Authors: Lorna Byrne
This man had deliberately gone out and killed for reasons of
greed. He had planned to take the soul from someone else's
body. He had taken this soul before its time (I know some
would say that if you are murdered, then it had to be your
time, or it had to be retribution for an act in a past life – but
this is not
always
true). He took her soul and his soul felt
tremendous pain and hurt; his soul felt this because it was not
able to stop him performing this terrible act.
Her soul, that of his young murdered wife, also feels the
sadness of knowing that his soul is trapped. Her soul forgives
him. Souls always forgive; it's as if souls never give up. They
are like the angels; one soul never gives up on another.
One Monday evening, Joe was watching the news on television
and he called out to me to come quickly. On the screen was a
picture of the pawnbroker shop in Dublin which we used. I
couldn't believe what I was hearing: thieves had broken into
the shop over the weekend and everything had been cleared
out. The theft hadn't been discovered until Monday morning
and the Garda were saying they had no idea who had done it,
but that it had been well planned.
I turned to Joe and looked at him, saying, 'That means my
ring has gone.' I started to cry. 'My beautiful ring!' I was very
upset. Joe put his arm around me. 'Now we won't have it to get
us out of a jam any more. It's just not fair,' I said.
I felt lost without my ring. It meant an awful lot to me, even
though, being honest, it spent more time in the pawnbrokers
than on my finger. I hoped that maybe the police would
recover the ring, but as time went on that seemed more and
more unlikely.
A few weeks later, we got a letter in the post from the pawnbrokers.
Joe must have read it about four times for me. It
notified us that the receipt we signed at the pawnbrokers, when
we left the ring in, released them of any responsibility. They had
no liability at all for the theft of the ring when in their care.We
were gutted by this. No ring and no compensation for its loss.
Joe promised that some day he would get me another ring. I
told him it didn't matter, that no ring would mean the same to
me as that one. Joe gave me another hug and we put the letter
away.
A few days later, while sitting on the doorstep of the cottage,
Angel Michael appeared as if walking around from the back of
the house. He sat beside me on the doorstep. 'I don't feel like
talking,' I said to him. Angel Michael put his hand on my
shoulder. 'Lorna, I'm very sorry about your ring. We could do
nothing.' I turned to Michael and his radiance made me smile
a little.
'Michael, I just wish you could have done something,' I said.
'Joe is sad too. He feels he has let me down. He said the other
day that if he had been able to provide for us better then the
ring would never have been in the pawnbrokers.'
'Remember, Lorna,' Michael said, 'It's only a ring, a material
object. Just remember Joe's love.' I thought about what
Michael had said for a minute; he was right, of course. I felt
much better. I turned and smiled at Michael and then he
disappeared. I didn't give much more thought to the ring after
that.
I'm not interested in politics, but I'm very interested in peace,
and at this time, in the mid 1990s, there was a lot of talk about
peace in Northern Ireland. I asked Angel Michael about
Northern Ireland on one occasion when he was sitting with
me. He told me people would try and scupper the peace
process. It was unlikely they would succeed, but peace would
be a long time coming. It would take twenty years or so before
everything was sorted out.
Since then I have been watching and watching. I've noticed
lately how some people have become considerably more open
and giving, being forced to retreat from previous positions to
bring about peace. Michael told me that it's very important that
peace comes to Northern Ireland. It's not just important for
Ireland and Great Britain; if a terrorist group like the IRA can
become part of a government, it will show terrorist groups in
other countries that they can do it too, that there is a route to
peace other than by violence. I have been told that Ireland can
be a cornerstone for peace in the world: the devil is constantly
trying to remove it, but it is turned around again and again.
Ireland is an example of religion fighting religion, faith
fighting faith, and if Ireland can come to peace, so can other
countries – it will even have influence on Iraq, Palestine and
Israel.
I have been shown different paths for the world. At times I
have watched and been terrified. Some of the possible futures
I have been shown have been truly atrocious, and if one of
those come to pass I don't want to be alive to see it. But I have
also been shown many wonderful paths, where there is room
for everyone to live in harmony and at peace. I believe the
world in the future can be a wonderful place, but every single
individual has to play their part.
All ordinary people want peace. A woman who lived in
Northern Ireland came to see me; her husband had been killed
in the violence and her elder son was now in jail for his role as
a terrorist. It broke her heart to see how her elder son had
destroyed his life and all the pain he had caused to others. Her
younger son was now following in his brother's footsteps, and
she feared he would end up dead too. She could see no end to
this cycle of violence. Every day she went to the church to pray
for peace and to pray for a normal life – that her elder son
could come back and be a father to his young child, and that
her younger son could marry and have children.
She told me she was fed up of going to funerals and was
determined not to pass on hatred – but she saw other grandmothers
who were actively doing so. 'If those grandmothers
would stop breathing hatred into their children and their
grandchildren, it would make a very big difference,' she said.
She was trying, but it wasn't at all easy. My heart went out to
her.
As I have said before, the angels have told me that war is
easy; making and keeping peace is the difficult thing.
I had become very anxious about Joe in recent months, I could
see him deteriorating; he was losing weight and constantly
having stomach problems and his body seemed to be
shrivelling up. I called the doctor frequently, but he didn't
seem to be able to do anything.
One day when Joe was at home in bed, he became extremely
ill and disorientated. He didn't know who he was, or who I
was. He was in great distress and I was terrified I was going to
lose him. When he came around, Joe found he couldn't move
the left side of his body, and his speech was slurred.
Joe had had a stroke!
They kept him in hospital for months, doing intensive
physiotherapy and teaching him to walk and speak again. For
a long time after this he dragged his leg and I used to have to
cut up his food because he couldn't hold his fork properly.
Fortunately, after a period his speech came back to normal,
and you couldn't hear the stroke in his voice.
Sometimes when Joe was back at home recuperating, we
would go for a walk in the evening when it was dark. Joe was
embarrassed to be seen; he thought people would think he was
drunk. I used to tell him that it didn't matter what other people
thought and I walked with my arm around him (although he
was a very tall man and I'm a small woman). The angels helped
me, as I wouldn't have been able to support Joe on my own. Joe
had a habit of pushing me out to the edge of the footpath and,
but for the angels, I know we would have fallen.
I gave out to God and the angels constantly about Joe,
asking, 'Why does he have to be ill? Why can't you make him
better?Why can't you make life easier?' One day I was in tears
out in the garden, pretending to be doing something so that no
one would see my tears. Angel Michael appeared in front of
me. I almost stepped into him as I reached up to pull a leaf off
the plum tree. I sobbed at him, 'Michael, I don't want to believe
that Joe's life is coming to an end. It's too soon. Please tell God.
I don't think I could cope, I don't want Joe to die.'
'Lorna, God can hear you,' Michael replied. 'He knows what
is in your heart. Lorna, look at me, look into my eyes.What do
you see?'
As I looked into the Angel Michael's eyes, everything
seemed to vanish – even Angel Michael. His eyes turned into a
pathway full of life and light. On each side of the pathway I
could see snow-white angels and there was Joe as a young
man, healthy and strong, walking with angels, walking
towards members of his family who had already died. Joe was
on the pathway to Heaven. Seeing Joe looking so well and
happy filled my heart with joy.
At the same time, I cried out, 'Angel Michael, no! No! I don't
want Joe to die. He's too young to die; he's only in his early
forties. It's not fair!'
I stood under the plum tree crying my heart out with
Michael comforting me, his feathered wings wrapped around
me and his arms holding me tight. After a while Michael
unfolded his wings from around me and wiped the tears from
my eyes.
'Lorna, be strong now, go and take care of your family and
Joe.'
Angel Michael touched my forehead and in a flash of light he
was gone.
A few weeks later, I was asked by a friend to see a family the
following evening. I was a little hesitant about seeing them
because of Joe and because the children would be home from
school; with dinner, sports, homework and all that going on in
that small house, I was a little reluctant to agree, but I did.
The next evening, to my surprise, Joe got up for dinner and
decided he would go and visit a friend with Christopher. I kept
looking at Joe; his soul seemed to be one step in front of him
all the time. I was really frightened and told him he needn't go
out, that I could see the family in the kitchen. Joe said that he
felt he shouldn't be there when the family was visiting, and not
to worry as Christopher would be with him.
A knock came at the door. The family had arrived early. Joe
and Christopher passed the visitors in the hall.
Just as the family were leaving, Joe arrived back and again
they passed each other in the hall. I said goodbye at the front
door and, when I came back into the kitchen, Joe looked
extremely pale and seemed a little agitated. I put the kettle on
straightaway, made tea and put about four spoonfuls of sugar
into it for him. I insisted he sit down and drink it immediately.
I made a sandwich and poured him another cup of tea. As I
stood at the opposite end of the table, watching him, I asked,
'Are you sure you are feeling okay?'
'I'm fine,' he replied, 'There's no need to fuss.'
He could only have taken about two bites out of the
sandwich when the atmosphere changed in the room. At that
moment, Ruth, in night clothes and bare feet, opened the
kitchen door and asked, 'Mum, can I ring a friend about
homework?'
I looked from Ruth to Joe and then back to Ruth. 'Yes, but
be quick,' I replied. Everything happened in slow motion, the
only sound to be heard was Ruth was dialling the number and
the clicking sound of the dial, then her voice saying 'Hello'.
Then it happened: Joe took an extremely bad turn. I had
always done my best never to allow the children to see this
happening. Ruth started screaming hysterically as her Dad
went into convulsions. I was trying to help Joe and my
daughter at the same time. I knew Joe was dying and I needed
help. I cried silently, 'Angels, help!', as I said to Ruth, 'Go and
get Christopher.'
It turned out that Christopher had gone to the shops and
wasn't there to help. I told Ruth to dial 999, ask for an
ambulance and give our address. Ruth spoke hysterically to
someone on the other end of the phone line. When she had
done this, I told her to go quickly and fetch a neighbour to
help. Ruth ran out the door screaming, still barefoot.
I was standing beside Joe, holding onto him and praying. I
was doing all I could to help him physically, holding him as he
sat slumped at the kitchen table. No sooner had Ruth gone out
the door than there was a flash of light. Joe and I, sitting at the
table in the centre of the room, became encased in what looked
like an enormous ice cube or cube of crystal. The cube was
hollow in the centre and extremely cold. I could see my breath,
yet I felt warm. There was no breath coming from Joe's mouth;
he had stopped breathing and his lips were going blue. I cried
out, 'Angels, I am not prepared for this!'
Snow-white angels walked into the cube. I screamed and
cried, 'No, God! Please don't take Joe yet. Let him stay in this
world a little longer.'
I watched with great pain in my heart as Joe's soul moved
out of his body completely and the path that Angel Michael
had shown me appeared. I could see Joe as I had seen him
before: his soul radiant, beautiful angels walking with him
and, in the distance further down the path, members of his
family waiting to welcome him. As he walked towards them, I
was still asking God to please let Joe stay in this world for a
little longer, for him not to die just yet, that I still needed him
and so did the children.
I suddenly felt great warmth as God's voice spoke, 'Lorna, I
will give him back to you only this once, but you must never
ask again.' God spoke with a firm voice. I knew he was being
stern with me for asking for something I should not have asked
for. I felt like I had as a child when an adult was cross with me.
God spoke with such power of authority that I knew I should
not have asked. God's words stayed in my mind constantly
from then on, I must never ask again.
Suddenly Joe's body sat up. He opened his mouth and it was
as if life was sucked back into his human body. As his soul reentered
his body, the life force was unbelievable. It was only
then that I had noticed that it was Joe's guardian angel who
had sat him up. Joe turned to me and spoke in a whispered
voice. 'I think I was on my way to Heaven.' Then he seemed to
pass out.
Only then did I become aware of the sound of Ruth and our
neighbour rushing in through the hall door and, at the same
time, heard Christopher's and Owen's voices calling out
'What's wrong?' as they ran up the drive.
When the ambulance arrived, it took a little convincing to
get Joe to go to the hospital. Eventually, though, he went and
I followed with a neighbour in a car. Some hours later, a doctor
came out to speak to me and told me that Joe was very lucky.
He had been in a coma when he had arrived at the hospital. 'Joe
must have someone watching over him,' the doctor said, as he
turned around and walked away. I smiled because I, of course,
knew he did have someone watching over him – his guardian
angel – and that God had granted the miracle and given him
back his life.