Nearly thirty years ago, my friend picked me up at the house for the morning drive to work in downtown Providence. He worked for the Providence Journal at the time and I was working for the phone company. That’s what we called it back then. As in, “She has a job with the phone company.” Was actually AT&T.
He was never much of a driver. More of a bus guy. As in riding the bus. Not driving it.
But I hopped in the passenger side of his grandfather’s little jeep. Took the entrance to the highway. Just about to round the bend that quickly straightens to merge with the other lanes leading into the city. Never got to do the merge thingy.
Because that jeep was tossed over on its side. Like a flapjack not quite completing the perfect flip. (flapjack=pancake)
These things happen so quickly. Hard to get your bearings when you are checking for injuries and fighting gravity.
Everything’s dark. I’m blind! I’m blind! Funnily enough, I can feel a comforting wool fabric. So I pull down my errant skirt.
And then, of course, I finally see the light. I once was blind but now I see. From the window I squint and spy a haloed black man standing on the jeep looking down at us. My first thoughts were, “Oh my God!” (literally) and “My friend was right! Jesus is black.”
He held out his arms, pulled me up and out of the car. I was saved. Just keeping with the Jesus theme.
I was so grateful it was just a minor accident with neither one of us hurt. Not a scratch on us. I still made it to work.
But often wonder what makes some people so quick to jump in and do the right thing. To rescue. How is it that they just appear out of nowhere?
Are they angels?
Nearly seven years ago, Rory’s friend, Veronica, was hit by a car. Fourteen years old. Crossing the street on her way home from school. On a beautiful Dallas afternoon.
I remember quickly finding out that it was a friend of mine who rushed out of her car and went to help. A very sweet woman who was in my book club. She also had a son who was the same age as Rory and Veronica.
She went to the stricken child. And held her. Smoothed her hair and her clothes. And told her that it was going to be okay. And whispered more comforting assurances. That Veronica most likely never heard.
We lost Veronica two weeks later. It was very difficult. To say the least.
But I was able to tell her mom that Veronica had an angel with her. Someone was with her baby girl and comforted her while they waited for her to be careflighted to the hospital. She was not alone. I also told her that God could not have placed a better person there that day.
There are angels everywhere. The ones who rescue. The ones who offer assistance. The ones who hold out their hands. The ones who gently whisper comforting words.
And they appear out of nowhere.