Two Near-Death Escapes, One Angel Named Joe

My true story of how my guardian angel saved my life—not once, but twice—during terrifying accidents in both a plane and a boat.

I was on a fishing trip all alone, surviving the wilderness of Togiak Bay, Alaska, when I nearly made a fatal mistake.

I was on a small wooden boat that was showing signs of age.

The wood was rotting, and I’d nailed a piece of wood on the edge of the boat to repair it.

I knew it wasn’t going to hold for long, but I was hopeful it would last the length of the trip.

At one point, I rushed from the stern to the bow and my makeshift repair gave way.

I slipped into the freezing waters of the bay.

I managed to cling to the rotten wood with just my fingers, hanging on for dear life.

I knew that if I slipped under the forty-degree hypothermic water, I would die.

I’d seen people fall into the water the way I was dressed, and after the initial splash, they never came back up.

My fingers clung to the boat’s rotting edge as I cried out to God, “Please, God, not here, not now.”

I was wearing rubber boots that went all the way up to my hips.

I could feel the boots filling up with frigid water, and they were dragging me down.

But I didn’t give up.

With all the stubbornness I had inherited from my father, I pulled myself up, inch by inch, until I was over the side of the boat.

I was exhausted, and my boots were still full of water.

But I didn’t have time to deal with that—my fishing net was drifting toward the rocks, and I had to stop it immediately.

I’d cut it loose from the boat to try to save it, but now the boat itself was drifting dangerously close to the rocky shore.

I dumped out as much water from my boots as I could, though they still felt heavy and awkward.

No time to lose, I stumbled back to the rear of the boat.

Somehow, just in time, I got the engine roaring to life.

I managed to get the boat moving just before I hit the rocks.

But the miracles didn’t stop there.

I was still riding the adrenaline, fresh off that fishing trip, when I nearly made yet another fatal mistake.

It was a typical day at the airport in Dillingham, Alaska—a place where small planes like mine often shared the sky with much larger aircraft.

I was flying my little yellow Cub and making touch-and-go landings.

I was practicing landing without stopping, when the rumbling sound of a large airplane caught my attention.

I glanced out the window and saw it: a massive Lockheed L-100 Hercules, a civilian version of a military aircraft, just about to fly in front of me.

In that moment, everything changed.

Without a radio to communicate my position, I found myself dangerously close to the L-100’s wake turbulence.

The powerful force yanked my plane to a near-vertical angle, and in a split second, I was thirty feet off the ground, flying sideways.

I knew I was in trouble.

With only seconds to react, I yanked the stick back into my lap, maneuvered my plane around the runway, and made a hasty landing.

Somehow, I landed safely—just inches away from disaster.

I knew it wasn’t skill that saved me that day. It was something else.

That night, safe and sound, I thought about my two near-death escapes.

Being raised a Christian, I was taught that all the hairs on our head are numbered.

I guess I always thought that meant our lives were all mapped out, and we had an expiration date like yogurt or something.

Subconsciously, I must not have accepted the fact that I had an expiration date.

Because whenever I got myself in a jam, I called out to God.

I was also taught that when we give our lives to God and let him know we are willing vessels, our lives can be used in a much bigger plan than we can ever imagine.

As I thought about my recent harrowing escapes, I hit my knees and did just that.

It’s comforting for me to believe that I have a guardian angel who’s always with me and – if it doesn’t interfere with God’s plan – will help me whenever I need it.

My brushes with death reinforced my belief in my own personal guardian angel.

In fact, that was the very night that I named my angel.

Whenever my mother couldn’t remember someone’s name, she always referred to them as “Joe.”

I figured that since I didn’t know my angel’s name, I’d call my angel Joe.

That was the moment I stopped crediting my survival to “luck.”

Instead, I gave credit to my guardian angel.

That was the moment I realized that I was never truly alone because, throughout all of my narrow escapes with death, my angel Joe had never left my side.

This True Guardian Angel Story Was Submitted By: Les Bingman, author of the book Adventures in Alaska with My Angel Joe

Excerpted From
Adventures in Alaska with My Angel Joe
Written By Les Bingman

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