The presence of angels among us brings me comfort. I imagine the lilting dance of those beings who are both as gentle as a day lily, yet as resilient as a hardwood forest.
Many of us have mental pictures of what angels look like, and often they have no names. Yet I believe that the residents of heaven once walked
the earth with as much stumble and crash as I do. As you do. Everyone whose path is tethered to soil and sweat is destined for eternity.
It can seem incredulous that angels are as close as a whisper. That if we spin too quickly we might bump elbows. Yet I picture them like the grown ups whose urge to care for a toddler crossing the street surges up instantly. No need to ask if they are worthy of such protection. They are a child of
God.
One time long ago I was changing one of the twins' diapers. As I was snapping her pants shut I heard a honk. In that instant I knew that the other twin had escaped, and was standing in the middle of the road. A patient truck driver knew that she was precious, and sent out an alarm. I jumped to my feet and ran out the front door to fetch her.
This month the girls and I went to New York City to see a show on Broadway. I went to
park the car at the train station, and was confused when the kiosk asked if I wanted to pay for one or two hours. I needed to park for much longer. Just then a man called out of his car.
"Are you trying to pay for the whole day?" he inquired.
"Yes, I am!" I called back.
"Then use a space marked higher than twenty." He waved and drove away.
Yesterday I was sitting at my desk in a
grumpy mood. Not for any reason I could articulate, but there I was. A friend who works in the school library walked into my office and handed me a children's book about God's presence in nature. She thought I would enjoy it. Looking at the illustrations, and reading the text was what I needed just then to shift my mood.
Such gestures of benevolence appear unexpectedly, yet regularly too. It is easy for me to believe that angels are even more eager to
protect, to guide, to bless.