An angel visited me

Well, as close to an angel as I have ever identified.

Like most angels, she just looked like an ordinary middle-aged person. Unremarkable, unmemorable.  Angels are simply messengers, aren’t they? They aren’t gods, and they don’t have wings. The wings in angel images are symbols.

Tuesday morning at 10:30 I was sitting in the Maggie’s HQ between meetings and conferences, with all doors and windows open to the soft summer breeze and enjoying a nice Partagas – I’m the boss so I do what I want – when I hear a knock on the open outside door. “Hello.”

“Come on in,” I say. “Pardon my cigar smoke. What can I do for you?”

“Nothing,” she said tentatively. “I’ve never done anything like this before, but I felt had to. Are you (my name)? “Yes, I am. Who are you?” She gave her name to me.

I was pleasant, she was too. She said she hoped I did not mind, but the Lord had asked her twice, in prayer, to pray for me by name and to remind me that God loved me. She had no idea who I was, but googled my name, located me, and walked in my open door on the chance I would be there.

I told her that, far from intruding on me, she was like an angelic apparition. She had driven 20 miles to deliver me a message. I told her that I had lost both of my parents in the past few months, was grieving in my various ways but was not feeling disconnected from God.

She gave me a light hug, said “The Lord wants you to know that he loves you”, and walked back out to her car. A silver Camry.

I told Mrs. BD that I had had a visitation from an angel. No, I am not insane. As I thought about it over the past couple of days, I began to realize that grief had indeed distanced me from God – not out of anger or anything stupid like that, but just by preoccupation with my own feelings, self-involvement.