Angels Unawares

Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares. (Hebrews 13:2)

I saw her car from my kitchen window, four-way emergency flashers engaged.  Parked off to the side of the road, she was a quarter of a mile from my house. The driver door opened, and she got out of the car, black purse clutched in her hands. I could tell by her gait that she was at least my age, probably older. It was 24 degrees outside and I watched as she walked to the house closest to her, and then to the one next door. As she headed back down the driveway of the second house, gusts of wind rattled the windows on the west side of my house. I quickly grabbed my coat and headed to the car. She had to be freezing. We met at the end of my driveway and I told her to get in and I’d drive back up to my house so she could call for help. 

Her jacket was white and thin, with a pink stain on the shoulder. She wore a black knit hat, and loose brown curls surrounded her kind face. She’d forgotten her cell phone at home, but she said it wouldn’t have mattered because she didn’t know how to use it anyway. She dug into her purse and found a paper with her cell number on it. I called the number from my phone and handed it to her. She waited as it rang, anxiously whispering “Pick up, Wendy. Pick up.”  Wendy picked up on the fifth ring, and my guest explained that she had a flat tire and would need someone to come get her. Wendy suggested calling the insurance carrier because she had towing. “I’m in this woman’s house” was the reply. “It’s too cold out and I’m not going to walk all the way back to the car to get the number. Just put Dad in the van and come get me.”

I offered her a cup of coffee, which she accepted, telling me ‘lots of cream and sugar’ when I asked her how she drank it. I liked her immediately, and we sat at the kitchen table to wait for her ride. Her eyes were a cornflower blue, undimmed by age and hardship. My eyes widened when she said that she was 84. As we talked, she told me that her husband of 61 years had been suffering from dementia for five years now. She told me about her oldest daughter who had moved in with them 14 years ago after escaping an abusive relationship. “None of us thought she would be here this long, but she has been a godsend. She helps with him so much and I don’t know what I’d do without her.  If you had asked me 20 years ago which of my three daughters would be living with me and helping me, she would have been the last one I would have guessed.” She went on to tell me about her other two daughters - one living in another state who had just lost her husband and son to Covid, and one who lives about an hour away. 

She told me about the trailer they live in, and that they have two cats, Mama Cat and Baby Cat, and a house bunny.  I told her I had two house bunnies and she shared stories about trying to breed the other rabbits they had, hoping to be able to sell the babies. Whatever they would get for the rabbits was money that was clearly needed. Our conversation rambled in every direction, marriage, children, divorce, infidelity. I told her how I had always found it so easy to draw lines of conviction when I was young, but in my 60s I was finally realizing that you can never say never.  “Except if they are beating you up,” she said emphatically.  She had grown up on a farm and had been her father’s hired hand. “He never hit me or abused me,” she continued, “and I would never stay with someone who did.” Agreed.

My phone rang again, and it was her daughter calling. “Dad said he’s hungry, and he won’t go until he’s had something to eat.”  The woman laughed and told her that I’d just made her a cup of coffee, so it was fine. “Just get him something to eat and then come pick me up after that.” I couldn’t imagine the difficulties in her life right now, the least of which was a car with a flat tire at the side of the road. It didn’t seem to matter. Her eyes were filled with a remarkable light, and I was enchanted by her.

She told me about a time when she and her husband, along with their three teenage daughters had lived up north near a lake. She had stayed behind at the cabin while her husband and their girls had gone down to the water to start a bonfire. It wasn’t long before the girls all came running from the lake, pleading with her to come with them. “He was a good-looking man in those days,” she said smiling, “and some woman down there had her eye on him. Those girls had run almost ¾ of a mile just to tell me that I needed to hurry and rescue Daddy because some woman was after him!”

When her daughter drove in 15 minutes later, she bolted from the vehicle and ran up the steps. “I told him he’s an asshole,” she complained to her mom the moment I opened the door. She was all spit and fire as she continued telling us about her attempts to convince this failing man that they needed to leave right now. “Here your wife is stranded and you won’t leave the house until you get a sandwich!” The woman just laughed, unphased by her daughter’s rough language, and thanked me for the coffee. I tried hard to see that handsome, beguiling young man she had referenced in the old, disoriented gentleman who sat in the passenger seat of the van that was parked in the driveway. There was nothing left of the man she had described.

“I don’t even know your name,” she said as she stood to leave. I told her it was Janet, and she smiled. I wished them both a Merry Christmas from the porch and then closed the door. It didn’t occur to me until an hour after they had left that I’d never asked her what her name was - such a strange thing as I ordinarily would not have missed asking someone their name after introducing myself. I only know that I have never had such a remarkable conversation with a stranger, before or since. There was something compelling about her, something in her eyes that was captivating and outside of the realm of this existence. Her presence that day was something that resists definition, something more felt than seen. As she spoke, the words ‘angels unawares’ kept drifting into my thoughts. As I listened to her stories, I could not shake the feeling that I was being visited by an angel. And what an incredible thing to know, right in that moment, while they are still right there in front of you.

I’m not sure what I believe about angels coming to our rescue or saving us from impending disaster. My belief system was upended several years ago, so now I am left to make sense of the ‘otherworldly’ on my own. I’ve walked away from the practices and rules that were passed down from the generation before me. I circle back to them at times when I long for the comfort of familiarity but, in the end, I don’t believe that the rites and rituals will be the things that save us. I can’t say that I believe in the radiant, baroque angels that filled my imagination as a child. At least not in this realm, anyway. I do, however, believe in the ones who arrive on our doorsteps unannounced, looking just like us. They are the flesh and blood reminders that as long as we occupy space on this earth, our job is to simply take care of each another. And if you’re lucky, the memory of their visit continues to linger long after they have left your kitchen table.