Do you love a good story about angelic visitations? Buckle up — every word you are about to read is true. But first, realize two truths about the Angelic race.

First, they are real. The Bible is filled with stories of visitations from this mysterious creation of God. From Jacob’s ladder and his wrestling match, to Sodom and Gomorrah, shepherds in the fields, or seated inside the empty tomb of Jesus, the Angelic race has been intertwined with humans for thousands of years. They’re not extinct. Angels are mentioned 71 times in the Book of Revelation alone.

And secondly, their job is this:

“Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvation?” Heb 1:14 NIV

The NLT puts it this way:

“Therefore, angels are only servants — spirits sent to care for people who will inherit salvation.”

They are sent, dispatched, and assigned on a mission by God. For whom? The saved…or those who will be saved.

Got it? Good. Now let’s talk about Mexican angels. And we’ll start with the recipient of that divine spiritual salsa: my stepfather Fred.

After my birth father was murdered, Fred adopted us when my mom remarried. I was seven at the time. He was a devout Christian who took us to church regularly. Then came Vietnam, and his two tours over there. He came back with cancer from exposure to Agent Orange. And a potent hatred of God and all things Christian. He never talked about what happened over there.

After my powerful conversion to Christianity from Wicca, conversations became tense. Every time we were in the same room, he felt the need to blaspheme God. He was always telling me “what Jesus’ problem was.” I see that vitriol in so many authors on Medium today. He never squelched my passion and fire for all things Jesus, but we respectfully agreed to disagree on spiritual matters.

Hang in there! We’re getting to Mexican Angels, I promise. But first, let’s set the stage.

During the last six months of his life, he was in a device called a “halo.” His spine had deteriorated so much that he had bolts in his skull to keep his head steady.

I went to live with him, care for him, feed him, clean him up after he soiled himself, and receive the daily barrage of anti-God rhetoric. I didn’t care. My shield of faith was strong. And I understood that hurting people hurt other people. It was a great six months. And I am eternally grateful that God allowed me to discuss eternity with him regularly. He was convinced that if God were real, He would be pacified by being handed a Lone Star beer at the judgment. If God drank beer, I’m sure it wouldn’t be Lone Star. (My apologies if you work for Lone Star beer.)

Now, Mexican Angels. (Not a biker gang)

I lived in Dallas, Texas, and he lived in San Antonio. My wife and kids remained in Dallas while I stayed with him. His condition worsened, and he was put in a military hospital, never to return home again. Three days before “A Day,” I walked into his room to see him alone. But he was talking out loud to somebody. He wasn’t on the phone, and the television was off.

“Dad, who are you talking to?” I asked.

“You can’t see them?” He was pointing upward.

“No, Dad, I can’t.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the pain meds or something spiritual was happening. I now understand that the veil between the physical and spiritual realms was being torn in two. I would leave to get lunch at the cafeteria and return to find him conversing with unseen guests.

One day before “A Day,” I told him and his nurse I would head to Dallas for only one day because it was Father’s Day, and I would return late the next night. His nurse and I developed a great relationship. She was a Christian, and we both prayed for him continually.

I made the five-hour trek to Dallas on “A Day.” And hadn’t been there long when I received the phone call that he had passed. His nurse told me she had a story to tell. She was crying. I made the trip back in only four hours. And walked into an empty room. They had already removed his body.

The Spiritual Invasion of “A-Day”

I sat with her at the nurse’s station. She told me he had been talking to the air for hours and made up excuses to walk by his room intentionally so she could look in and figure out what was happening.

He hit the red button by his bed, which summoned a nurse. When she walked in, she rearranged his pillows and sheets and heard him ask to speak with a Chaplain. It was no problem — every military hospital has Chaplains on staff. She would go back to the nurses’ station and call downstairs for one.

As she left the room, someone passed by her and walked into it. The nurse assumed Fred had already called downstairs for someone to come up. The stealthy visitor pulled up a chair, sat beside him, took him by the hand, and began praying. The visit was short. And then he left.

When she walked back in, Fred looked at the ceiling and asked out loud, “Can I have a new body?” He smiled as if he had heard an answer, relaxed, exhaled, and was gone. When she told me that, I knew instantly he had met with Jesus. If there was anything he would have wanted, it was a new body after decades of pain.

We both just sat there crying.

“What did the Chaplain look like?” I asked her.

“Well, he was short and Hispanic. He was wearing an all white military Chaplain’s uniform. The name on the banner said either Garcia or Garza. I’m not sure. But here’s where it gets weird.” She told me.

“After your dad passed, I called down to let the Chaplain know he was gone. And to thank him for the prayers. A woman told me no chaplains are working today because it was Father’s Day. I said, ‘Are you sure? Because I saw one.’ The lady was emphatic and chagrined that no Chaplain showed up for work that day.”

Who came to minister to my dad that day?

The beautiful thing about his passing is that I wasn’t there, and neither was an Air Force Chaplain. I can’t claim my eloquent witness or effective prayers ushered him back into the kingdom, nor can any earthly minister. This was an eternal transaction between a broken man and the God who made him. It was the salvation of an angry and bitter son out of pure grace and mercy. The Good Shepherd left the ninety-nine and went to San Antonio, Texas, to redeem one valuable lost sheep.

God’s mercy endures forever. And he shows no favoritism. He is willing that NONE perish.

What I would give for just ten minutes with Fred today.

I have so many questions, but we will meet again someday. There will be plenty of time to discuss why our glorious King was given the name “Yeshua,” which means salvation.

Until then, I have this:

“Isn’t it obvious that all angels are sent to help out with those lined up to receive salvation?” MSG

Thank You, Chaplain Garcia, or Garza, or Whoever You Are! You brought joy to God’s throne.

“In the same way, there is joy in the presence of God’s angels when even one sinner repents.” Luke 15:10

Ruth 2:12 to you and yours! -Issachar