The Gift of an Angel: A Journey to Integrating Spirituality Into Everyday Life

By Wendy Jane Erlick

This is a book about angels and angelic verification. It contains a true story and a channelled vibration of comfort and love. It has been channelled and written to assist with the realignment and the post-2012 'great shift' we are currently undertaking. This is also a book about the process of being able to channel messages and verify them, to have faith and surrender. It is about being on a spiritual path, about finding your life’s work, about being free but also having fun; it is about taking responsibility, to be able to laugh at absurdity and not taking all of this too seriously on the one hand and taking it very seriously indeed on the other. For being on a spiritual path is a journey to integration and joy, a journey in which we are the hero or heroine, however unlikely a label that may seem. And if it is as serious as that it is also as joyous and wild as that. The Gift of An Angel will inspire and assist anyone setting out on their own spiritual journey, especially if this includes the desire to connect to angelic realms.

• Language: English
• Publisher: John Hunt Publishing
• Release date: May 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781785350061

Wendy Jane Erlick

Wendy Jane Erlick is an angel channeller and healer as well as an executive coach. She currently works from Watkins Bookshop as an angel channeller and coach, on a weekly basis.

Book preview

now.

Part One

Ordinary Life

He spoke softly and his eyes were sombre as he looked at Ged. You thought, as a boy, that a Mage is one who can do anything. So I thought once. So did we all. And the truth is that as a man’s real power grows and his knowledge widens ever the way he can follow grows narrower; until at last he chooses nothing, but does only and wholly what he must do…

The Loosing of the Shadow, page 73, The Earthsea Quartet by Ursula Le Guin (Penguin, 1993)

Chapter One

I was born in April 1960. A Silver Rope accompanied me throughout my childhood. This is how it all started and ended.

I grew up in Loughton, in Essex, an English county that is close to London but in the early 1960s was still unspoiled, rural countryside. We lived high on a hill, at the end of a terrace of houses that barely constituted a street. From my bedroom window I could see the rooftop of the home of my paternal grandparents. They lived above their corner shop that sold everything from household items to groceries; they had cultivated a large vegetable garden behind the shop for their own use. Further in the distance, I could see the smaller rooftop of the home of my maternal grandparents. I was close to and loved all the members of my extended family that included two uncles and four aunts.

I was born to my mother two weeks after her twenty-first birthday in the army hospital in Fleet, near to Aldershot, Surrey. I can remember feeling very happy when I was a small child; in fact my earliest childhood memory dates back to age one or two. I can clearly remember branches of trees and the movement of dappled sunshine. After I was born my mother had moved from the army barracks in Aldershot and brought me back to Loughton. We lived in a one-bedroom beige caravan in the large vegetable garden behind the corner shop of my paternal grandparents, Albert and Florence. I was the first grandchild, doted on by all my grandparents. I had the freedom to roam in the garden when I liked; I loved that garden. My father visited when he was on leave from his regiment. This period of time was a life of peace and plenty.

My happy life came to an abrupt end when I was three years old; my eldest brother was born. It was not only the displacement of being the adored only child in the family that caused me consternation, but the loss of freedom. We moved to an apartment in another location far from the vegetable garden where I could no longer run around as free as a bird. My parents were allocated a flat by social housing in a rougher area closer to London, far from my grandparents and their love. As far as I was concerned I was incarcerated; rightfully so, I was not permitted to leave the flat by myself in this urban location but I felt my wings were clipped at a very young age. I also dearly missed the company and kindness of four wonderful grandparents and my lively aunts and uncles.

While we were living in this urban flat there was an incident that I do not wish to disclose in its entirety; it is enough to say it caused me to feel completely terrified of one of my parents and, I now realize unfairly, betrayed by the other. At the time of this incident I made a conscious decision that I did not wish to live with my parents but, of course, I had no choice; therefore subconsciously I deliberately detached from relating to them. I lived a very depressed life from that point onwards; I didn’t care if I lived or died. Because I did not wish to incur any issue with my parents that would shake my world, I kept to myself and did whatever I had to do to go from A to B until bedtime.

My first brother was born in 1963, another brother in 1965 and my youngest in 1968. By now we had returned to Loughton, Essex. Times were tough economically for our family. After my father fulfilled his duties in the Parachute Regiment of the British Army he became an ice cream man. Ice cream trade was better in the summer than in the winter; therefore the money flow in our house was erratic. Conditions improved marginally when my father obtained work as a milkman; this was not seasonal work, and it also meant that then we had fresh milk daily in the house and double cream on Sundays. Full credit goes to my mother; with ingenuity she was able to stretch any provision we had that little bit further.

When I was not in school I could usually be found in the home of my maternal grandparents or working for a salary in my grandmother Florence’s corner shop. In this way I felt protected by my extended family. This situation suited me because I had this great need to be away from our family home.

At home, I was allocated the role of ‘helping Mum look after the boys’ but I resisted this role at every opportunity. I was an avid reader and a frequent library-goer; reading was my comfort and my escape from being a ‘child carer’ before ‘my time’. I would call into the library and would take my full quota of books out at one go, twelve at a time, and ‘consume’ them; read at every available moment in my bedroom. When I was not at my grandparents’ or reading I could be found walking in the nearby Epping Forest, a beautiful place that I regarded as my respite. I did not watch television or listen to music. It was too chaotic in our home with my three younger brothers and all of the ‘business’ flying between my parents.

My oases of peace and safety were the homes of my grandparents and I loved them. But my best source of support and comfort and strength was a glowing Silver Rope that I saw in the etheric; it appeared and helped me when I truly needed it. It came into my life one day in my fifth year. I was walking along the street in Loughton, Essex, with my mother; we were far from anything familiar to me. She pushed a large carriage pram of which she was very proud. It had been bought for me at great expense just after I had been born. Now it contained two of my brothers: one a baby, the other a toddler. My mother had informed us we were going to walk a long way; there was somewhere she needed to go, something urgent she needed to do. I remember feeling cold and hungry. I was an empathetic child, fully aware of my mother’s emotions; of her despair, anger and dismay at our poverty-stricken and difficult situation. I cannot now remember where we were going, all that I can recall is I did not want to walk anywhere. It was very bad weather and I was very tired; I did not feel I had the strength to go anywhere. A terrible feeling consumed me: I saw no reason at all to live; I had full knowledge of our situation and hated it.

In hindsight, I think I absorbed all my mother’s feelings into my small soul and I could not contain what was happening. My despair was so great I think God took compassion on me, and heard the prayer I was calling out inside of my head. I was begging God to take me home; I was feeling very scared and getting more and more upset.

Suddenly, a Silver Rope appeared before me, just like that! The Silver Rope ran out of my tummy and extended as far as I could see into the space ahead of me. The Silver Rope had a double light around it like a halo. It was perfectly straight, about twenty or so feet in length. When I was five, I recall not seeing where it disappeared to but it seemed to be pulling me in the direction we were going. As soon as we arrived at our destination the Rope disappeared. I didn’t tell anyone about the Silver Rope; like Alice when she fell down the rabbit hole in Lewis Carroll’s Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. I didn’t see the experience as anything out of the ordinary. But from that day onwards whenever I was in real need throughout my childhood the Silver Rope would suddenly appear and pull me along. This Silver Rope gave me an enormous boost of support; an energy that radiated out of me but was part of me and filled my body with hope. I loved it whenever the Silver Rope appeared; the feeling it gave me was that I was sure everything would be all right, whenever it was there. I had this experience with the Silver Rope until I was sixteen.

When I was sixteen years old I met Adam* who became my boyfriend. Adam’s mother welcomed me into her home like a daughter. The family lived in Chigwell, Essex. Adam’s family were Jewish. His mother kept a kosher home; the family ethic was born out of a strong sense of Jewish identity and pride. I felt instantly welcome and appreciated in Adam’s home; I felt safe and respected.

The Silver Rope stopped appearing when I met Adam: I think because I had found a safe haven and also I was learning how to look after myself and go where I needed to go to get what was best for me and my future. I left for university two years later when I was eighteen. Adam’s family was responsible for introducing me to a new way of looking at life, for totally changing my outlook on family values and loving-kindness.

Looking back on my childhood now that I am a mother myself, I can see that my own mother had been greatly challenged and suffered dearly. Within it all, she was able to give me enough love and the freedom to extricate myself. I was the first child of my family to go to university. She encouraged me to do so; she wanted me to have a chance of being economically independent through a good quality education. I am grateful to her for this vision. And the meaning and purpose behind the Silver Rope? In hindsight, I wonder if it was just that at five years of age I was lucky enough to be able to see that which every human being has: an umbilical cord to the Divine to help see us through all of our days.

*Name changed to protect privacy.

Chapter Two

It is the autumn of 1979. I am a student at the University of Hull in the north of England. I am reading Sociology and Social Anthropology; it is my second year. I am nineteen years old. I am a member of the Hull University Fell Walking and Rambling Association. Around eighty people meet monthly and take an excursion to a popular walking trail; we travel to the starting point of each walk by coach.

I am sitting on the side of the road in the Yorkshire Dales, an area of outstanding natural beauty about fifty miles from the university campus. I can feel a light chilly wind coming up from the dip in the valley. It is around 10am. It is a damp and misty morning. The air is chilled, sharp. There is confusion and chaos around me: screaming, distress. The two-coach excursion has turned into a nightmare; our coach slipped on agricultural mud and turned onto its roof. Thankfully I managed to crawl out of a smashed window. The coach behind us managed to make an emergency stop. At this moment, every able-bodied person is trying to turn the coach back on to an even footing. No emergency services have arrived yet. There is a dense atmosphere with energy of subdued shock. I am disorientated; I was sleeping when the coach crashed. I am fully alert now, watching, but I cannot move. An excruciating pain shoots down my back. Am I in a dream? I don’t understand what is going on.

I look at the upside down coach. Above the wheels and base of the coach is a bright iridescent rainbow light. Silvery white humanlike forms that resemble what I assume must be Angels; a vortex of light streaming through reaches out hands towards the roof of the coach.

Today, I know now that I saw Angelic forms, welcoming the souls of the people that were dead under the coach. But at the time, in the autumn of 1979 I did not know what was going on; all I saw was this magnificent scene of beauty and Angelic activity. The pleas of the passengers ebbed and flowed because I also heard a sound of music that to be honest I have no words to describe; the only reference that I can give it now is that it was classical in tone and cantorial. Oddly, in the midst of this horrific scene of mayhem I could palatably feel a heightened sense of anticipation and joy. From the ground where I sat I also felt a throbbing sensation. I wanted to tell people – to tell everyone in my midst – to stop what they were doing because the Angels were here and there was no need for them to do anything. Surely they knew there was nothing my friends and fellow students could do for the people stuck under the coach. Four of our group of people died that day including three fellow students and a friend of mine who sat behind me in the coach.

I endured three hairline fractures in my lower back. I refused the offer of an ambulance; I felt that others needed it more than me. I didn’t think that I could accept assistance as all my life until that time I had not been good at accepting help. In fact, I preferred to draw back and put others before myself. I made a mistake that day. My shortsighted decision meant a longer road to physical recovery but I was young and healed nonetheless.

Looking back on this tragedy in the Yorkshire Dales, I consider a verse from the holy writings of Kohelet (Ecclesiastes 3:1–8) printed below.

For all of the trials and tribulations I endured that day and thereafter, I am deeply grateful I survived. I am deeply grateful for my life. In His infinite kindness God decided on that day I was not to die. I am forever grateful for His mercy.

I quote this verse in the memory of the dearly departed souls who ascended to Heaven that day. May they rest in peace:

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:

A time to be born, and a time to die;

A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted;

A time to kill, and a time to heal;

A time to break down, and a time to build up;

A time to weep, and a time to