Angels are Real—This is How I Know

A chapter from my book, Sea of Miracles, and an invitation to follow along as I post the rest

No matter how lost or alone you may feel or how stressful your life, you are surrounded—right now—by a responsive, loving energy that wants you to be happy.

No matter how lost or alone you may feel—or how stressful your life may be—you are surrounded, right now, by a responsive, loving energy that wants you to be happy.

If you’re new to my work, you may not know that I was the editor of the My Guardian Angel column in Woman’s World magazine. For ten years, I managed and ghostwrote the column, reading more than 10,000 handwritten letters from readers—each one sharing a personal encounter with angels.

Every week, I had the privilege of speaking directly with the people whose stories had been chosen for publication. It was a profound experience to listen to someone recount, in their own words, a moment when their life had been touched by an angel.

That experience changed me. It deepened my understanding of the unseen forces shaping our lives—and ultimately led me to write Sea of Miracles, a book I self-published as a companion to The Soul Caller Training, the workshop I received from the angels.

Now, I’ve decided to share Sea of Miracles in its entirety, here on Substack—chapter by chapter, in rhythm with the way it came to me.

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Photo by Samuele Osto on Unsplash

My work has evolved in the years since I wrote this book, but these chapters lay the foundation for everything that has unfolded since—including new six-week sessions of The Reflection Work here, and in programs at the School of Magic. There, I’ll be offering workshops to help you deepen your connection with the angels who guide your way.

Through these workshops, you’ll be invited to Flow Journal your experiences—recording the signs, dreams, and synchronicities that angels often use to signal their presence. You’ll learn to notice and interpret the dreams and illuminated moments in your own life, opening the door to a more conscious and meaningful relationship with the unseen.

Here’s the opening chapter. To follow along as I share the rest, join me as a free or paid subscriber.

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Introduction

Years ago, before everyone had a cell phone, I ran out of gas on the Throgs Neck Bridge—a massive span of steel suspended over the Long Island Sound, twelve miles from New York City.

As my car lost power, the steering wheel locked. We rolled to a stop in the right lane, just after the curve. From this position, oncoming motorists couldn’t see us until they were 50 feet away. They swerved around us at 60 mph, brakes screeching. Several shouted rude remarks, shaking their fists.

I could make excuses: it was Thanksgiving and we were running late. I had a terrible cold. My two-year-old daughter had been screaming on and off for two hours, upsetting her four-year-old brother and distracting me. Exhausted and overwhelmed, I’d missed the red fuel light on the dashboard.

Still, it hardly mattered why we were stuck. I had to protect my children—and my car—from being hit from behind.

My son was fast asleep. I pulled my wailing daughter from her car seat, set her on my hip, and walked behind the car. There, I began flapping my free arm like a broken windmill, warning approaching motorists away.

In the high November winds, with a guardrail only up to my thigh, Katie and I could easily have been blown right off the bridge.

God help us, I shuddered.

Instantly, a small red fire truck pulled behind my car, lights flashing. At the exact same moment, a Boar’s Head truck pulled in front of us—the word Provisions painted on its side.

We were saved.

“I almost hit you,” said the driver of the fire truck. “I was looking down, changing the radio station, and—bam! There you were, walking down the road with this baby in your arms. What a picture.”

As he searched for the bridge’s emergency phone, the other driver spoke to me quietly.

“Ran out of gas?” he asked. “Happened to me once.”

“Really?” I said. I felt instantly better. Calmer. Less ridiculous.

He told me to wait in the car for the tow truck. “They’ll push your car off the bridge,” he said. “Get off at the Clearview and pull over at the first place you can. I’ll drive ahead and get you some gas.”

“Bless you,” I said. “Thank you.”

The tow truck arrived, barking instructions. He’d push my car from behind. “Put it in neutral. Stay off the brakes.” And—bang!—we were off.

He pushed, I steered, doing some of the deep breathing I’d been saving for emergencies, and we made our bumpy, jerky way down the ramp.

I pulled onto a grassy embankment at the side of the highway to wait for the Boar’s Head driver to return.

But the tow truck driver came running, shouting.

“You idiot!” he said. “You had an angel meeting you—you didn’t listen.”

“What?” I asked, confused.

“That guy! He told you to meet him at the Clearview! This is the Cross Island!” His face was red. “You didn’t listen!” And then, storming off, he drove away.

I cried for a while.

Then I got out of the car. I wrapped a blanket around Max’s shoulders and tucked Katie inside my jacket. We began to walk toward some shops behind the embankment.

If I can find a deli, I thought, I can get something warm for the children to eat. Maybe they’ll let me use the phone…

We’d gone only a few yards when Max tugged at my sleeve.

“Mommy,” he said. “Who’s that man by our car?”

I turned—and there he was. The Boar’s Head driver. He was already putting gas in my car.

When I tell this story, I usually leave out the part where he lifted one end of the car and shook it, to help the gas run into the lines. It seems so outlandish, even I sometimes wonder if that really happened.

I skip ahead to the part where the engine was humming, the heater was warming my children’s hands, and I turned to thank our rescuer.

“Let me pay you for the gas,” I said, holding up a twenty. “Let me buy you dinner.”

He smiled—and for the first time, I noticed his beautiful eyes.

“You keep it, ma’am,” he said. “You go home and live a good life and raise these kids. That’ll be thanks enough for me.”

“But,” I stammered, “at least tell me your boss’s name. I’ll send a letter.”

He laughed. “My boss knows how sweet I am,” he said. “Go on home.”

As he walked away, I scribbled down the name and phone number painted on the side of his truck.

But a few days later, when I called, the number was out of service.

And when I phoned the Boar’s Head company, they told me there was no distributor in the town painted on that truck. No one on record with that name.

Back then, I didn’t know how to explain it. But after reading thousands of miracle stories, I know now: He was an incarnated angel. Sent—in a truck marked Provisions—to rescue two children and a frazzled mom from the top of a bridge. And to remind us:

You are never alone.

Today, I am here to say the same thing to you.

oday, I am here to say the same thing to you.

You are never alone.

Though most people never see their angels, you’ve been feeling their presence all your life—through intuitive hunches, coincidental encounters, signs, synchronicities.

Your every longing is heard. Your every prayer is responded to.

Five years ago, I couldn’t have said that with such clarity. But I can now—now that I’ve found myself swimming in the Sea of Miracles.

Since 2004, I’ve read story after story from people just like you—stories of terminal illness healed, disembodied voices offering life-saving instructions, mysterious nurses appearing at hospital bedsides in the middle of the night, strangers who vanish after delivering a message or rescue.

Stories of lost heirlooms recovered. Children led home. Butterflies and birds delivering comfort and courage. Coincidences too luminous to ignore.

Some began: I’ve always believed in angels.
Others: I’ve never been sure… but now I know.

I understood both.

Though I’d worked with spiritual materials for 25 years—as a counselor, writer, teacher—though I’d had many experiences I couldn’t explain, I wasn’t prepared for the way these stories would change me.

I didn’t believe in angels. Not really.

To me, they were metaphors. Symbols. Mythological attempts to explain what couldn’t be quantified or explained any other way.

Oh, I believed in something.
There was always a presence—a whispering, responsive something—that listened as I prayed, that read over my shoulder as I scribbled in my journal.

But little did I know…

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And So It Begins

That well-worn phrase—little did I know—perfectly sums up my state of mind when this project began.

For little did I know, as I opened that first letter, that these stories would deliver—drop by precious drop—an infusion of grace straight to my heart.

Little did I know that this work was a response to my own fervent prayer:

Please fill my life.
Give me something meaningful to do.
And please, oh please, make it about more than just me.

That’s the thing about miracles: they rarely come as we expect them to.

There’s no flutter of wings.
No flash of lightning.
Most miracles come gently—subtly—like a wave of grace you only recognize once it’s passed.

This is the story of how I was transformed:
From editor to witness.
From student to teacher.
From someone who wrote about other people’s lives—to someone finally living her own.

This book is both an invitation and a guidebook.

Because after years of swimming in this miracle sea, I can honestly say:
Angels are everywhere.
Every minute.
Every day.

And all you have to do to bring them closer
is open the door
and welcome them in.

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If this work resonates with you, I’d love for you to read along. It’s all free, offered in the same spirit as the many gifts of the angels. Here’s the Chapter Index, which I update every time I post a new chapter or reflection in this series.

With love,
Amy

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Buy an e-copy of (the original) Sea of Miracles here.

Join our new spring workshop: The One Who Blesses.
Read the course description here.

And in case you missed my last post, The Only Medicine that Can Break the Spell of Our Split World, it’s here.

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