Angels

I am sure that I believe in angels. What I am not sure of, exactly, is what form angels take. Are angels those we have lost who now reach out to us from the world of heaven we cannot yet understand? Or are angels regular, every day people that God places in our lives to send us a message or remind us gently of something we need to know? I tend to think, in my own little personal understanding, that angels are a combination of both.

Truly, I believe that my Dad is one of my angels...in those moments when I feel his presence so really I know he has to be with me in a sense that is beyond my scope of understanding. And, well, the fact that I made the commute to and from Chicago every week for a year in the little Hyundai he bought for me is frankly the only proof I need - that had to be angels because it certainly was beyond the power of the car.

And, as far as angels on earth, I have a strange confession to make. I think that God picked homeless men to be my angels. Something happens in my heart, something sharp and soft and weepy and compassionate, that goes deeper into my soul for homeless people (why men, in particular, don't ask because I don't know) than for any others encountered. Sometimes I will see or interact with a homeless man and literally not be able to shake the experience, however short, for the whole day or even several days. There is something there.

Which leads to today. I'm standing in line at Walgreens with my aluminum foil and coupon in hand, minding my own business. And this man comes up in the line behind me, holding a half gallon of milk and one of those Little Debbie brownies. He was dirty, with scraggly hair and a long beard, dressed in clothing with some tears and holes. And he resembled my father, his build and gait and piercing blue eyes. I'm not quite sure what came over me, but I straight up lost in there in that check-out line. Broke into full sob with one look at the stranger and his little brownie, reminded of how Dad used to choke those down when he was trying to up his calorie intake in whatever way possible. The poor cashier (who already thinks I'm weird because I always make him pack my stuff in my chico bag) looked baffled and awkward as I completed the transaction through my tears and scurried out to my car. I sat there sobbing, unable to stop as I watched the man come out and sit down, opening up his brownie and chugging from the milk.

I can't say why this happened or certainly why I am writing about it, but somehow, something struck a chord. It always shakes me up to see men who resemble my father, and maybe the combination of that and my emotional "angels" was just too much. But it got me thinking, thinking as I sat there outpouring a well of sadness I didn't even know was sitting right below my sternum and behind my eyes before it waterfalled out all over my Walgreens cashier. Through the tears, I started a laundry list of what might be going on inside to display itself in such a way on the exterior.

And so I came to my conclusion. It's this darn election. I know, I'm so narrow focused lately, but hear me out. It has me impassioned and angry and anxious in ways I haven't been in quite some time. Reflecting on this, I started remembering the last election, which took me back to 2004.

I was living in Lincoln for the year. Dad was really sick, and although I was home to help I'd never felt more helpless in my life. We'd sit around and watch the news and the conventions and dad would be unwaveringly consistent, as always, thus it was impossible to read his take on any of the candidates clearly. On election day, I left work early so that I could go home and take him to vote, his recent seizure leaving him unable to drive. I took him over to the little church where I've voted since I turned 18, and we hobbled in, voted, and returned to the car with our business done. I asked Dad in the car, "would you tell me who you voted for?" and he replied "humph, Nader. I couldn't bring myself to vote for either one of those other two fools."

It may seem insignificant, but that moment meant a great deal to me. It wasn't Dad's way to tell us what he thought about politics, or really, many controversial issues (other than divorce, we were all very clear on what dad thought about divorce). He was such a good pastor that he refused to "give away" his stances, making it easy for the sheep to blindly follow the shepherd instead of finding their own way. His ability to walk the walk without ever having to talk the talk about where he stood or what he believed is one of his traits that I admired most, while at the same time the one I can clearly say was the most infuriating. I would beg him sometimes, "please, just tell me what you think about this...what the right answer is...what you would do in this situation?" Instead he'd look back at me, eyes twinkling, and challenge, "well, what do YOU think Hot Shot?" At that point, the only option was to throw it all out and hope for his approving head nod and "that sounds about right to me" when it was all said and done.

In the days remaining towards this election, my hope is that I can be a little more like my father. A little less angry at anyone voting Republican (especially because I fear lately I've been alienating in my outspokenness)...and a little more likely to leave people wondering what I think and who I might vote for. You see, Dad never needed to come out and tell people that he was loving and full of grace and wit, just like he never needed to announce who he was voting for and why you should vote for them too. Sometimes I knew, and sometimes I didn't. And, although frustrating, that was okay. Because I knew that deep down, he would do what he knew in his heart was the right choice (and because I couldn't usually figure it out if I paid enough attention...).

I hope God sends lots of homeless men who walk like my Dad to me in the coming weeks. I am going to need the constant reminders from unexpected angels to walk (and talk) with a little more grace and a little less vengeance.