Loud Angels, Too
Believe it or not,Angels even yell sometimes.
September 7,`1978,six friends were on the beach at Lummi Island razzing
my friend,Woody and his hippy buddy for saying "it will be cool to hang
out with our two friends at Jonestown maybe a couple years". When I stopped
to chat,the six said to them"you are crazy. You will have to give him your
unemployment checks and everything. Way out in the jungle like that, he
could even kill the whole darn bunch of you". That didn't faze them. Then
I got back in my car to go about three blocks to my Dad's house. All at
once,here came an inaudible voice almost screaming "IF WOODY GOES DOWN
THERE,HE WONT COME BACK. HE WILL DIE THERE". It felt like the car was full
of electricity. Three numbers,about three inches tall, plainly appeared
at the top of the windshield, 9-2-0, with the voice, that is how many will
die. I thought "no,it is just too many--maybe 620? --oh, no,The Lord is
right". It was physically impossible to get out of my car for several minutes,then
told Dad and my stepmother "I just have to tell Woody". Soon,Woody came
to help pull Dad's skiff up the beach. He said "I believe you",and then
of all things "it might be OK,anyway". That is how we parted. When the
news appeared, I went over the lists of 920 victims at least three times,
and did not see his name. Next April, he came walking down the beach "no
big deal. We just decided we wouldn't go".
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