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 asked 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 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. I 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 ok-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, "Daddy hold me." He reached for me with his
little arms.
By the next day he was pronounced as having no neurological or
physical defects, 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 with 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 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 his 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. In
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 me to go with the ambulance, that they would be
near me. They were so pretty and so peaceful, and I 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 told us that "birdies" were always with us, but we don't
see them because we look with our eyes. We don't hear them because
we listen with our ears. But they are always there, you can only see
them in here (and he put his hand over his heart). They whisper
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 because 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
more 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 got 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.