While lying in bed convalescing from a recent surgery, I had plenty of time to reflect—about my loved ones, the mysteries of The Universe, the discomfort of a catheter, you get the drift. One of the things that sprang to mind was another surgery I’d undergone five years earlier. At that time, personal problems had weighed heavily on my mind. They’d seemed insurmountable.
So here’s the thing. Then, like now, I’d opted for a spinal anesthetic to block the pain of the surgical slicing and dicing procedure. Drifting blissfully in and out of consciousness (mainly out) I distinctly recall surfacing long enough to have a brief, but surreal, conversation with the anesthetist, a personal friend, about her plans to ride an ostrich on her upcoming trip to Africa. After that, I drifted off again only to regain semi-consciousness, woken by the strains of Sarah McLaughlin singing In the Arms of an Angel.
This was a song I had never paid particular attention to. That day, I realized I knew every single word. The song penetrated my drugged and groggy mind, filling me with joy and peace. I felt as though a benevolent presence was sending me a message. I was safe and loved. Everything was perfect. There was nothing to worry about. After the song ended, I drifted back to sleep.
The next day, thinking I must have hallucinated the bizarre ostrich conversation, I asked my friend. She confirmed that we had, indeed, discussed ostriches. Apparently, African ostrich farms cater to adventurous tourists with a yen for bird riding. Yee-haw. The music slipped my mind.
Fast forward to my follow-up with the surgeon a month later. On the drive to his office, I remembered the music, and made a mental note to tease him about it. Here’s how the conversation went down:
Me: You have excellent taste in music. I guess you were tapping into your feminine side.
Doctor: <staring at me as though I had grown two heads> What are you talking about?
Me: You were playing Sara McLaughlin’s In the Arms of an Angel during my surgery.
Doctor: No way!
Me: Sure you did, and I really appreciated it. I found it very comforting.
Doctor: But there was no music that day. If I’d played anything, it would have been AC/DC or heavy metal. I detest Sara McLaughlin. I’d never play that.
Was the music merely my mind playing drugged-out tricks on me, or did I receive a message from a Divine Presence? I choose to believe it was a musical message, delivered especially to give me hope.
Since hearing that music five years ago, two of my most pressing personal problems are now resolved in ways I could never have foreseen, and I have faith the remaining are unfolding exactly as intended.
Here’s a link to Sara McLaughlin’s In the Arms of an Angel:
Has anyone else received a similar message or communication? If so, I would love to hear from you.
