Thanksgiving Angels

After the lady at the donut shop took my order, I turned to my dad. “What would you like?” I asked.

                “What was that you got? I believe I’ll have the same thing.” He replied.

                “My dad liked the way you did my order so well, he wants to see if you’ll do it again,” I joked to the counter-lady. She chuckled and proceeded to fill Dad’s order. Just then, an angel from God appeared at my elbow. She didn’t look like the angels I had envisioned, all pink and pure and young, but she was an angel, nevertheless. Her round, pleasant  Black face broke into a smile and she gave me God’s message.

                “That’s a wonderful ting, to see a father and a son together in this day and time,” she remarked.

                “I know what you mean. But shh!” I kidded, nudging her with my elbow. “Don’t let him hear you. He’ll get the big head and nobody will be able to live with him.” Ignoring me, she repeated her message even louder. “It’s a wonderful thing to see a father and son together. You must be blessed. God bless you!” Her smile was contagious and her message true and timely. Grinning, I nodded. “You’re sure right. Thank you.”  It had been a week during an early ice storm that had put one car in the ditch and blown head gaskets had put the family van in the shop. I hadn’t been feeling very thankful, but my dad came to my rescue, loaning me a car to drive until I could get mine repaired.

                That was the year I was doing a clinical practicum in an Adolescent Behavioral Unit.  Other angels in the Unit confronted me, reminding me that those kids would have traded anything for a father like mine, to pray for them and give them direction and affirmation. Their stories tugged at the heartstrings. Abandoned by fathers, abused by their mothers, they were introduced into the dark world of gangs, drugs and sex by a cruel sub-culture. Each time I left the Unit, I said a prayer of thanks for my father and family.

                Our youngest, the last to leave the house, ended each day by coming to the living room and hugging his mom and dad. Each morning, I still look into the same brown eyes that have returned my gaze for nearly 39 years. Life is good.  Truly, God is full of grace.

                Angels do walk among us. The word in Greek means “messenger.” Listen to the messengers who move about us. Give thanks for God’s gifts. Share grace with others, and you too will be an angel.