Conversations with My Guardian Angel

When I was about three years old, I had two imaginary friends: Jake and Joe. I walked through the house, holding hands with both of them, having conversations with them, and even turning sideways when we passed through the house’s doorways. They say that kids who have just one imaginary friend tend toward being geniuses—and I had two! But at about that same time, Mom was pregnant with my little sister, and the adults in the family probably referred to the pending arrival as “Jake” or “Joe,” and I picked up on it. I may not be a genius after all.

My pastor, Rick, has been meeting me for lunch at my house for the last few months while I experience a cancer journey. Our talks are enjoyable because we both feel free to express anything that is on our minds, secular or spiritual.

Of course, many of the topics have been of a spiritual nature because I value his opinion and enjoy getting questions answered and hypotheses tested. We have talked about afterlife, relationships to Jesus, being called to ministry, miracles, and my desire to write a spiritual autobiography.

One day, the subject of guardian angels came up. I told Rick I thought I had one. He seemed a little flummoxed, but he restrained himself from expressing his shock. I related how my guardian angel stood beside me during an MRI on my brain. He was about ten feet tall with arms folded across his chest, and he stood beside me, quietly radiating his presence. Don’t think of him as the genie in Disney’s Aladdin or the giant rabbit in Jimmy Stewart’s Harvey. He’s much more than that: he is more of an anthropomorphic spirit providing a link directly to God Himself.

I was engaging with a vaporous spirit: seeking comfort, seeking understanding, seeking wisdom, seeking reassurance. Yes, it seems like daily affirmations, but it’s not. It’s more like prayer, engaging in a spiritual practice that seems to be helping me.

What is involved with anthropomorphism? One of the characters in the Aladdin movie is Iago, a parrot that speaks like a human (of course) and moves his appendages like a human. He is an animal assuming a human form, just like Mickey and Minnie Mouse. They speak like humans, walk upright, and use human gestures. In the movie Oh, God!, God (played by George Burns) shows up on earth as a little old man, smoking a cigar. The Greeks had anthropomorphic gods and depicted their human forms in beautiful sculptures. Our God sent Jesus to earth in human form.

Consequently, I was able to experience the presence of God through my guardian angel, who had also assumed a human form. The experience was reassuring. Once Rick heard more about it, he didn’t laugh or seem incredulous. In fact, he thanked me for sharing that story.

But the story has ramped up since then. Blame it on “chemo brain,” if you wish, but now my guardian angel has silent conversations with me in my mind, and he talks back to me. An interesting phenomenon about his responses is that they are quick, terse, and actually jam right up into my statements. Like he knows what I’m thinking and can unhesitatingly anticipate his response. It’s a continuous stream of consciousness. The exchanges are easy to listen to, but they may be hard to read. Just remember that he never initiates the conversation. I am the one who always speaks first. They go something like this:

“Where are you?” “Here.”

We have had several dialogues in recent days, and here are some of them: 

“Why are you here?” “Doing my job.”

“What is your job?” “To protect you.”

In the car (apparently he can modify his size to fit the situation): “Now where are you?” “Right here beside you.” 

“What is your name?” “Quinton.”

“Quinton,” not Quentin as in “Quentin Tarantino”; “Quint” as in “quintuplets,” like the number five. Curious about the biblical usage of the number five (I can emphatically say that I’m not into numerology), I did a quick Google search. There were over 300 references to the number five in the Bible: five wounds on Jesus at the crucifixion, on the fifth day of Creation, death? Skip that last one, and concentrate on the one that says the number five represents God’s grace and favor.

Maybe it’s just Quinton. “Are you still here?” “Yes.” 

“Help me.” “I am.”

“Am I going to get through this all right?” “Yes, God isn’t through with you yet.” 

“Don’t leave me.” “I won’t. I am always with you. Right beside you.”

“Quinton, thanks.” “Welcome.”

Notice that he doesn’t say “You’re welcome.” Does he want it to have a double meaning, like a welcome mat welcoming me to this relationship? Sometimes things get very serious:

“Why me?” “Why not you? You deserve a blessing. And many will follow.” 

“Please help me calm down.” “I can do that. It has already begun.“

“Am I going to die?” “Someday. Not now. You have work to do.”

“Quinton, I am weary.” “Of course you are. Don’t despair. It will get better.” 

There is never any I’ll try. It’s always I will. No equivocating.

And then there is the reassurance: always reassuring. “Quinton, are you here?” “Right beside you.” 

“Quinton, I need you.” “I’m here.”

“Quinton?” “Yes?”

“Just checking. . . .” “You don’t have to do that. I am always with you.”

It’s an ongoing conversation: instantaneously available. He is omnipresent, confident, and quietly reassures me that I am not alone. God’s representative is right beside me at all times. No doubt, some would interpret this behavior as self-soothing therapy. Obviously, it calms me and helps me cope with anxiety and stress—immediately.

Nevertheless, it reminds me of The Presence in the Midst, the painting by James Doyle Penrose. Our church has an artistic interpretation of it in our meetinghouse office. It’s a depiction of Matthew 18:20. According to that verse, Jesus says, “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there I am in the midst of them” (KJV). In the painting, male and female Quakers are engaged in silent worship as the vaporous spirit of Jesus appears among them.

That’s it! That is what was happening to me! It is a form of silent worship. I was engaging with a vaporous spirit: seeking comfort, seeking understanding, seeking wisdom, seeking reassurance. Yes, it seems like daily affirmations, but it’s not. It’s more like prayer, engaging in a spiritual practice that seems to be helping me.

Once, I thought Quinton had deserted me. I was having an allergic reaction during an infusion, and I closed my eyes and said, “Where are you?” and he said, “Open your eyes.” When I did, I saw about six or seven medical professionals standing in an array in front of me: my nurse, Jenny, who immediately took action; my nurse practitioner, Andrea, with her calm, reassuring voice telling me to “breathe”; two or three other nurses with their computer carts; and two pharmacists. All were looking at me with caring concern and were ready to give me the help I needed. My guardian angel had morphed into a group of guardian angels, calming me with their very presence. Thankfully, that crisis ended successfully.

I finally asked my guardian angel why he was having these conversations with me. 

“To help you understand.” 

“Understand what?” He quickly answered, “That God loves you and wants you to serve Him.”

Understood.

There have already been other conversations with Quinton: anytime, anyplace. There will be more; he is always there. Call it “chemo brain,” “dementia,” or even “looney tunes,” but he’s real to me. Just like Jake and Joe were.