Angels
Unaware
To
live content with small means; to seek elegance rather then luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich; to listen to stars and birds, babes and sages
with open heart; to study hard; to think quietly, act frankly, talk
gently, await occasions, hurry never; in a word, to let the
spiritual, unbidden and unconscious, grow up through the common.
William
Henry Channing
You
know how certain events in your life leave an indelible
imprint—sometimes even small, seemingly unimportant events? Well, I
may have told this story before, and if I have, you have my
permission to hit the delete button, but it sticks in my mind like
super glue.
When
my first child was just a babe, and I was still hormonally crazy (my
excuse), I took a very part-time consulting job developing training
programs for day-care workers who had kids with special needs in
their classes. I found a woman close by, who kept a handful of
children in her home, who agreed to take care of Jake a few hours per
week. I dropped him off one morning in a heated rush to get to work,
where there were other adults, and no burp cloths or dirty diapers;
my one escape from the constant demands of new motherhood. Backing
out of the long gravel driveway of the woman's house, I cut too
quickly and dropped one front tire into the ditch that invariably
runs in front of country houses.
So,
I'm hanging there in my car, crying, being hormonal and all, when
this beat-up blue pick-up truck lumbers up the driveway and stops in
front of me. Out climbs a man who looks like a squat lumberjack; long
frizzy black hair, long beard, bib-overalls, half-tied work boots,
and a stance like Paul Bunyan about to chop down a giant redwood. He
slowly sized up the situation, then walked to my window and looked in
at my red, wet face. He said, “Put yer car in reverse, but don't do
nothin' till I tell ya.” I obeyed. He jumped into the ditch, and
picked up the front of my car (God's truth, y'all), and nodded. I
slowly backed out, with him holding up the front tire all the way to
the road. When he came back to the window, I profusely thanked him,
blubbering about trying to get to work, etc. He said simply, “It
don't never pay to git in a hurry, ma'am.”
That
was all. I never learned his name, nor how he happened along on that
morning, never saw him again at the baby-sitter's house. But that
day, he was my savior, an angel unaware in bib overalls. Obviously, I
have never forgotten him, or his kindness. Spirit breaks through
unbidden, and without warning. It takes all forms, and can be found
in that which is as common as dirt. Once it has touched us, we will
never be the same again, and we will never forget.
In
the Spirit,
Jane
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