When Angels Are Disguised as Tramps

Angel of God, My Guardian Dear

Annoying and persistent, the thumping sound of a disco dance dragged me out of deep sleep. Blearily I forced open tired eyelids and directed my peepers towards my phone. I coerced them into focusing, promising more sleep.

Yup, our daughter. My arm snaked out from under the blankets.

“Steph?”

“Mom, can I speak to Daddy, please?”

Oh, dear. This was going to be unpleasant if it was urgent enough to wake her dad, and she felt brave enough to want to talk to him. In the middle of the night.

It Didn’t Go Well

“What?” he growled. Hair on end, spiked and untidy. A day’s beard growth shiny in the faint light from the window.

“I don’t know what you should do. Sort it out yourself.”

I took back the phone as he turned his back on me, the phone, and whatever mess our eighteen-year-old had landed herself in this time.

“Steph, what’s the problem?”

“Mom, we accidentally put diesel fuel into my car.”

Dear Lord!

“Is there anyone nearby?” I glimpsed at my watch, already past midnight.

“There’s light in the gas station.”

“Go see if anyone can help. Call me if they can’t.”

No phone call came, but how is a mother to sleep after that!

But I did. And raised puffy-eyed and aching the following morning. Hubby was up already.

“She’s home,” he snapped. Her car’s in the drive.” And on that cheery note, he left for work.

I tip-toed over to her bedroom, opened the door, and peeped. The lump on the bed moved and rolled over. A strand of golden hair escaped the covers, and an irritated snuffle confirmed her alive and breathing.

Her part-time work as a model only started at 11.00, so I let her sleep in, dying to hear the story, and went off to work myself.

That evening we had our tete a tete over our go-to drink, Red Bush tea from South Africa. And the tale was one to be handed down through generations.

There was no one at the gas station, and it was all locked up. My girl had inherited my habit of talking with her hands. A slender shoulder jutted forward as she told me about trying to push on the door. A petite fist went round and round, simulating turning doorknobs. And finally, to my amusement, she shielded her eyes and, talking non-stop, told me how she’d peeped through the windows looking for any sign of life.

“So we went back to the car, mom, and we were thinking of who we could call. We didn’t want to bother you and daddy again, and then these two men appeared. Poof. Just like that.” Her arms threw up an invisible ball.

“Two men appeared,” I parroted, visions of how lucky she was that they hadn’t been attacked and robbed and killed and worse.

“Yes, and I was a little scared, but they were so kind and asked what was wrong and if they could help. And they looked like tramps and I thought they probably lived under those bushes and trees near the gas station.”

Cold shivers ran down my back as I waited for the rest of the story. My hands in a death grip around my tea mug.

“And so, we told them what had happened, and they drained the tank for us and helped us put in some gasoline. They showed us what to look for at the pump to make sure we didn’t do it again.”

My ever-fertile mind, which had taken that bungy leap off the mile-high mother’s bridge, was back at the top, and all I could think was, angels, He’d sent angels. “For he will order his angels to protect you wherever you go.” (Psalm 91:11 NLT)

“And mom, we only had $10.00 left and tried to give it to them but they wouldn’t take it but then the one started laughing and said it was okay and thank you and took it.”

“They were angels, mom. I swear they were angels and then they turned around and were gone. Just like that, they were gone. I think they crawled back under the bushes.”

My precious eighteen-year-old holding forth. Waving the French baguette, she was destroying, breaking off crusty bits, scattering crumbs everywhere.

Really mom, they weren’t like ordinary tramps

I firmly believe in angels which I always have. I think there are legions around doing their thing, whatever their thing is. And I also hold that we each have our own guardian angel.

That night, two angels were on guard duty, protecting my baby and her boyfriend.

Angel of God, my guardian dear,
To whom God’s love entrusts me here.
Ever this day be at my side,
To light and guard, to rule and guide.
Amen.