Angels Among Us

I must admit that I've never really believed in Angels.  I know Scripture is full of stories about the presence of Angels, but I thought that was for days gone by.  I haven't meant to be skeptical, I just hadn't thought about it much.  To me, Angels were probably more like bumbling Clarence in "It's a Wonderful Life," than Gabriel and the other magnificent Angels recorded in Scripture.

That changed a few weeks ago when I saw a program about people who believed in Angels, and the ways that presence had been manifested.  "Okay," I thought, "maybe there's more to this than I had previously believed."  And that was that.

Today, however, may have changed my mind permanently.  I was out shoveling snow, as I had been doing since the snow came down yesterday.  It was heavy and wet, and I had made very little progress from the sidewalk to the street that was piled high from where the city crew had cleared the street.  We live on an arterial, so our street is always kept clear.  But whenever we get a big snow, like we did this weekend, it means our driveway becomes almost unpenetrable.

Anyway, I was about out of strength for this session, so I was putting down some salt on the sidewalk and was ready to call it quits.  But as soon as I turned around, there was a man with scoop shovel standing there.  He politely asked if I could use some help, to which I politely replied that I couldn't ask him to do that.  He replied, "Well, don't worry, you're not asking, I'm offering."  He immediately started shoveling, and together we finished the end of the driveway in minutes.  He was so strong, his shovel took huge bites out of the snow in places where it had taken me multiple tries to get down to the pavement in one shovel-sized spot.

When he finished, we stood there a second, and I asked him if I could pay him for his trouble.  He said no, but asked that I do a random act of kindness sometime in the next week.  I told him that I do that all the time, and he said, "Well, there you go."  I thanked him, shook his hand, and went back to clearing a little bit of the sidewalk.  When I turned back around, he was gone.  I assumed that I should have been able to see him continuing to walk down the sidewalk, since we live in the center of the block, but there was no evidence of him to be found.

Now, I'm not claiming anything here, because ultimately, I don't know.  It could have just as easily been a nice man wanting to do something kind for someone else, a remarkable thing in-and-of itself.  But part of me thinks, "What if?"  No matter what, I am grateful for the stranger with the piercing blue eyes who helped me with a task that I found to be very difficult.

So, anyway, thank you, sir, for your assistance, whoever you are.  And thank you, God, for sending help when I was in need.  And if by chance it was an Angel, "Cool!"

Solar Lights Don't Glow When the Sun Doesn't Show

Although this is an obvious statement of fact, it still catches me by surprise.  When I sit outside at night, waiting for my dogs to do what they need to do, and smoking my last cigarette for the day, I usually sit next to the solar lamp given to me by a friend.  Some nights it vividly displays the light spectrum, from red to violet to green, etc., etc.  Some nights the light is exceedingly dim, like a weight lifter who has overextended his strength.  And some nights, there's no light at all.

These are the nights when I try to remember what the day had been like.  Was it overcast?  Did the sun peak out, even for an instant?  Or did the sun hide its enthusiastic outreach, and leave us with clouds or rain or what have you?  

Which begs the point, did I even notice whether or not the sun was or was not shining that day?  And there lies the answer...I just don't remember.  But my solar light keeps track of that for me.  It knows what I don't remember, and it responds without my prompting.  Thank goodness.

If you've grown weary waiting for me to make a point, fear no longer.  My point is, how much of my day do I miss because I'm too busy, too distracted, too lost in my own thoughts? Trying to remember which bill needs paid, what items I need to pick up after work, which task should be my next priority, whose feelings did I hurt with my callous statement, wondering if my outfit really goes together, trying to remember that thing that I had forgotten, or how long it has been since I've talked to me children, or did I make that appointment that needed to be made, blah, blah, blah.  

I guess that's the cost of being alive, and thank God for that.  At the same time, it's not that I miss everything that surrounds me.  I marvel that a butterfly leaves a shadow, that every plant that flowers has its own signature bloom, that I am loved by the people I love, that every day has blessings, and challenges, and that I am constantly supplied with a sense of purpose.  And even that the whole world seems to depend on me at the same time it goes on without missing a beat whether I am present to it or not.

So shine little solar light when you have had enough sunshine, and stay dark when you have not.  And whether or not I remember what the day was like, I count on your reminder to step outside myself.  I guess that's all anyone can ask. 

The Cool Kids

Do you remember thinking someone was cooler than you, especially as you were growing up? If you ask my children, just about everyone is cooler than I am. But seriously, weren't there always some older kids that you were pretty sure knew what questions to ask, had all the answers, and didn't care what the world thought about them because they were just so darn cool.

My first memory of a cool kid was going to a birthday party when I was in fourth or fifth grade. I was really nervous about going. I still don't really like going to parties because I never know what to say, and I'm always afraid of looking like a fool. But none the less I went, because secretly, I was thrilled to have been asked. As I was going down the stairs, the birthday girl's sister was headed up, and I mistakenly said "hi" to her, thinking she was the girl who was having the birthday. Of course, I was horribly embarrassed, but I was also stunned by how grown up she was, and how cool that made her.

Another time, I was with my dad, and we went to someone's house where there were several young men in their late teens or early twenties. I don't remember anything about why we were there, but I remember watching one of the guys drinking out of the faucet. That was just about the coolest thing I could imagine. It seemed so forbidden, so in your face. And even though it is a habit I have adopted to this day, but no one has ever commented on how cool I am.

Several years ago as an adult, I discovered that the even adults who were slightly older than me could still edge me out with their cool. One evening, a group of us went to a bar to celebrate a performance of which we had just been a part. I had known the woman who had organized the event for some time. I admired her greatly, and she was one of the people along the way who helped me discover my inner "musician."

That particular night we were all sitting around, and there she was, perched on a bar stool, sipping a cocktail, and smoking a little cigar. Wow! I had no idea this woman had the capacity for so much cool. She has since passed on at far too young an age, but I still think how much she gave the world around her, and how cool she could be in the process.

By now, you are probably wondering why I've taken this trip down memory lane, and if there is any purpose behind all this meandering. So let me clue you in.

At the retirement community where I work, we host a "90 and Over Party" each year. The evening is intended to be spectacular, and it never disappoints. This year's theme, "Passport to the Orient," meant that everything was bathed in the richness of the orient. The decorations transformed the dinning room into a pagoda. It was a feast for the eyes. Everything was fabulous, and a good time was had by all.

But what I didn't expect was the crowd of younger kids (in their 70s and 80s) who were trying to get a glimpse of what was going on inside. They were so cute, peering through windows, peeking around doors, chatting with each other, and hoping that when they were "old enough," their party would be equally splendid.

I never dreamt that even as we age, there will always be "cool kids" who have earned special privileges before the rest of us. Imagine! The world can still hold suprises, no matter what your age. It makes me think that maybe I will still have my chance to be cool, even if it takes me 37 more years to get there!

The Rosary

A dear friend and I went to the Rosary Service for a mutual friend's father last night. Neither of us were able to attend the funeral, so this was an opportunity to show our love and support for these friends who have meant so much to us.

The service was at the oldest Catholic Church in Lincoln, a church that is everything one could possibly want it to be. High pitched ceilings gleaming white, large pillars reaching from Heaven to earth, beautiful stained glass windows, confessionals that look like they have been well used by sinners and saints, a statue of Mary that brings comfort and solace, a crucifix that sends chills down your spine...well, you get the picture.

The Rosary has held a special place in my spirituality for more years than I can count, even though I am not Catholic. In fact, when I first discovered how attracted I was to the recitation of this simple prayer, I was more than a little concerned that I didn't have the right to connect with it because I wasn't Catholic. But as fierce as that argument was, I could never shake my devotion.

The first rosary I had was made by a woman who used beads of Job's tears. It was beautiful, simple, and heartfelt in its creation. I kept it in an intricately crocheted bag that my grandmother had made just for me. Unfortunately, it eventually came to be lost, and I have forever regretted my clumsiness in losing such a precious part of me.

My current rosary was purchased on retreat to Conception Abbey in Missouri. It has deep, rich-colored beads of jade green and magenta, a lovely image of the Madonna and Child, and a substantial crucifix with Jesus on a metal cross that looks like it came from a real tree.

Yet, for all the time the Rosary had held special meaning for me, I had never had the opportunity to pray with others in public. Praying in private is one thing, but praying in community is quite another. As the priest led the prayers, and we concentrated on the Glorious Mysteries, there was a sense that we were actually praying the dearly departed's soul into the Kingdom.

It was a tremendous honor to partake in this simple act of faith, and I will always be grateful that the Rosary found its way into my heart.