Angels among us. Some people absolutely believe in angels. Others have their doubts. I belong to the first group. Maybe earlier in my life I would have insisted that they only reside in heaven, fluttering around the heavenly throne, but now I know better. I know better because I’ve met a few. And they’re not just people that we tend to call angels only because they’re so sweet and have just done us a huge favor. They’re angels because they are angels. Let me explain.
I’m not necessarily a Bible scholar but ingrained in my psyche is the picture of the angel waving the flaming sword back and forth at the entrance to the Garden of Eden, as in the background Adam and Eve trudge away, bent with sadness and banished to a life of sweat and tears and serpents. And no children’s Sunday School classroom is complete without the set of blue hardback Bible-story books that are sure to include glossy full-color pictures of angels draped in white silk with wide feathery wings, descending through the clouds. One of my favorite books from childhood is The Littlest Angel, a bittersweet story about an angel who was left behind by the angel pack after announcing Jesus’ birth. She had to grow up here on Earth without her wings, doing good deeds and learning to walk instead of fly. In the end, she got her wings back, picked up her harp, and wafted back to join the heavenly host. So it ended well, as should be the case for a fallen angel.
There is nothing particularly scary or comforting about angels; they are just God’s servants on loan to Earth for a short time to bring good news or a message of doom. They always have a purpose and it is never for long. And I certainly never expected to meet any. After all, angels don’t live here among us. Why would they? No, they live in Heaven.
At least that’s what I grew up believing. Then life gets a bit harder and the road has a few potholes, some bigger than others. Even then, those people who reach out to help might be called angels, but only in a figurative way. “She’s such an angel,” we tend to gush, after someone has gone out of her way to do one helpful thing or another, leaving the impression that angels are always in the wings (no pun intended) to lighten our load and that just having a few angelic qualities makes you an angel. And somehow that informality makes them less majestic and too ordinary. And far too familiar. For I believe that when an angel is charged to act on your behalf, you most often know it. And the surprising thing to me is that they don’t often come with wings. They inhabit people who under ordinary circumstances would never consider themselves angels.
The old man in the Alabama song who led the lost child home didn’t have wings. He just showed up when all hope was gone and disappeared just as quickly. A much younger me would have expected an angel to have a flowing robe and perfect wings, but I know a doctor who had to be an angel and he certainly couldn’t fly. What he did was hold my hand and talk me through a stressful pre-op procedure even though he wasn’t on call and just happened to be in the hospital at that time. When I almost passed out anyway, he sat on the floor with me and then sat with my husband during the surgery. Days later, he modestly replied that God had to be hard up if he was truly an angel as I professed.
The angel at the park looked just like a mom in blue jeans, but I know otherwise. When my four-year-old managed to drop through the monkey bars, bashing her head on just about every rung from top to bottom, the angel/mom scooped up the younger daughter and helped bundle them both in the backseat. She followed me to the hospital, giving a dollar to the two-year-old before disappearing as quickly as she had come. Days later, she smiled at me from across the mall and as far as I know, I’ve never seen her again.
Then there is the police officer who responded with the EMTs years ago during a minor emergency. Before I was able to get my two small children situated, he offered to stay with them, miraculously producing two “safety suckers” to their great delight. I saw him once more at the school drop-off point, and he waved. Apparently angels come in blue, too.
I’m really not sure about guardian angels, as I can’t quite wrap my head around one angelic being who is charged with my welfare. So I choose not to go that far. I think I’d be a pretty boring case for an angel to oversee anyway. My daughter, though, is certain that her guardian angel is named Jose and drives a dusty Volvo. If I had a guardian angel, I think he would drive a shiny sedan and follow me everywhere. If only it were that simple.
What I do know is that we don’t know much but we have to believe in something that is beyond ourselves, in another realm and in another reality. I am certain that the highway between Heaven and Earth is kept busy with angels who are always on mission and that they often work through others. Who knows, maybe I’ll get to be an angel someday.
