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Cultura y Literatura
Angels on Earth magazine

Angels on Earth magazine July/August 2020

Experience the inspiring stories that fill each issue of Angels on Earth magazine, from people just like you, who have found their hope restored, faith strengthened and lives transformed through miraculous encounters with angels. Angels still visit us today to guide us, and give us reassuring evidence of God’s eternal love. Discover the angels in your own life with Angels on Earth!

País:
United States
Idioma:
English
Editor:
Guideposts
Periodicidad:
Bimonthly
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6 Números

en este número

2 min.
down to earth

I look forward to holding this issue in my hands—when it’s delivered to my mailbox. It’s the first Angels on Earth issue our staff has put together while we’re all working from home. For now, I can only see it as a PDF on my MacBook Air. I can’t wait to turn pages while I read and tear out my favorite illustrations to one day tack up in my cubicle at the office. Now I know how you feel awaiting your next issue. Meanwhile we are Zooming like mad and getting a peek at our coworkers’ home lives. Kayo, our creative director, attends our Zoom meetings from a perfectly appointed well-lit room. No surprise there. Likewise, Allison wears festive headgear (to call them headbands would be a disservice); Mary sports her…

6 min.
after life

THE HOUSE MARV and I had called our home was deathly silent as I moved aimlessly from room to room. Our three grown children had gone back to their lives. The same with my friends. Five days after the funeral there was only me, alone with my thoughts. No one to tell how much I missed hearing his voice, his warm laugh. He’d been such a rock for me in our marriage, with his banker’s sensibility, dependable, faithful. His faith had always been stronger than mine. Now he was gone, killed by complications from pneumonia and a progressive palsy that would have left him paralyzed had he not died. I’d spent my career as a nurse. I knew the toll disease can take on a person. I was glad Marv hadn’t…

1 min.
the collector

I TIDIED UP the living room, expecting a visit from my daughter Esther and six-year-old granddaughter, Grace. Esther was going through a fierce divorce battle, and it was a terrible time for all of us. Deep in my heart rested an additional anguish: Our perfect family was now broken for all the world to see. I couldn’t let my disappointment go. Usually when things were tough, I found comfort in the sheep figurines I collected as a reminder that God would always be my good shepherd. I moved to the hutch where I kept my collection and picked each one up to dust it off. My heart sank when I noticed that one of my pair of black-and-white lambs had been knocked over. The bottom half of its leg was missing. What…

4 min.
tomatoes to the rescue

ISTOOD IN MY father’s garden one late summer evening, watching my three toddlers dig in the dirt with toy bulldozers as the last of the sunlight began to wane. I had driven up to my parents’ house that afternoon in a fit of desperation. My husband was working a double shift, my twins hadn’t napped, and I was one misstep away from a complete breakdown. “Come up,” my mom said. “Let us wear the kids out. Rest for awhile.” As the day of respite drew to a close, I was thankful but dreading the bedtime routine ahead of me, and wandered along Dad’s once-neat garden rows. The tomato plants had begun to take over their planned zones with an unruly wildness that recalled my housekeeping. I glanced at the sagging, heavy…

4 min.
me and the old oak tree

‘‘I BET IF I CLIMBED to the top of this old oak, I could see forever,” I said, looking up into the branches. Climbing trees was a rite of passage in the mountains of East Tennessee, where we lived. At 10, I’d climbed all the apple trees in the area, but to scale a huge oak—that was a real challenge. My brother Buddy Earl put his hand on my shoulder. “Brother Doug, you’re not Tarzan.” Being more of a bookworm, Buddy Earl knew all about Tarzan. He was always willing to share in my adventures as long as whatever daring deed arose, I did it first. Buddy Earl pointed to the first limb above the ground. “How do you even think you’re going to get up there?” he said. “You sure can’t jump…

4 min.
a pilot’s reckoning

I LEANED FORWARD in my pilot’s seat, straining to see any sign of the skies clearing in the distance. But there was nothing. I’d been flying my Cessna single-engine plane through thick dark clouds for more than an hour, across the length of Pennsylvania. The stress of navigating in “pea soup” was definitely getting to me. My wife, Chiqui, was next to me. Our young daughters, Almarie and Sissel, behind us. You’re putting their lives in danger, I thought. You should have never taken off from Pittsburgh in conditions like these. I was a veteran pilot, based in Guatemala and certified to fly instrument-only—that is, without being able to see the ground. But a certification didn’t take away the stress of constantly checking my altitude, that the plane was level, that…