The thing about angels is that they don’t ask permission to show up.
They interrupt everything, really.
They are so at home in what we would define as our space. It’s a bit unnerving. Irritating even. Encountering an angel is anything other than ordinary.
When I lived in Nebraska, I had a shed in my yard. One frigid, wintery day, I noticed a pot-bellied angel sitting on the roof of the shed. He was swinging his feet and kind of chuckling. I wasn’t prepared for it. I had no grid for it whatsoever. How ever was I to respond to a pot-bellied man perfectly at home on the roof of my shed? What a curiosity! I kept looking out there to see if he’d leave. In the natural realm I could see bits of snow falling off the roof of the shed but when I would glance again, he’d be there.
So many questions! Who was he, really? Was he really an angel? Why did he remind me of my Dad? Now, I’m in no way implying I was seeing my deceased father – It’s just that my Dad had a colossal pot-belly and well, here was this man. I didn’t fear for my shed roof, if that’s what you’re thinking. He was kind of there and yet not. And he laughed!
The resemblance of an angel to my Dad was ironic because at that point owning a home had become work. I was nearly gluing 100 dollar bills to the side of the house because it had become so costly to maintain. I was hiring a plow guy, shoveling walks myself, emptying gutters, working full-time and maintaining the house and yard. I was exhausted.
Somehow this angel made me forget my troubles for a minute, and just chuckle right along with him. The weight of the world may have been on my shoulders but he just nodded his head like he knew. It’s safe enough to say that a girl misses her Dad once he’s gone. No matter his failures, no matter that the years come and go. This angel’s comfort was undeniable. He kind of jiggled a bit. Certainly he wasn’t going to be one of those angels that made you fearful because he just didn’t have that going for him, sorry to say. And he certainly wasn’t going to take a hit for me in traffic. He wasn’t one of those.
He just sat there and chuckled. If I had seen cigar stubs out there I wouldn’t have missed a beat.
The supernatural doesn’t request your permission to exist or permeate the natural realm. It just does. The overriding feeling, for me, is that angels bring news from Home. Their presence ever and anon reminds us of Heaven, whether we believe or not. And that’s good news.
One thought on “Pot-bellied Angels”
February 7, 2013 at 12:09 am
Sweet, love this! Catching up on my reading a bit…