These two occurrences happened to my mother in 1984. Since I was only a baby at the time, I don't remember these occurrences. However, I have heard my mother tell these stories several times, and each time, every detail is the same. The experience was so emotional for her, I am sure she'll never forget them.
In the early 1980s, my mother, father and I lived in a small house in Brooklyn, NY. Many unexplainable things occured in that house, such as strange footsteps, faucets and lights turning on and off on their own, and other things of that nature. My mother was sure there was something, or someone, living in that house other than the three of us. She mostly tried to ignore it, as long as they ignored her. Unfortunately, that wasn't to be.
In our kitchen, my mother had a line of shelves up the wall above our sink. On these shelves were sets of glassware that my mother used for special occasions. On the bottom shelf, my mother kept her watch for safe- keeping. One morning, my mother took her watch from the shelf and was fastening the clasp around her wrist when she heard a man's voice, very soft and gentle whisper directly in her ear: "Step back." My mother, surprised and confused repeated, "Step back?!' and did so. At that moment, the entire wall of shelves came crashing down at her feet, right where she had been standing. My mother was dazed, yet grateful for the warning.
She never expected to experience anything like that again, yet she did. One night as she slept, my mother felt someone tap her on the shoulder. She awoke and heard, in that same voice, "Go check on Michelle.(me)" My mother, half-asleep, rolled over and was preparing to go back to sleep when she heard it again, more urgent this time. Remembering what happened to her less than a month before, my mother got up and came into my room where I was sleeping in my crib. My mother softly called my name and laid her hand on my back. I rolled towards her and opened my eyes. Above me, a large picture of Jesus in a wooden frame was hung on the wall. This picture, just like the shelves, suddenly fell from the wall, into the crib, and fell where my head had been resting only moments before. Again, someone had saved us.
My mother and I are convinced she was spoken to by a guardian angel. Who else would look out for a young mother and her infant daughter? She has not, to this day, experienced this again, though other things happened in that house she couldn't explain away.
Although my mother was truly moved by her experience, she eventually moved from the house. The daily disturbances eventually became too much to bear. Although we've moved away, our thoughts often return to that small house in Brooklyn, where a disembodied voice protected two innocent people; and I am convinced, that no matter how many times we move, our guardian angel is always there, to watch over us, and help keep us safe.
For that, I am eternally grateful.