Throughout
our lives we are blessed with spiritual experiences, some of which
are very sacred and confidential, and others, although sacred, are meant
to be shared. Last summer my family had a spiritual experience that had
a lasting and profound impact on us, one we feel must be shared. It's a
message of love. It's a message of regaining perspective, and
restoring proper balance and renewing priorities. In humility. I
pray that I might, in relating this story, give you a gift my
little son, Brian, gave our family one summer day last year.
On July
22nd I was in route to Washington DC for a business trip. It was all so
very ordinary, until we landed in Denver for a plane change. As I
collected my belongings from the overhead bin, an announcement was made
for Mr. Lloyd Glenn to see the United Customer Service
Representative immediately. I thought nothing of it until I reached the
door to leave the plane and I heard a gentleman asking every male if
they were Mr. Glenn. At this point I knew something was wrong and my
heart sunk. When I got off the plane a solemn-faced young man came
toward me and said, "Mr. Glenn, there is an emergency at your
home. I do not know what the emergency is, or who is involved, but I
will take you to the phone so you can call the hospital. My heart was
now pounding, but the will to be calm took over. Woodenly, I
followed this stranger to the distant telephone where I called the
number he gave me for the Mission Hospital. My call was put
through to the trauma center where I learned that my
three-year-old son had been trapped underneath the automatic garage door
for several minutes, and that when my wife had found him he was dead.
CPR had
been performed by a neighbor, who is a doctor, and the paramedics had
continued the treatment as Brian was transported to the hospital.
By the time of my call, Brian was revived and they believed he would
live, but they did not know how much damage had been done to his brain,
nor to his heart. They explained that the door had completely closed on
his little sternum right over his heart. He had been severely crushed.
After speaking with the medical staff, my wife sounded worried but not
hysterical, and I took comfort in her calmness. The return flight seemed
to last forever, but finally I arrived at the hospital six hours after
the garage door had come down. When I walked into the intensive care
unit, nothing could have prepared me to see my little son laying so
still on a great big bed with tubes and monitors everywhere. He
was on a respirator. I glanced at my wife who stood and tried to give me
a reassuring smile. It all seemed like a terrible dream.
I was
filled in with the details and given a guarded prognosis. Brian was
going to live, and the preliminary tests indicated that his heart was
okay--two miracles, in and of themselves. But only time would tell
if his brain received any damage.
Throughout
the seemingly endless hours, my wife was calm. She felt that Brian would
eventually be all right. I hung on to her words and faith like a
lifeline. All that night and the next day Brian remained unconscious. It
seemed like forever since I had left for my business trip the day
before. Finally at two o'clock that afternoon, our son regained
consciousness and sat up uttering the most beautiful words I have ever
heard spoken. He said, "Daddy, hold me," and he reached
for me with his little arms. By the next day he was pronounced as having
no neurological or physical deficits, and the story of his miraculous
survival spread throughout the hospital.
You cannot
imagine our gratitude and joy. As we took Brian home we felt a unique
reverence for the life and love of our Heavenly Father that comes to
those who brush death so closely. In the days that followed there was a
special spirit about our home. Our two older children were much closer
to their little brother. My wife and I were much closer to each other,
and all of us were very close as a whole family. Life took on a less
stressful pace. Perspective seemed to be more focused, and balance much
easier to gain and maintain. We felt deeply blessed. Our gratitude was
truly profound. Almost a month later to the day of the accident, Brian
awoke from his afternoon nap and said, "Sit down, Mommy. I have
something to tell you."
At this
time in his life, Brian usually spoke in small phrases, so to say a
large sentence surprised my wife. She sat down with him on his bed and
he began his sacred and remarkable story. "Do you remember when I
got stuck under the garage door? Well it was so heavy and it hurt
really bad. I called to you, but you couldn't hear me. I started to cry,
but then it hurt too bad. And then the 'birdies' came." "The
birdies?" my wife asked, puzzled. "Yes," he replied.
"The birdies made a whooshing sound and flew into the garage. They
took care of me." "They did?" "Yes," he
said. "One of the birdies came and got you. She came to tell you I
got stuck under the door." A sweet, reverent feeling filled the
room. The spirit was so strong and yet lighter than air. My wife
realized that a three-year-old had no concept of death and
spirits, so he was referring to the beings who came to him from beyond
as "birdies" because they were up in the air like birds that
fly. "What did the birdies look like?" she asked. Brian
answered. "They were so beautiful. They were dressed in white...
all white. Some of them had green and white. But some of them had on
just white." "Did they say anything?" "Yes," he
answered. "They told me the baby would be alright." "The
baby?" my wife asked, confused. And Brian answered. "The baby
laying on the garage floor." He went on, "You came out and
opened the garage door and ran to the baby. You told the baby to stay
and not leave." My wife nearly collapsed upon hearing this, for she
had indeed gone and knelt beside Brian's body and seeing his crushed
chest and unrecognizable features, knowing he was already dead, she
looked up around her and whispered, "Don't leave us Brian, please
stay if you can."
As she
listened to Brian telling her the words she had spoken, she realized
that the spirit had left his body and was looking down from above on
this little lifeless form. "Then what happened?" she asked.
"We went on a trip," he said, "far, far away..." He
grew agitated trying to say the things he didn't seem to have the words
for. My wife tried to calm and comfort him, and let him know it
would be okay. He struggled with wanting to tell something that
obviously was very important to him, but finding the words was
difficult. "We flew so fast up in the air."
"They're so pretty Mommy." he added. "And there is lots
and lots of birdies." My wife was stunned.
Into her
mind the sweet comforting spirit enveloped her more soundly, but with an
urgency she had never before known. Brian went on to tell her that the
'birdies' had told him that he had to come back and tell everyone about
the "birdies". He said they brought him back to the house and
that a big fire truck, and an ambulance were there. A man was bringing
the baby out on a white bed and he tried to tell the man the baby would
be okay, but the man couldn't hear him. He said birdies told him he had
to go with the ambulance, but they would be near him. He said they were
so pretty and so peaceful, and he didn't want to come back. And
then the bright light came. He said that the light was so bright and so
warm, and he loved the bright light so much. Someone was in the bright
light and put their arms around him, and told him, "I love you, but
you have to go back. You have to play baseball, and tell everyone about
the birdies." Then the person in the bright light kissed him and
waved bye-bye. Then, whoosh!, the big sound came and they went into the
clouds."
The story
went on for an hour. He taught us that "birdies" were always
with us, but we don't see them because we look with our eyes and we
don't hear them because we listen with our ears. But they are always
there, you can only see them in here (he put his hand over his
heart). They whisper the things to help us to do what is right because
they love us so much. Brian continued, stating, "I have a plan,
Mommy You have a plan. Daddy has a plan. Everyone has a plan. We must
all live our plan and keep our promises. The birdies help us to do that
cause they love us so much." In the weeks that followed, he often
came to us and told all, or part of it again and again. Always the story
remained the same. The details were never changed or out of order. A few
times he added further bits of information and clarified the
message he had already delivered.
It never
ceased to amaze us how he could tell such detail and speak beyond his
ability when he spoke of his "birdies". Everywhere he went, he
told strangers about the "birdies." Surprisingly, no one
ever looked at him strangely when he did this. Rather, they always get a
softened look on their face and smiled. Needless to say, we have not
been the same ever since that day, and I pray we never will be. |