And when we cried unto the Lord, He heard our voice, and sent an angel…—Numbers 20:16
When I was very young, I was enchanted by angels: Michael with his great wings and flaming sword … pastel-winged Gabriel standing in the presence of the Lord … my guardian angel … heavenly hosts. Everywhere I went I listened expectantly, and sometimes I even heard the rustle of wings.
Then I grew up. I forgot all about angels—until one day recently. I was expecting a beloved friend to visit. My yard was not fit to receive anyone. Somehow, in the press of other work, I hadn’t noticed that the hedge had become a forest, the weeds were in full bloom, the lawn was a full-fledged meadow. Ruefully I sighed, “Well, I can cook, Lord, but I’ll have to leave the gardening to You.”
That afternoon a courteous youth and his father appeared at my door. They were looking for a yard to “do.” And they “did” mine—to perfection. I took their phone number and later called it, hoping to thank them. There was no answer.
“Well,” I surprised myself by thinking, “maybe angels don’t answer phones!” And I never saw nor heard from the pair again.
Now I try to be more expectant, watching for the “angels” who pass through my daily life. And I’m content to accept them as such—without wings, without questions, but with a heart full of thanksgiving.
Lord, let me recognize Your messengers as I meet them here, there, everywhere.
