I truly thirsted for something, and went inside. But, then a man in a nice new suit met me and sneered, "Put out that cigarette", his voice, strict and uncaring. "And, get rid of that bottle", he said coldly.
"A bruised reed shall He (Jesus) not break", Matthew 12:20. How carefully and with what loving forethought Jesus would speak to the woman taken in adultery, and to the samaritan woman at the well who'd had five husbands, and many others who were bruised and bent. His choice words of comfort and hope would lift them up again. But man would handle the delicate and wounded strand too harshly and break it in two.
I felt like a piece of dirt, and because for a short moment I dared to open my heart a little, the rejection hurt deep. In my mind, I could hear the children mocking me again, and I quickly turned away. Stepping back out onto the sidewalk I gulped down a big swallow of whiskey, taking time to feel it burn as it went down, but it couldn't burn out the pain, nothing could.
Long shadows were forming on the side walk and street lights were turning on when I dropped the empty bottle on the sidewalk. I didn't care where I slept, the alley, the sidewalk, or wherever, but I couldn't make it through the night without another bottle.
Fluffing up my hair and leaning up against the side of a building, I watched for a man. Any man, as long as he had enough money to buy me a bottle. Numb to feelings except what alcohol did for me, I felt no shame nor pleasure as I made the usual gestures to men who passed by me.
I would do anything for a bottle, and twenty minutes later, with a middle aged man, I went into a musty motel room. Immediately, the man dropped his pants and went in the bathroom. Seeing my opportunity I grabbed them and went for his wallet, and pulling out a twenty dollar bill, I quickly headed for the door.
As I turned the knob, he grabbed me from behind and began hitting and cursing me until I fell to the floor. Then he did what he wanted as I lay there helpless. Finally, he got dressed and left.
Shaking and bruised I managed to pull myself onto the bed. As I lay there, the world got bigger and bigger, and I became smaller and smaller until it seemed I was just a tiny dot, lost and forgotten in the universe. I tried to hide within myself by curling up into a ball, like a sow bug when it has been disturbed, but it wouldn't work. Finally I fell into a fitful sleep.
When I awoke, it was still dark out and I reached up and turned on the light, but the darkness wouldn't go away. I needed a light much greater than a light bulb could give, yet I knew not where to find it. But, that Everlasting Light knew where I was and He loved me still.
When Jesus walked by, the people which sat in darkness saw a great light. Matthew 4:16.
But "much water had passed under the bridge", since that glorious Sunday when as an innocent and tender hearted eleven year old, Jesus flooded my soul with His great love.
(January 1964, Reno, Nev. eighteen years old)
steel door slammed shut locking me in a padded cell again. All too aware that I would face the morning cold sober, I pounded on the door until my hands bled, but no one heard me. No one that is, but God. For even though the light that shone in my soul years before at that altar had long since gone out, He was even here in this cold dark cell.
When they led me the next day before a board of men and women, my mind would not function. "What is your name?" a voice asked.
Cold sober and shaking badly, voices blurred together and became like spiders climbing the walls, coming at me. Their legs grew more faces and they were all hideously laughing at me. "Stop it!" I shouted, covering my ears, "Stop it!"
But, they would not. Screaming, and begging them to stop, I fell into a heap on the floor.
Two days later sitting in the back seat of a state car with my hands cuffed behind me, I couldn't fully comprehend that I was on my way to the State Mental Hospital in Sparks, Nevada.
The hospital was only twenty miles from where the Police had often picked me up as I staggered drunkenly on the streets of Reno. Yet it was an eternity for an eighteen year old who had reached the bottom and beyond. A horrible fear that this was the end of the line forever came over me. Yet Jesus had His wonderful hand upon me and nothing is beyond hope with Him.
It was the sixteenth of January, and Christmas decorations still hung in the streets. Outside the car window, fresh snow fell, partially covering dirty slush on the sidewalk.
Passing by a store, a stuffed Santa Claus still sat in the window, as if mocking children whom he did not visit. It was a lingering reminder of a very happy time for some and a cruel and deeply sad time for others.
But Christmas had passed, and the dark month of January left many even more depressed. And spring could not come without finding some in a cold grave, their spirits too crushed to live as the long loneliness of winter, adding to their many disappointments of the holidays, took it's toll on their weak spirits.
(Oh God, come near and let your saving grace be known to them. Father of the fatherless, husband to the widows, put your loving arms around them and heal their hurts and stay their tears)
Corrie Ten Boome, after surviving a terrible concentration camp, said, "There is no prison so strong that God is not stronger and no hate so deep that God is not deeper still".
The driver of the car looked back at me with pity as we neared the opening to several long, rundown, faded white buildings that looked like death itself. But, what could she possibly know of my pain? After her days work was over, she would go home to a nice home and family surrounded by warmth and laughter. We were in two different worlds. And no one could be in my world but me.
No amount of words can tell of the overpowering feeling of finality and hopelessness as a heavy steel door clanged shut, leaving me alone in a small, dark cell. I sobbed hysterically, and cried over and over, "I'm not crazy, I'm not crazy".
Finally, after a long time, I could cry no more and submitting to the surrounding darkness as it reached out and engulfed me, I slumped to the floor in a lifeless stupor. I was drowning beneath deep waters and who would help me? Reality faded into the background as my mind drew inward and formed its own shell of protection from the horrors of reality.
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Excerpt "I Saw Heaven Open" Excerpt "The House Of Kyle"
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Excerpt "Angels Walk With Me" Excerpt "The House Of Kyle"
Excerpt from "I Saw Heaven Open"
We came to a field full of white flowers, that seemed fresh and full of life, and reminded me of Easter, and the resurrection, and the whole surroundings seemed charged with a feeling of youth and vibrance.
A saint was there whose manner was sweet and gentle, and told us she had once had five beautiful girls.
APrettiest little darlings you ever saw,@ she said. ASarah, our ten year old, was tall and skinny like her daddy. And hard headed like him, too, and smart as a whip. Whenever there was a problem, she could figure it out before we could.And Rachel, our eight year old loved animals, especially cats. She would sit with Fluffy, the orange one, in her little arms, hugging and playing with it for hours.
Hannah, our five year old, was a gentle little thing, but liked helping mommy in the kitchen. And I would say to her, AYou=ll make a good wife someday, the way you like to cook and all.@
And three year old Abigail. She liked to make up poems about Jesus and Heaven, and would say, AMommy, Jesus loves me, doesn=t He?@ And I would nod my head and smile. Then she would always add, AAnd someday I=m going to be with Him in Heaven.@
When we knelt by the bed at night and prayed, ANow I lay me down to sleep, I pray the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die, before I wake, I pray the Lord my soul to take,@ she would always say, AA flash of light before I die.@
And I would say to her, ANo Abigail, it says, AIf I should die before I wake.@ But later I knew she=d said it right, after all. The night Jesus took her, she laid on her bed sick with the fever, and suddenly she saw a flash of light and then she was gone.
And there was eight month old Susan. The doctor said I couldn=t have any more, and we called her our little angel.
When the 1918 influenza epidemic hit, Hannah was the first to be taken, then Sarah, followed by Rachel, and then our dear little Abigail.
And when Susan showed signs of the fever, I prayed, and pleaded with tears, APlease God, spare our little angel.@ Yet that night, she was gone too.
It was a cloudy and cold morning at the cemetery when we laid our last angel to rest beside her four sisters. I remember the clouds dropping rain onto my face, washing my tears. I didn=t want to leave my little girls in that dark place, surrounded by nothing but death and tombstones.
Yet, somehow I did what I had to, and got in the buggy with my husband, and went home. The house seemed so empty and cold.
That night while sitting in the rocker in Rachel and Sarah=s room, as I often did, darning socks and singing Abigail=s favorite, AJesus loves me, this I know,@ a light suddenly appeared and became brighter and brighter, filling the whole room.
And I couldn=t believe my eyes! All five of our girls were standing there in white gowns, with gold letters on them and halos around their heads.
I remember reaching my hand out to touch them, but strangely, though they seemed very near, yet they were too far away to touch.
Sarah, our oldest said, ADon=t wish us back mommy, and please don=t cry, we=re so happy in Heaven.@ And then they were gone. But the bright light seemed to stay there in the room all night until the sun rose in the morning.
The years went by, but what happened that night stayed real in my heart. We watched our neighbor=s children, the ones who survived the plague, grow up, marry and have their own little ones.
Holidays were lonely. And each Christmas, we=d always hang five stockings on the mantel with their names on them, starting with the oldest. Sarah, Rachel, Hannah, Abigail and Susan.
Years later when I laid on my bed dying, that same bright light came into the room and five angels appeared and said to me, ACome on mommy, it=s time to be with us now.@ And taking my hand, they brought me up here.@
Right then, while listening to her, five little angels appeared and gathered around her. Watching them smiling at her, and holding hands, I had no doubt who they were.
Passing through a river we met a saint, who told us that he=d been stoned to death for his testimony of Jesus. (Acts 7:38)
AI didn=t think I could take even one more stone, but, Jesus was cheering me on,@ he said. AJesus was cheering you on?@ I questioned. AJust a short time before they stoned me,@ he began, AAn angry mob was gnashing on me with their teeth like vicious dogs, when suddenly, the clouds parted in two like a curtain and I saw the glory of heaven, and Jesus standing up as if to cheer me on. (Acts 7:54,550)And he seemed to say, ACome on Stephen, you can make it. You=re almost to the finish line. Just a little further and you=ll receive your crown.@
AI can just see it,@ I said, AIt=s almost like being at a football game. It=s been a long hard game and the players are all tired and discouraged, when all of a sudden, a man on their team is running with the ball, and he=s only ten yards to the goal line. Suddenly the crowd stands up and cheers him on to the finish.
AThat must have been what Jesus was doing for you when you saw Him standing up,@ I said to him.Seeing me all excited, the angel smiled and said, AIf that runner had been all discouraged and beat down because his team was losing, and now he=s running with the ball, and his fans stand up and shout, come on you can do it. Wouldn=t the sound of those fans cheering him on, give him new encouragement and strength to make it to the finish line?@
Then grinning real big, the angel looked at me and said, ADo you know that you are close to the finish line, and the angels are cheering you on?@
AI sure hope so,@ I said, AI=ve been in this race a long time and I=m getting tired.@Just then we passed through some clouds, and everything became brighter and brighter. Suddenly thousands of angels were singing as if in a heavenly choir and ten thousands of resurrected saints gathered around the throne of God wearing white robes and upon their heads were golden crowns, and ten thousand more angels rose up to serve them.
AThey have been through much to receive this honor,@ the angel said. ATheir tribulations, persecutions, and fiery furnaces, made seven times hotter, made them shine like pure gold.No diamond is as rare, as beautiful or as costly as these which have been ground and cut to perfection by the master cutter. All their disappointments, their losses and seeming defeats only made their hearts grow deeper and more steadfast in His love.
And like a just man falling seven times, and rising up again with renewed determination, their strength was not so much that of the outward, trusting in themselves, but like a rock, hidden beneath the waters, unmoved by the fierce waves beating against it, bearing well the marks of their Lord, shining brighter each day, until their midnight hour finally came and took them away to glory.
Nothing in heaven, except Jesus himself will be more beautiful than these dear sainted ones, who make up His glorious church. Like Kings and Priests, adorned with precious jewels, they sit with Him on His throne. And sing a new song that not even the angels can sing. For it is their song of how they overcame every adversity.@
Seeing me stare in awe at such unspeakable beauty, the angel said, AIf you had paid ten billion dollars for something, wouldn=t you value it very greatly?@
Even though I couldn=t picture myself owning even one million in this life, I nodded in agreement.
AAnd wouldn=t you guard it with your life?@ AOf course I would,@ I said. ABut Jesus paid much more then ten billion for these precious ones, He paid with His own blood. And He will most certainly watch over them and keep them until the day He takes them out of the earth.@Right then looking at me with a big cheerful smile he said, AGod values you so much more than you could even begin to know.@
Those words made me feel uncomfortable. Like something sharp hitting against a stone and bouncing back, I couldn=t seem to fully understand or accept that God really loved me very much.
Everything around the throne was so beautiful, I could have stayed there forever. But the angel took my hand and we went further. It was almost as if we were going from glory to glory. Angels were busily moving about making preparations, for some big important event. They all seemed overwhelmed with excitement.
AThey=re getting ready for the biggest and most glorious celebration since the beginning of man.@ the angel explained, with the absolute happiest look I=d seen on his face yet.In one room piles of precious stones were being carefully laid out according to their size and value. AThey=re so gorgeous,@ I exclaimed to the angel who also had his eyes intently upon them.
AWhat are they for?@ I asked ARemember where Jesus said, ALay up your treasures in heaven?@ He answered. (Matthew 6:20)How often had I thought on those words, especially after we=d given up everything to go in the ministry. And when things got hard, as they so often did.
The angel, now carefully studying each stone, said, AGod knows the exact gems to give each one of His precious saints. And, He knows every treasure you=ve laid up in this place.@
ACome,@ he said, and at that instant we were in what seemed a very large banquet hall made of pure gold. Angels were busy preparing a huge feast. Right before us was a long table that appeared to stretch out forever.
One of the angels loudly proclaimed with a sense of urgency, AAll things will soon be ready.@
I was fascinated at the detailed preparations, and how everything had a special meaning. Just like the Passover meal the Israelites were told to prepare and eat the night before fleeing Egypt.
How the roasted lamb represented Jesus the Lamb of God, and the unleavened bread a separation from the world, and bitter herbs the trials and the hard things a true believer goes through.
Watching the angels in their preparations I couldn=t help but think on how I hadn=t seemed to accomplish much in my endeavors for God, but I hoped He knew my heart and how hard I tried.
AWhat do you think,@ the angel said to me, AIf two men each carried seventy five pounds of rock up a hill for God. One of them, a two hundred pound athlete, who went up the hill with not too much trouble. The other, a hundred and twenty pound weakling who really struggled with each step he took.@The angel paused for a moment, then looking directly at me, added, ANow don=t you think God would know which one labored the hardest to climb that hill?@
AYes, it seems He would,@ I agreed.
Then looking at me, as he often did with an expression that seemed to pierce clear to my soul, he said, AGod takes into account your every circumstance and just how hard it is for you, and He considers everything that comes against you. He knows every struggle, every pain, every weakness. Your sacrifices, your heavy burdens, and the many times you=ve had to row up stream@
Suddenly, at that moment I realized, He did know how hard I tried for Him, no matter what others thought of me. No matter how feeble my efforts and lack of results in men=s eyes.
ACome.@ the angel said. Soon we were in what seemed a golden bridal room filled with thousands of wedding gowns all gloriously made. Many of the gowns were full of rich jewels so interwoven into the fabric, they became part of the gowns. ADo you know what these are for?@ he said. I could only shake my head, as I stared in awe at their exquisite beauty.In one place I could see jewels were being hammered and pressed and put into a fire, before being added to the gowns. AEach jewel represents a particular trial that a saint has gone through,@ the angel said.
ALike the time you were in Kansas City, and even your Pastor thought you were crazy to pray out in the woods. The bills you couldn=t seem to pay. Your husband was working in Texas and you were all alone in your trial, and no one stood by you.@ AAnd tears seemed to be my meat, night and day,@ I said.At that moment, seeing those gowns so full with jewels, and remembering my many trials, I just knew my gown would be full of jewels too. That instant, picturing my gown, all shiny with jewels, I got so excited, that I began to jump and shout, AHallelujah.@
Right then another saint appeared where we were standing. Recognizing him, I said, APeter is it really you? I never thought I=d see you.@
AWhy not?@ he quickly replied. AI was nothing great. I failed Him many times, but I did love Him with all my heart.@
AYou see,@ he continued, AThose who love him the most will be attacked by satan the most, and there=s a price to pay for loving Jesus.@ he added.
AI remember one time seeing a purse I really wanted but when I saw the price, I left the store without it.@ I said. AThat=s why, when Demas realized what it was going to cost him to follow Jesus, he left Paul.@ AAt least you didn=t turn back, when almost the whole crowd left Jesus,@ I said. (John 6) AI loved Him. I would have died for Him,@ Peter quickly replied. ABut, you denied Him.@ I said. AYes,@ he admitted, AAnd it happened just like Jesus said it would too.@ Then pausing for a moment, he added, AAnd I learned from that failure.@ ABut, you got your eyes off Jesus, and sank in the water and you spoke out of turn and God still used you to preach that great sermon on the day of Pentecost.And you took the lame man, at the gate beautiful, by the hand and said, ASilver and gold have I none, but such as I have give I thee@ and instantly, he stood up and walked.
And, God performed so many miracles through you, people wanted to just touch your shadow that they might receive something too.@ I said.
He just looked at me right then, with a sort of twinkle in his eyes, and said, AGod don=t choose the wise, the strong, or those who think they can never fall. That was me before I failed Him. I was so confident, that I swore I would never deny Him.@
ABut, you did deny Him.@ I persisted.
AYes, I did, and God allowed it.@ he said. AWhat do you mean, God allowed it?@ I asked.AJesus knew those people would be there to recognize me,@ he said, AAnd He knew what time the cock would crow and what time I would deny Him too.@
AWow, It=s almost like He planned it.@ I said.
AWell, He used it to teach me some things,@ he said. AWhen he reached out His hand to me on the water, that sure taught me a lesson,@ he said. APreachers say, it taught you not to take your eyes off Jesus.@ I said. AIt taught me that if I step out in faith for God and fail in my efforts, that God understands and will not let me perish, no more than He let me perish when I stepped out of the boat by faith.@ he quickly replied with a positive smile.He then looked at me with almost a mischievous grin and asked, AHow many Christians have you heard criticize me for sinking when I walked on water?@
AOh, maybe a couple thousand, and a lot of preachers too,@ I said.
He then laughed real big, and said, AI would still rather have walked on water than stayed in the boat.@
Suddenly, I laughed too. AI=d like to believe I too would have walked on water.@ I said.
AHow do you think men learn to handle poisonous snakes for extracting venom for medicinal use?@ he then said.Shuddering at the very thought, I shook my head.
ABy putting on protective clothing and going down into the snake pit and learning the snakes ways.@ he said. AYou see you can=t learn to fight a battle by reading about it in a book. You have to face the enemy and experience the battle for your self. That=s how you learn to stand,@ he added.Just then I had a feeling he knew what he was talking about.
And suddenly, I realized how much I=d learned from my battle=s, especially from the battles I=d fought and lost and the tests I=d failed, like the tests Peter failed, on the water and when he denied Jesus in the High Priest=s Palace.
At that moment I knew Peter=s tests were right for him, even though he had failed in them. Because they had taught him to trust in God=s strength, and not his own. And they taught him that God never fails, even if he failed.
And how often had God led me to similar tests for the same purposes. Yet how often had I not seen what He was trying to teach me.
Suddenly I heard a loud Voice, coming from every direction, AI have taught thee in the way of wisdom, I have led thee in right paths.@ (Proverbs 4:11)
Yes, He had led me in right paths. Right paths are not always mountain tops, smooth roads, and soft pillows. They can be deep valleys, dry hot deserts, sharp cutting rocks on steep cliffs. Even fiery furnaces and lion=s dens, if that=s what it takes to teach us and give us what we need.
And yes, my tests were right for me too. Right then, I felt like shouting all over heaven. Suddenly, I looked down and wished I could tell other saints on earth that God leads in right paths and to keep trusting in Him until their earthly journey is over.
We came to place that seemed as precious as it was beautiful.
There we met a saint who began telling me, AI was only twenty seven when I came here. I went through eight years of schooling to be a medical missionary and I was so excited. I studied hard, even worked jobs in the summer to help pay for my schooling.
When I finally graduated I couldn=t wait to begin my work in India . But after one year in India, I contracted a fever and died,@ she said to me.
Right then I was reluctant to journey on, and I said to the angel, AWhat a waste.@
AThat=s what Judas said when the woman poured the expensive ointment on Jesus= feet,@ the angel replied.
AYes, I know,@ I agreed, ABut I still don=t understand why God allowed her life to end after all that preparation.@ AGod don=t measure things like man measures them,@ the angel said, AOften what=s important to man is not important to God at all.@ ALike gold,@ I said, AIt may be valuable to man, but the streets up here are paved with it, and there=s diamonds everywhere.@ APosition, popularity, material goods and money don=t mean anything to God,@ he said. AI=m sure you=re right,@ I replied, AWhy would a bank full of money mean anything to God, who owns the universe. And if living in a palace was important to God, why was Jesus born in a barn?@ I added. AMaybe because God knows that important people, so called, wouldn=t bother to look in a barn for a king,@ the angel smiled. ABut, God revealed it to the shepherds.@ I said. AYes, the so called nobodies of the world,@ he kept smiling, AYou see, what men label class or position don=t mean nothing to God. As a matter of fact, Jesus had nothing that men esteem important. Wealth, popularity, position, good looks, natural abilities.@ AWait a minute,@ I interrupted, AAre you saying Jesus wasn=t even handsome?@The angel, grinned with confidence, and said, AHe hath no form nor comeliness and when we shall see Him, there is no beauty that we should desire Him.@(Isaiah 53:2) AYou see,@ he continued, AIt=s not outward strength or beauty that=s important to God.
Remember when God had Samuel pick a king from among Jesse=s sons. Samuel saw a tall and handsome man, and said, ASurely the Lord=s anointed is before us.@
But, God said, ALook not on his countenance or his stature, for man looks on the outward appearance, but God looks upon the heart,@ and God chose someone little and weak in men=s eyes, to be king.@ (2 Samuel 16)
At that instant, those truths gave me hope that maybe God could use me after all.
On our journey, we came to a field full of pearls. The angel said, AA factory may put out a thousand cultured pearls a day, but one deep sea pearl is worth more than ten thousand cultured pearls.@
AYou see,@ said the angel, his eyes intently on the pearls, AValue is not measured by quantity but by quality. Every man must die, unless Jesus comes first for the church
But if a man lives to be eighty or ninety, when it=s over, in eternity his life will have seemed no longer than one who has lived only ten or twenty years. When a soul awakens in eternity, everything on Earth will have been like a nights dream.@
Journeying on, the angel looked at me with a positive, yet stern expression, and said, AWhat=s important on earth, is not the number of years a man has lived but with what measure he allowed God to prepare him for eternity.
And that young woman put more thought and preparation towards God in her short life on earth than many who live to be a hundred. Her real work was completed, and therefore, she shall enjoy the fruit of her labors through out eternity, and that=s not a waste.@
Then, the angel turned his face directly at me and added, and AWhat does the bible say you are if you believe in Him?A
Not knowing for sure what he was getting at, I just shook my head.
AYou are royalty.A he said, almost shouting, as if to get the point across. AAnd, God chose you.@ (1Peter 2:9)The angel could tell I was having a hard time accepting that.
ADid it matter how men esteemed Jesus? The Savior of the world, never even had a bed to sleep on, or a plot to be buried in. Jesus had absolutely nothing of value to men,@ he said to me with a stern expression on his face. (Isaiah 53)He died on the enemies cross in seemingly utter defeat and failure. Forsaken by all, except the apostle John and a few unimportant women. Yet, He was God, the creator of all things.@ (John 1:1-3,14)
Then smiling more softly, he said, AYou are very important to Him and He will not forget all your work and labor of love which you have showed toward His name. (Hebrews 6:10) And He will most assuredly reward you.@
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Excerpt "Angels Walk With Me" Excerpt "The House Of Kyle"
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Excerpt "Angels Walk With Me" Excerpt "I Saw Heaven Open"
Excerpt "House Of Kyle"
Sheryl Anderson would sit for hours just staring at it. Sometimes until she was cross eyed and sometimes until her face would color.
"Why’s your face so pink?" Kyle would ask.
"Pink?" she’d glare at him between clenched teeth. "It ain’t pink, Kyle. If anything it’s red!" She didn’t want it to be pink and if Kyle wasn’t there, she would have cried.
She didn’t even know why she hated it so much. After all, what did it ever do to her? Except be there day in and day out when she didn’t want it. Tall, underdressed windows jeering down at her every time she left the bus stop. Mocking her in the twilight, waiting for Hattie to come home.
Hattie! Maybe that’s why she hated it. "Ain’t ever gonna be nuthin’, Sherry Anderson. Ain’t ever gonna be nuthin’ except you." Hattie’s fist would come down hard on the table. Sheryl hated that table cluttered with old smelly newspapers and empty bottles of beer.
"But, I am gonna be something. I am! I’m gonna leave this small, river town. Gonna buy me a nice house somewhere. Gonna..."
"Gonna, gonna, gonna." Hattie’s words would slur and Sherry would cringe. "That’s all I hear. Well, sometimes gonna ain’t good enough. Sometimes, you just have to live with what you got. I do."
But, Sherry wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t. Besides, what did Hattie have to live for anyway? Nothing! Nothing but a sad, dilapidated, pink house. An ugly pink house on an ugly hill that probably wouldn’t be there if it wasn’t for Sherry.
"She only puts up with us for the money, you know." she whispered to Kyle one day after Hattie fell over in a drunken stupor.
"Money?" Kyle’s big brown eyes stared up at her brainless. "What money?"
"You know. The money from the government."
"No." Kyle shook his head.
"Oh, Never mind, Kyle." It was exasperating. Kyle never could see anything looking him straight in the face. But, it was the money. Sherry knew it and it didn’t take a very smart girl to figure it out either.
People used to tell her she looked like Hattie. Hah! Go figure! If they ever knew! But, eventually they would, because Sherry would tell them. She couldn’t enter into a conversation without it coming up and when it did, she made a very big point of it.
"So, you’re Sherry Anderson," they’d say. "Hattie’s daughter. You live in that small pink house on the hill."
"No." she’d lie. "Ain’t ever lived in that house." and "Hattie who?" She’d try to smile to fool them.
"Oh, come on." they’d laugh. "We know you live there."
"Okay! But, how’d you like to live in it? And, don’t ever call Hattie my ma either! She’s not my ma! Ain’t fit to be anyone’s ma! Just leave me out of it. All of it!" She’d have to catch herself though because "all of it" meant Kyle and Kyle wasn’t so bad.
"It’s so sad, Shey." Kyle said once. He’d been talking to the neighborhood’s stray cats. They’d come picking through the trash cans. Why? Well, Sherry didn’t know, because what was in them? Nothing. Nothing. She watched Kyle nuzzle one lovingly before putting it gently aside. Then with a frown said, "No one wants ‘em, do they?"
"No." she agreed. "No one wants ‘em." and then Sherry felt like crying. Should she tell him she wasn‘t talking about the cats? Would it make her feel better? No!
The day she wore that ugly, pink sweater in the third grade was the day she really began hating the house. She didn’t even recognize the resemblance until everyone pointed it out to her.
"Look! A pink twinkie sweater for a pink twinkie house!"
A twinkie? Her sweater wasn’t a twinkie! In fact, if you turned the gold buttons just so to the light, it sort of sparkled like a sunset. Yeah. A pink, flowering sunset just waiting to burst. Not a twinkie! She showed them.
"Don’t see it." one said real bold like, poking another with his elbow.
"Nope. Don’t see it." the other shook his head.
"Are you sure?" Sherry’s eyes stung with tears. "Because, if I turn it this way where more sun can pound down on it, maybe..." she turned, but the sun didn’t catch it. Neither did they.
A girl in pigtails looked at her curiously. She was one of those girls that didn’t have any friends either. One of those always trying to make Sherry her friend. "Are you sure you just don’t want it to look like a sunset?" she said real gently. Her freckled face turned away anxiously from the sneers. "Because, it is the same color of the house and the house does look like a twinkie, Sherry, and..."
That’s when Sherry lost it. Don’t anyone ever pacify Sherry! No! Sherry knew what it looked like. She was the one that lived in it. That small, pink box of a place where the back porch didn’t even have windows. It used to. But, not anymore. And, a twinkie? How can a pink box look like a twinkie? A twinkie wasn’t pink. It was gold. She did the only thing she could do. Go crazy! She knew it the minute one of the teachers came running out of the school building to hold down her arms and legs from kicking them all in the face. After that, she was the crazy Sherry that lived in that small pink house on the hill.
When she calmed down, she reasoned it. Although she still couldn’t reason the teasing. It wasn’t her fault she lived there. If it was her choice, she wouldn’t live there at all. If it was her choice she wouldn’t even live in Wycliffe. That seedy, little spot by the river where everyone knew everyone else and where you couldn’t even walk down the street without someone recognizing you. Where you couldn’t say one little mite of a thing without it blowing up in your face.
She used to love the town and the river and the boats. "Where do you live?" they’d ask when she’d cross the river into Barlow.
"Wycliffe." She’d reply all proud like. Because, living in Wycliffe meant you lived right on the river. That tiny sea full of opportunity with it’s big river boat, the first in the county. The dozen or so fishing resorts. The small dining houses just a few feet from the currents. And, the large boats and barges rolling their wealth back and forth from sunset to sundown. But, after the Twinkie thing, she began hating it too.
But, she wasn’t so hard nose that she didn’t reason it. After all, the pigtailed girl said the house looked like a twinkie. Maybe it did. A twinkie did have a lot of white creamy puff in the middle.
Her pink sweater had puff in the middle.
A twinkie was all billowy.
Her pink sweater was billowy.
A twinkie did sort of sparkle like a sunset.
The gold buttons on her sweater sparkled.
But, where did that leave the house? It wasn’t billowy. It didn’t sparkle. It wasn’t soft and good and sweet tasting and lovely to behold. No! It was just plain and ugly and pink with no good on the inside or out. So, how could she reason the house? She couldn’t!
But, the day she really began hating it was the day Kyle came. Yeah! Because that was the day she really felt someone would share her pain. But, he didn’t.
They were sitting on a fallen tree limb at dusk, right before the sun set. Hattie, hadn’t come home yet and just the thought of being locked out again with the darkness and the house once again jeering at her, made the hate inside her thicker. But, she began thinking, maybe, just maybe when the clouds separated, that small, pink house on the hill wouldn’t look so ugly. Maybe it would look like a twinkie or maybe a sunset or anything but what it really was.
It seemed hours just waiting and staring at it that she finally asked him. "Do you think it’s a Twinkie house?" His eyes got real big and wide in almost wonder.
"A Twinkie house?"
"Yeah, you know. Like those snacks. Those Twinkies."
"Yeah."
"Yeah?" Sherry looked at him bewildered. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He nodded.
"You really think so?" She studied the house trying to envision a Twinkie but saw nothing. Nothing but that ugly pink thing that in twilight looked even more ugly. "How?"
"How?"
"Yeah, how?"
"Dunno." he shrugged.
A cold wind blew in wrapping around their shoulders, their faces watching solemnly as the darkness settled thick above the icy jigsaw of the Mississippi.
This was how they spent most of their nights, huddled together beneath the big oak or when the wind was too harsh, the sagging roof of the porch. Maybe that’s why she hated it. Because there was no comfort in the house or the yard or even the river, gruesomely dark and empty.
After that, she dropped it. She didn’t really see any sense arguing in the cold with a five year old. But she’d catch herself often trying to make that ugly pink house into a twinkie. Maybe if she imagined the shutters and trim white. Maybe that would do it.
No. Because it’d still be the same pink house with boards falling and windows cracked.
Maybe if she spruced up the yard, bought some seed and sprinkled it around like she’d seen Mrs. Riley the neighbor do. Maybe that’d do it.
No. Because there’d still be those ugly yellow invaders that no matter how many times she cut them down, they just grew back. But, maybe it wasn’t even the house. Maybe it was the hill. Yeah. ‘cause it took forever to walk it.
Whatever it was that made it look like a Twinkie, Kyle knew. But, maybe he didn’t really know at all. Maybe he was still too young to really see it. Sherry had been young once where that pink house on the hill never really bothered her. Where her feelings were still too fresh and new to let them grab her. But, that was a long time ago. Too long ago to remember.
When Sherry found out about the other money, she was stunned. So, stunned, she had to rest the twinkie thought, because it didn’t seem right, the twinkie thought taking up space in her mind where something more pleasant should be.
Kyle had pulled his knees up to his chin thoughtfully and as they both once again stared at the house, they talked about it. "Well, what do you plan to do with it?" he asked.
"What?"
"The money."
"Oh." Sherry hadn’t really thought about it.
"Will you move?"
Move? Yes! Sherry would move. "Yes!" her face had lit with anticipation. The thought of leaving everything behind exhilarating. "Yes. I can move. I can buy me a nice house. I can... " It only took a moment for Kyle to interrupt her.
"What did he look like?"
"Who?"
"The man with the money."
"Oh." Sherry thought about it. "He was tall." she nodded. She remembered him being tall. "He had light colored hair with a mustache curving up all friendly." Or, at least she thought he had. "He had sparkling blue eyes. An expensive blue suede suite that smelt of rich cologne. His face shone like the sun. He was an.... angel. Yes! Oh, yes, an angel!" Just the remembrance caused little goose bumps to spin down her spine.
"An angel?" Kyle had stared at her in awe, small lips puckering incredulously. "Did he say anything else? I mean, besides giving you money?"
Sherry really didn’t know and shaking her head, she said so. "No. At least I don’t think so. See, well, I didn’t hear much." she admitted.
"Oh." He understood. "Hattie?"
Yes. Hattie! How Sherry loathed Hattie that day. More than ever. Did Hattie really think she had locked the door? Because, she hadn’t! And, when Sherry peeked through the small opening to the living room, Hattie was serving tea. Hattie never served tea! The man was looking around nervously and then after a moment of awkward silence, his voice so low Sherry could barely hear him, he asked, "Is she home?"
"Home?" Hattie had laughed, walking to the windows, shutting the curtains. "Probably is." she nodded. " Out playing with one of her friends, I imagine."
Liar! Sherry had thought. What friends? Hattie knew Sherry didn’t have any friends! Hattie was the reason Sherry didn’t have any friends. Sherry’s eyebrows had pinched together agitatedly as she watched the man look away disappointed, his fingers running over the worn back of the couch before settling beneath the folds of his blue suede suit. His eyes, the bluest and kindest eyes she had ever seen looking at Hattie suspiciously. "I just figured I might meet her, is all." he said.
Hattie nodded. "We’ll she more likely be coming in any minute." and then Sherry had clenched her fists together at her side. She wanted to get her just then. Do something mean and ugly, for Hattie was lying again. Lying. She had locked the door. How could Sherry even get in when the door was locked?
It was then, it really dawned on her. Hattie locked the door because... No! She wouldn’t. She wouldn’t dare! Something awful had lurched in Sherry’s stomach that moment. Such a cruel, awful feeling, that when Hattie had finally spoken again, Sherry thought she would faint.
"So, when will she get it?"
"Get it?"
"The money."
Pacing up and down the small living room, the man hesitated and Sherry couldn’t help but think how beautiful he was. He was so beautiful that for a moment, Sherry almost forgot why she had been standing there until he spoke again and then she wished he hadn’t. Wished more she hadn’t tried to eavesdrop. Why give herself over to the biggest disappointment of her life? "It’s all ready for her." he had finally said, looking around once more at the drab furnishings. "So, when she turns eighteen, she can have it."
Now, shaking, she leaned her head in her hands, the memory almost too great to bear. No. She didn’t hear much.
A strong wind blew in, creaking the house and as Kyle scampered nearer, a ghostly fog swallowed the river. It’d be a long time before she’d get that money. A long time. But, when she did, she would leave. She would be somebody. And, then she knew what she’d have to do. Perhaps it was the way Kyle clung to her with a purpose or perhaps it was the way the house once more jeered at her. But, somehow, someway she’d have to move out before her eighteenth birthday. That’d be the only way to get the money.
"But, what about me, Shey?" Kyle asked only when he was old enough to really understand. He understood he’d be left alone with Hattie.
"I’ll come back for you." she vowed, but she didn’t.
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