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I Am Your Guardian Angel Stephen

Kay Castaneda, July 24, 2025July 24, 2025

I Am Your Guardian Angel Stephen

Do you believe in angels? I am now absolutely sure they are here with us on Earth!

About twenty years ago, I had a strange accident while driving on a highway. An old truck came up behind me, bumped my car and pushed me into the grounds of a car dealership. I knew I was out of control and heading fast toward a row of brand new vehicles on display. I turned toward the truck that wrecked into me and saw the face of such an evil-looking man who could not have been human. He was laughing and had his mouth open wide so I could see ugly deformed teeth. His truck took off speeding through a red light away from me.

 

Evil skeleton man in an old truck

 

Mysterious truck following woman in her car

About the same time, I felt a gentle but strong movement on my steering wheel turning my car away from the evil truck. I felt my car sort of flying or gliding slowly into a grassy part away from the cars on display. I looked over to the passenger side and saw a man sitting there. It looked like only his head was there because I didn’t see his body, only something see-through that resembled clothing. He had a human face. He was kind and strong at the same time. I started to ask who he was but couldn’t open my mouth to talk. He said “I am your guardian angel, Stephen.” All I could do was look at him. I wasn’t able to speak to speak.

He disappeared then. I found myself by a woman who was clipping shrubs. My car was sitting right in front of her. She asked me if I was okay and said she would call the paramedics. I told her I was not hurt and asked her where the man was who was in my car with me. It seemed she was puzzled when I talked about a man. She told me that there wasn’t anyone else but me. She saw my car speeding toward the row of new cars and trucks but then landed on the grass. I wasn’t hurt. I went home and prayed to God thanking Him for sending my guardian angel to help me.

Guardian Angel Prayer

I remember when I was in third grade at Saint Bernadette School in Indianapolis. My teacher, Sister Mary Padua, was teaching us about angels. She asked each of us to give a name to our guardian angel. I answered “Stephen.” I don’t remember why I chose that name, whether it was after someone I knew, or a character in a story I read. Sister Mary Padua was excited about the name I chose and thanked me for putting a lot of thought into the assignment. That’s how I remember my Guardian Angel’s name. She also said that each person on earth was assigned a Guardian Angel whatever religion they were. The person may not even be aware of their angel or believe in angels. That’s not to say that our guardian angel will save us from every danger we encounter. Guardian Angels are in the level or category of warrior or protector angels. There are nine levels in the hierarchy of angels. I plan to write more about that later.

We can’t know the reason for everything that happens to us. That is a mystery of life. Call on your Guardian Angel.  

Saint Michael the Archangel

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Comments (7)

  1. robertawrites235681907 says:
    July 25, 2025 at 11:22 am

    Hi Kay, thank you for sharing this personal story.

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  2. Kay Castaneda says:
    July 25, 2025 at 11:27 am

    Thank you, Robbie. I wrote it last year but finally decided to publish.

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  3. Ken Chawkin says:
    July 25, 2025 at 5:32 pm

    Inspiring to read about such stories! I recently read a book on this topic and highly recommend it — The Field of Glow: My Life with Angels and Celestial Beings by William C. Schulz. From the author: “These are my stories but they have been polished and infused with the love of the angels. When I started writing, Archangel Michael came to let me know that I didn’t need to do this on my own. He gave me insight and visions, and even helped me find the words to describe my experiences. In addition, Michael shared his own inspiring messages of love, caring, and compassion.”

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  4. Kay Castaneda says:
    July 25, 2025 at 7:22 pm

    Thank you, Ken. I’m glad you liked my post. Thanks also for leaving a comment. The sounds interesting so I’ll add it to my reading list.

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  5. Marsha says:
    August 11, 2025 at 9:51 pm

    Wow, that’s quite a story, Kay. I have to admit that I didn’t believe in guardian angels until this year. I believed in angels, but not necessarily guardian ones. Then in my reading of Psalms, I read that God will send his angels to guard us. I wrote it in my journal. I have had many, many instances of being protected. Of course, I figured God was doing it, but I never believed that he was sending his angels. Now I trust that he can work however he wants to. :) xxx

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    1. Kay Castaneda says:
      August 18, 2025 at 11:24 pm

      There are Nine Choirs of Angels or levels and they have different tasks or “jobs”. When I took the theology classes for my Spiritual Direction certificate, I learned about this. There are Warrior angels, Guardian angels, Messenger angels and more. The Angel Gabriel delivered the message from God to Mary that she would be the mother of Jesus. Prophets in the Bible were visited by angels who delivered messages from God. Maybe this is still happening! I think I’ll read the books again. You have an open mind, Marsha and you are a person of faith. Thanks for reading my story! 🥰

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      1. Marsha says:
        August 19, 2025 at 1:06 pm

        My pleasure, Kay. :) xxx

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Kay Castaneda, Author
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Kay Castaneda, Author

The Beauty Lesson

Kay Castaneda,
September 17, 2025

I still fume when I remember a boy in my 5th-grade science class. That was a very long time ago. I was shy and silent at that age and everything bothered me. My mom had moved my sisters and I away from Indianapolis to Detroit after she and my dad got a divorce. It made me sad and angry to leave my dad and other relatives here.

A mean boy told me one day that my hair was dirty. At the time, I didn’t care about hair or clothes because I was too young and depressed. When he told me that, I went home and scrubbed my hair VERY hard and soaked in the tub in steaming hot water for an hour. I poured some of my mom’s perfume, Evening in Paris, in my wet hair and went to bed. The next morning, I brushed it 100 times because I’d read that in Good Housekeeping magazine. It was so shiny! He sat next to me. I wanted to sit somewhere else, but the teacher wouldn’t let the students change seats. The boy sneered at me and didn’t complement me, but he did tell me I should use curlers. My hair was stringy, according to his opinion. What did I do that night? Of course, I curled my hair! I borrowed Mom’s brush curlers and fastened them to my head. I slept in them and tossed and turned all night because the pain in my scalp was so bad. I took them out slowly because that was the advice from Redbook magazine. I combed gently and applied tons of hairspray. The next day, that boy didn’t compliment my curly hair.

He insulted me even more when he told me I had fat lips. I used to have full lips, a lot fuller than I have as an adult, especially now as an older women. If I showed you my school picture from that year, you would see what I mean. Anyway, the boy laughed at me, and even pointed at me to the other kids. That night I practiced ways to make my lips smaller; keeping them closed and not talking to anyone, covering them with several layers of Mom’s foundation and keeping my head turned away from him.

He insulted me in many ways. According to him, I didn’t have any breasts. I was a bit confused about that one because I was obviously a girl. I went home and asked Mom to buy me a bra but she didn’t have the money. I put one of hers on and stuffed it with socks and toilet paper to make them “big”. No compliments from him, of course. I endured suffering from him about my body until Mom decided to move back home at Christmas. I never had to sit by him again.

“A girl should be two things: who and what she wants.” Coco Chanel

I thought about him the other day, and I don’t know why. Maybe it was when I washed my hair and used the curling iron. Hurt lasts a long, long time. Those people who were abused when they were younger make me feel sympathy with them. I secretly rejoice when the bad guys get outed. But those celebrities and so-called important people escape to sex-addiction clinics with equine therapy, yoga, gourmet meals, and other luxuries at the $30,000 six week stay. Six weeks to ride horses and have aromatherapy massages? Baloney! Caca in Spanish.

Now many people are coming out of the woods to bring the evil to light, and it is evil when somebody assaults a person sexually, emotionally and physically. Words can hurt. I wish I would have said something to my Mom or a teacher about that boy.

And I wish I could have told someone about abuse at my jobs as an adult. That is another story…
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The Beauty Lesson

Kay Castaneda, 
September 17, 2025

I still fume when I remember a boy in my 5th-grade science class. That was a very long time ago. I was shy and silent at that age and everything bothered me. My mom had moved my sisters and I away from Indianapolis to Detroit after she and my dad got a divorce. It made me sad and angry to leave my dad and other relatives here.

A mean boy told me one day that my hair was dirty. At the time, I didn’t care about hair or clothes because I was too young and depressed. When he told me that, I went home and scrubbed my hair VERY hard and soaked in the tub in steaming hot water for an hour. I poured some of my mom’s perfume, Evening in Paris, in my wet hair and went to bed. The next morning, I brushed it 100 times because I’d read that in Good Housekeeping magazine. It was so shiny! He sat next to me. I wanted to sit somewhere else, but the teacher wouldn’t let the students change seats. The boy sneered at me and didn’t complement me, but he did tell me I should use curlers. My hair was stringy, according to his opinion. What did I do that night? Of course, I curled my hair! I borrowed Mom’s brush curlers and fastened them to my head. I slept in them and tossed and turned all night because the pain in my scalp was so bad. I took them out slowly because that was the advice from Redbook magazine. I combed gently and applied tons of hairspray. The next day, that boy didn’t compliment my curly hair.

He insulted me even more when he told me I had fat lips. I used to have full lips, a lot fuller than I have as an adult, especially now as an older women. If I showed you my school picture from that year, you would see what I mean. Anyway, the boy laughed at me, and even pointed at me to the other kids. That night I practiced ways to make my lips smaller; keeping them closed and not talking to anyone, covering them with several layers of Mom’s foundation and keeping my head turned away from him.

He insulted me in many ways. According to him, I didn’t have any breasts. I was a bit confused about that one because I was obviously a girl. I went home and asked Mom to buy me a bra but she didn’t have the money. I put one of hers on and stuffed it with socks and toilet paper to make them “big”. No compliments from him, of course. I endured suffering from him about my body until Mom decided to move back home at Christmas. I never had to sit by him again.

“A girl should be two things: who and what she wants.”   Coco Chanel

I thought about him the other day, and I don’t know why. Maybe it was when I washed my hair and used the curling iron. Hurt lasts a long, long time. Those people who were abused when they were younger make me feel sympathy with them. I secretly rejoice when the bad guys get outed. But those celebrities and so-called important people escape to sex-addiction clinics with equine therapy, yoga, gourmet meals, and other luxuries at the $30,000 six week stay. Six weeks to ride horses and have aromatherapy massages? Baloney! Caca in Spanish.

Now many people are coming out of the woods to bring the evil to light, and it is evil when somebody assaults a person sexually, emotionally and physically. Words can hurt. I wish I would have said something to my Mom or a teacher about that boy.

And I wish I could have told someone about abuse at my jobs as an adult. That is another story…
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Kay Castaneda, Author
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Author of Emmie of Indianapolis, historical fiction set in the Midwest. WIP is a mystery series. Go to @kay_castaneda for my opinion on the world. 📒👩🏻‍🎓🎄

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"The quiet novel. Rather than climactic plots and thrilling storylines meant purely to entertain, a quiet novel speaks more to our inner life. They are contemplative works of art that derive meaning from silence rather than spectacle." Poetic Outlaws
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My latest post is now published on my blog. Thanks!

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