Touched by an Angel

By Maury Way

Touched by an Angel is a short story of a country-boy-turned-flight-instructor who was miraculously awarded angelic protection throughout his life through the promises found in Psalm 91. From dealing with the mafia figures who welded real machine guns to FBI and DEA agents who were waiting for their turn to take him down, his destiny was written in another book, and the author was God.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Sep 9, 2019
• ISBN: 9781644163436

Book preview

Introduction

This is a story about a country boy-turned-flight-instructor, his many struggles throughout his life, his accomplishments, his failures as well as his many victories through death-laden challenges.

This work also encircles his many friends and acquaintances that he has developed in his life, their struggles and victories, including their many accomplishments. Further, this book explains how some of these friends were not quite so lucky and met their doomsday prematurely due to bad choices or mistakes they made. Hopefully, we can all learn from these mistakes.

The author has truly been protected by an angel throughout his life. The Bible proclaims that we will entertain angels unaware, and he truly has done that with the author. Others were equally blessed with their guardian angel, while unfortunately some were not. The author wishes to enlighten the angelic blessings of those who received them and record those instances of people who were not so fortunate only as a historical dialogue so that we may all grow from their experiences.

At the time of this writing, the author is handicapped, unable to type, and relies on a program called Dragon NaturallySpeaking to prepare this work. Further, his wife, Lynda, must help him dress due to this handicap. This should be proof that you, the reader, can accomplish whatever it is that you desire to accomplish. What your mind believes can be achieved.

Enjoy reading this work, as all the stories in it are true. It has been a long time coming, and the author’s hope is that it will uplift your spirits and draw you closer to Christ through your personal salvation.

Chapter 1

Early Years

Maurice T. Way was born on April 25, 1945, in Traverse City, Michigan, of Clyde and Margot Way, who resided in Williamsburg, Michigan. Clyde and Margot were raised on farms. Both parents were professed Christians and taught their children to be the same. They were very poor in those years but worked hard and provided for their family.

From the very beginning, I was touched by an angel, because at birth, I had a medical issue that could have taken my life but didn’t. I have been advised by several not to mention the medical term for this situation, but trust me, it was fixed. I was truly touched by an angel.

In his early years, Clyde left the farm and became a hobo, as in dog-killing, dog-eating hobo. He told the story about being so hungry that he killed his dog and ate him. Hobos will work, and he would acquire a job somewhere doing something. Generally, it would take a few days for the owner of the company to figure out that he couldn’t do what he said he could do, and he would get fired and move on to the next situation. His options were few and far between with an eighth-grade education. This would give him enough money for smokes or an occasional bottle of wine and piece of meat to survive until his next ordeal.

As he walked down Elk Rapids Road near Elk Rapids, Michigan, one day, he stopped into a farm and inquired of work. The farmer’s name was Mr. Gee, and he gave him a job. Mr. Gee told him that he could live in the barn. At that time, Clyde was thirty-five years old. He noticed that farmer Gee had a daughter who was eighteen years old and a senior in high school at Elk Rapids. She could play the piano and sing like a canary. It wasn’t long after that that they were married on the farm, and Dad continued working for his father-in-law, Mr. Gee.

In those days, the eldest son managed the farm’s money. The eldest son enjoyed drinking and courting the Indian girls in Elk Rapids and squandered the farm’s money. This caused the family to lose the farm to the bank. This was about the time that farmer Gee passed away.

One day, my uncle invited Clyde to Elk Rapids to party on a Friday or Saturday evening. The two were gone into the wee hours of the morning. My mother was extremely worried because my father had not returned to the farm. By the time the two arrived, Mom invited Dad out to the barn. My mother weighed about 300 pounds, and my father scaled in at a light 145 pounds and was five feet and three and a half inches tall. Mom was five feet and eleven inches, so naturally she was bigger than him. Mom proceeded to tie Dad to one of the vertical beams in the barn and whipped him with a leather strap profusely about his body, telling him never to come home drunk to her again. This was the instant that my father retired from drinking and decided to serve the Lord for the rest of his life. Later, I verified this story with my father at one of his birthday parties. Quickly, he attempted to change the subject, which told me this story was true.

Clyde, Margot, and the mother-in-law bought a four-room tarpaper shack near Williamsburg, Michigan, for one dollar next to the railroad tracks. This was the dwelling that the family was raised in. The shack had no electricity or running water with a wood-burning stove in the kitchen to heat the house. I can remember waking up to a cold bedroom and lying on a blanket near the woodstove to get warm. The stove served a second purpose, as my mother cooked the meals on it. The detail in the summer was to cut wood with my father for the winter’s need for wood. I can still hear the roar of the chainsaw as we performed this task. Life was hard in those years, and money was scarce. I can remember my mother wrapping my feet in burlap sack material in the wintertime to protect my feet from the snow and cold.

The tarpaper shack that we were raised in

The family attended a church in the country called Missionary Alliance. We were very faithful in attendance and were there when the doors were open. This experience taught me the road to salvation and that even as a little boy, I was a sinner and I needed to ask Jesus to forgive me of my sins and come into my heart. I did this in July 1950 as I knelt by our kitchen sink in the shack as my mother prayed with me through the prayer of salvation. I invited my younger brother, Marvin, to join me. He was my first convert. When I got up from a kneeling position, I felt so clean and relieved that my sins had been forgiven. This is an experience that I will never forget. I believe from this experience, my angelic protection was confirmed.

As a young boy, I remember hearing my father speak of his experiences as a hobo riding the rail trains to and from Detroit, Michigan. The stories intrigued me as a little boy, and subsequently hobos were my heroes. My father would often bring hobos home to our house and feed them and give them a place to sleep. From this experience, I made friends with the hobos. In those years, you could have classified me as a kid hobo. I spent as much time with the grown hobos as possible without my parents knowing it and learned how they lived, survived, and enjoyed life to what they thought was its fullest. I learned that hobos were real survivors, and I wanted to be like them. I sat at their feet to learn how they survived so I could follow suit in my life. Little did I know that this experience was going to help me throughout the rest of my life. I have been a survivor. A person’s life turns and twists, and what I’ve learned about hobos showed me that they knew how to turn and twist as various events happened in their lives.

My father was a prime example of one who knew how to turn and twist throughout life. He could make the buffalo squeal on a nickel. I can remember Dad picking cherries for the family, and when the containers would be so full of cherries, they would spill over as they were carried. However, when he picked cherries for the farmer, the containers would be somewhat concaved with cherries. It seemed to depend upon whether Dad was picking them for pay or paying the farmer for the cherries.

Dad in the early years

My family’s life took a turn for the worst on August 25, 1953. My mother worked in Traverse City at the canning plant. The family only had one car, and my father would have to drop Mom off at work and pick her up. One midafternoon, we were