The Journey Home Read online

  Needless to say, Mike escaped his country home as soon as he was done with high school, moving to California for his college years. He had used his sales abilities to personally finance everything he did. Now, he wished he had stayed home for a while—to be with his mom and dad during the years before the accident. He had lost precious times with his parents in his quest to escape the cold, or so he thought. He felt selfish in retrospect.

  In the dim light, Mike trudged up the front steps to his ground-floor apartment and fiddled around with his key chain. He balanced his grocery bag and slid the key into the lock. The key went in normally, but that’s when, on that Friday night, “normal” stopped for Michael Thomas. On the other side of the door was a gift—potentially a part of Mike’s destiny—something that would change his life forever.

  Due to a warped door frame, Mike had learned to use his body weight to help open the stubborn entrance to his lodgings. The result was that the door always burst open forcefully. Mike had perfected the method of balancing a bag of groceries on one hip, slipping the key into the lock, turning it, and pushing with his foot all at the same time. This maneuver required an awkward hip movement, and although it got the job done, his friend John had commented that it looked very funny indeed!

  The obstinate door flew open with the impact of Mike’s hip, startling the thief who was busy in the darkened room. With the swiftness of a frightened cat, and years of experience with the unexpected, the uninvited man, a good foot smaller than Mike, instantly darted forward, grabbed Mike’s arm, and yanked him into the room. Since Mike’s balance was in the “funny” mode of opening his sticky door, he was already in full forward motion. The thief’s action easily tumbled Mike into the apartment and smashed his large frame to the floor, where the groceries were launched against the far wall with enough force to break the seals on the packages. Just before he hit the floor, a shocked Mike, with all his bodily alarms going off at once, heard the door slam behind him—with the thief still inside! Mike caught a quick glimpse of the broken glass his face was headed for, a result of the shattered window that had allowed the smaller man to enter.

  These are often the times, recounted after the fact, when people say that things slowed down in their minds. This was not the case for Michael Thomas. The seconds screamed by in a blur, compressing time and creating overwhelming panic! The man who had broken into the apartment was determined to continue his quest to remove the apartment’s television and stereo, and he certainly didn’t care what happened to his victim. Hardly had Mike fallen to the floor, when the man was on top of him with hands like a sweaty vise gripping Mike’s throat. The man’s eyes were wide and inches from his own. Mike could feel and smell the hot, foul breath in his face, and the weight of the man’s rump on his stomach. He instinctively reacted as any person would who was about to die, and mustered up a move one might witness in a “B” movie. Despite his disorientation, and with all his force, he quickly threw his head forward, smashing against the thief’s head. It worked. The assailant, surprised by the force of the move, released his grasp long enough for Mike to violently roll to the side and try to stand up. Before he could right himself, however, the thief again attacked, this time with a strong blow to Mike’s midsection. Mike was actually lifted up by the impact, then fell back and to the left, brutally connecting with something big that he dimly realized was his aquarium. With a hellish noise, the cabinet, the aquarium, and the solitary fish joined the groceries against the back wall of the small room.

  Mike was in pain, and without breath. He gasped—his lungs on fire from oxygen deprivation—as his widening eyes watched a boot that seemed as big as Montana descend upon him. His assailant was grinning now. It happened too fast! The boot found its mark. Mike felt and heard the few bones in his throat and neck crunch in a horrible way. He gasped in horror, knowing absolutely that his air passage was gone—and perhaps his spine, too. His entire body reacted to the snapping and popping of his mutilated neck. Shock tore through his consciousness as the reality of the situation began to sink in. This was it—death was near! He tried to cry out, but his voice box wouldn’t work. There was no more air for Mike, and things quickly went dark. All was quiet. The thief hurried to conclude his night’s work, unconcerned about the very still man on the floor, when he was again startled by a racket at the much-abused apartment door.

  “What’s going on in there? Is everything all right?!” A neighbor was frantically pounding his fist on the uncompromising wood.

  The thief cursed his luck and grudgingly moved toward the broken window. He punched out some remaining glass shards to clear his way and easily slipped through.

  Mike’s neighbor, who had never actually met Mike, heard the sound of more glass breaking inside and decided to try the doorknob. Finding the door unlocked, he entered to find the apartment trashed and a man fleeing through the broken window. Moving silently in the near dark to avoid the TV and stereo oddly stacked in the middle of the room, the neighbor snapped on a light switch, and a bare bulb came to life on the ceiling.

  “Oh my God!” He heard his voice break in shock.

  In a split second, the man was on the phone dialing for help. An unconscious and critically injured Michael Thomas lay on the floor. The room was quiet now—the only sound being that of a flopping fish two feet from Mike’s head. “Cat” was wriggling among the lettuce and precooked noodles from the spilled groceries—an unsavory mix now beginning to redden from the slowly growing puddle of Mike’s blood.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Vision

  Mike woke up in unfamiliar surroundings. Then, with a flash of returning consciousness, he remembered everything. His eyes darted around, only to discern that he was not in his apartment—or a local hospital. Everything was quiet. In fact, the silence was so overwhelming that it unnerved him. There was simply no sound other than his own breathing! No cars passing by, no hum of an air conditioner—no anything! Mike managed to sit up slightly.

  He looked down to find himself lying on a strange-looking white cotlike bed. There were no covers, but he was wearing exactly what he’d had on at the time of the attack. He reached up and touched his neck. His last conscious thought was that it had been mangled, but to his relief, he could detect no sign of injury. Mike actually felt good! He gently poked himself in several places. Strangely enough, there was no injury or soreness at all. But that silence! It was driving him crazy that there was no other stimulus to his ears. The lighting was odd, too. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. It was brilliant white—a white so void of color that it hurt his eyes. He decided to examine his surroundings more closely.

  This was spooky. He wasn’t in a room—and he wasn’t outside! There was only him, the cot, and a white floor that extended as far as he could see. Mike lay back down. He knew what had happened. He was dead. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to understand that what he was observing and feeling didn’t add up correctly in the real world. But why did he still have his body?

  Mike decided to try something silly. He pinched himself to see if there was pain. He flinched and uttered a loud “Ow!”

  “How do you feel, Mike?” asked a soothing male voice.

  Mike instantly looked in the direction of the voice and saw a sight he would not forget for the rest of his life. Mike felt an angelic presence, a feeling of great love. He always went for how he FELT first, then on to what he SAW. It was his habit to describe his experiences in this manner when asked, and at this moment, he saw a figure in white that was in some way ominous, but splendorous at the same time. Were those wings, he wondered? How trite! Mike smiled at the vision in front of him, having difficulty believing it was real.

  “Am I dead?” Mike inquired stoically, but with respect to the being before him.

  “Not at all,” said the figure, who approached Mike. “It’s just a dream, Michael Thomas.” The apparition came closer, seemingly without walking. Mike saw a veiled, blurred face on the giant “man” in front of hi
s bed, but somehow it made him feel comforted, safe, and cared for. It was all he could do to continue speaking—the feeling was wonderful!

  The figure was dressed in white, but he wasn’t wearing a robe, exactly, or a suit. The garment seemed somehow to be alive, and it moved with the man as though it were skin. His face was the same—indistinct. Mike couldn’t see any folds, buttons, or creases where clothing ended and skin began, yet the odd apparel was not tight. It was gossamer, flowing—sometimes actually glowing and indistinct. Adding to the vision was that Mike’s eyes tended to blend the white of the man’s attire into the incredibly white background of his surroundings. It was actually hard to see where the figure ended and the background started.

  “‘Where am I?’ sounds like a stupid question, but I guess I am entitled to ask that,” Mike said in a very small voice.

  “You are in a sacred place,” the figure replied. “A place of your own making, and a place that is filled with great love. That is what you are feeling right now.” The angelic figure bowed to Mike, and it seemed to fill the area with even more light than was already there.

  “And you are...?” Mike asked respectfully, his voice shaking.

  “You probably guessed. I’m an angel.”

  Mike didn’t blink an eye. He knew that the vision in front of him was telling the absolute truth. The situation, however odd, was extremely real. Mike felt all of it clearly.

  “Are all angels male?” Mike regretted the question as soon as it had left his lips. What a dumb thing to ask! This was obviously a very special time. If it was a dream, then it was as real as anything he had ever experienced.

  “I’m only what you wish to see, Michael Thomas. I am not of human form, so what you see before you has been presented in order to make you comfortable. But no—all angels are not male. We are actually neither gender. We don’t all have wings, either.”

  Mike smiled again, realizing that perhaps what he was seeing was of his own making. “What do you really look like?” asked Mike, who was feeling a bit more free to speak normally to this loving being. “And why is your face hidden?” It was a valid question under the circumstances.

  “My shape would astound you, and at the same time you would feel an odd remembrance upon seeing it, for it is the way you look, also, when you are not on Earth. It simply is beyond description, so I will continue to look like this for now. As for my face, you shall see it soon enough.”

  “When I’m not on Earth?” Mike probed.

  “Earth existence is temporary, but you know that, don’t you? I know who you are,Michael Thomas. You are a spiritual man, and you understand the eternal nature of humans. Many times you have given thanks for your spiritual nature, and those of us on my side have heard every word.”

  Mike was silent. Yes, he had prayed in church and at home, but to really think it all was heard clearly was just a bit too startling to grasp. This entity in his dream knew him?

  “Where do you come from?” asked Mike.

  “Home.”

  The loving entity now seemed to be glowing directly in front of Mike’s small cot. The figure cocked its head to the side—and was patient while Mike took it all in. Mike felt tingles go up and down his spine. He had the strong sense that there was great truth standing here before him and that he had only to ask and wonderful knowledge would pour out.

  “You are right!” the angel responded to Mike’s inner musings. “What you do right now will change your future. You are feeling it, aren’t you?”

  “You can read my thoughts?” Mike inquired somewhat sheepishly.

  “No. We can feel them. Your heart is linked to the whole, you know, and we respond when you need us.”

  “We?” This was getting spooky. “I only see you.”

  The angel laughed, and the sound was spectacular. What energy that laughter had! Mike felt every cell in his body resound with the humor the angel expressed. Everything the angel did was fresh, larger than life, and somehow there a wonderful remembrance of something deep within Michael’s subconscious. Mike was stunned at the sound but said nothing.

  “I speak to you with the voice of one, but I represent the voices of many,” stated the angel as he held out his arms, letting the odd gar-ment/ skin flow and undulate from the move. “There are many in service to each human,Michael. This will become obvious to you, if you choose it to be.”

  “I DO CHOOSE!” Mike shouted the words. How could an invitation like that be ignored? Then Mike felt a little embarrassed, as if he were acting like a child in front of a matinee star. He was silent for some time and watched the angel move slightly up and down, as if he were on some kind of a mini-hydraulic lift. He again mused to himself how much of what he was seeing might be the result of his desire to perceive things a certain way from watching movies, attending church, or looking at great works of art. Things were silent again—oh, that silence! The angel was obviously not going to impart information unless Mike started asking questions.

  “May I ask you about my situation?” Mike asked respectfully. “Is this really a dream? It seems so real.”

  “What is a human dream, Michael Thomas?” The angel moved slightly closer. “It is a visit into your biological and spiritual mind that enables you to receive information from my side of things—sometimes metaphorically. Did you know that? A dream may not seem like your reality, but it is actually closer to God’s reality than anything you experience regularly! Those times your father and mother came to you in your dreams—how did that make you feel? Did it seem real? It was. Remember the week after the accident when they visited you?You wept for days in response. It was THEIR reality. Their messages to you were real. They continue to share love with you even to this day, Michael, because, like you, they are eternal, also. As far as questions about your situation, why do you think you are having this dream? It is the sole purpose for this visit, and it is timely and appropriate.” Mike was pleased by the long stream of conversation from this beautiful one, who seemed increasingly familiar to him.

  “Will I come out of this situation okay? I believe I am horribly injured and that I am unconscious somewhere, perhaps dying.”

  “Depends,” said the angel.

  “On what?” inquired Michael.

  “What is it you really want, Michael?” asked the angel in a loving manner. “Tell us what it is you REALLY want. Be careful with your answer, Michael Thomas, for the energy of God is often literal. Besides, we know what you know. You cannot fool your own nature.”

  Michael wanted to be honest with his answer. The situation was becoming more real with each passing moment. He indeed remembered the vivid dreams he had about his parents right after their accident. They had come to him together in the few times he could sleep in that horrible week, and they had hugged and loved him. They told him that it was their appropriate time to leave—whatever that meant. Mike hadn’t accepted that it was.

  His parents had also told him that part of the arrangement of death was to give him a gift in their passing. He always wondered what the gift was, but then again, it was only a dream, or was it? The angel said it was real. This current experience certainly seemed real to Mike, so perhaps the parental messages were, too, just like this angel was, or is. This dream or vision is confusing, he thought with frustration!

  What is it I want? Mike asked himself. He thought about his life and all the things that had happened to him in the past year. He knew what he wanted, but he felt it was wrong to ask for it.

  “It does not suit your magnificence to withhold your innermost desires,” mused the angel to Michael.

  Drat! Mike said to himself. The angel again knows what I am about. There is nothing I can hide.

  “If you already know, then why are you here to ask me?” Mike asked. “And what’s this about me being magnificent?” For the very first time, the angel showed something other than a smile. It was a feeling of honor, of respect!

  “You have no idea what and who you are, Michael Thomas” the angel said seriously. �
�You think I am beautiful? You should see what you look like! Someday you will. As far as me knowing your thoughts and feelings, of course I do. I am here as part of your support, and therefore I am with you in many very personal ways. It is my honor to appear before you, but it is your intent that will bring change at this time. You have the choice to tell me, or to not tell me, what it is you desire most at this moment as a human. The answer has to come from your own heart, spoken out loud for all to hear—even for YOU to hear. What you do at this point will make a difference for many.” Mike took it all in. He would have to speak his truth even though it might not be what the angel wanted to hear. Mike contemplated for a moment, then he spoke.

  “I want to go HOME! I’m tired of this life as a human.” There! He had said it. He wanted out. “But I don’t want to bail out of something important to God’s plan.” Mike was passionate. “Life seems so meaningless, but I was taught that I was created in the image of God for a purpose. What can I do?”

  The angel moved to the side of the cot so that Mike could see him better. It was amazing, this vision, dream, or whatever it was. He swore he could smell violets—or was that lilac? Why flowers? The angel actually had a smell! It—he—was more beautiful the closer he got. Michael was also aware that the angel was pleased with the dialogue. He could feel it, even though he could not discern any expression on the angel’s face.

  “Tell me, Michael Thomas: Is your intent pure? Do you really want what God wants? You want to go home, but you are also somehow aware of a greater plan—so you don’t wish to disappoint us, or act spiritually inappropriate?”

  “Yes,” said Mike. “That’s it exactly. I want to leave my situation, but my desire seems like it is at odds with itself—it seems selfish.”