Part One
Em was born blind. Though she has never seen the sun rise or set, she can deeply feel its warmth upon her skin at its rise, and it always takes her breath at its descent.
Complaint is never found on her tongue in regard to her disability. In fact when asked how she feels about the matter she responds the same no matter the audience.
“I can’t see with my eyes but it’s not a disability. It’s a blessing. The world can be a real ugly place if only observed by sight alone. I awake daily to rich smells like fresh-cut grass or Dad’s coffee brewing. I hear genuineness through unseen inflections by all who speak in my hearing. I also feel the differences of hugs, handshakes, or even pats on the back. Small as the subtleties may be they speak volumes and I revel in the true emotions expressed through each. I learn people. the ones behind the masks erected to shield themselves from rejection. See. I do see. and better than eyes ever could. I get to see the heart and that’s always a privilege.”
I know what you must be thinking as you read this. That this woman. this Em, may say all that but that she only says it to compensate for her loss of sight and to the naked eye, sight unseen or not personally experienced, I might be tempted to feel or say the same thing. The truth is that Em just loves people. She really sees them and they respond incessantly. Sometimes unwittingly. Not because they’re made to or pity her ’cause she’s blind but because she goes above and beyond in everything she does for others. Not from compulsion but from a true desire to show them an accurate reflection of what she sees with the sight she has been given.
I’m witness to this and it awes me de novo every day. I say all this to add necessary context to what I can only describe as a miracle.
See, Em loves to walk — for hours if possible — and the only safe way for her to walk as far or long as she wants is for me to drive her to a park nearby. One day on just such a walk a couple squirrels were playing and making a real racket nearby. At the sound Em turns in their general direction so I step back a few steps so I can watch her. I only have a side view of Em but I can see half the smile that played on her lips from the sheer joy she experienced from hearing two of GOD’S creatures at play. Just as quickly they stopped making any noise, which I barely noticed as I was caught up in Em’s beauty,
“Ray, what are they doing? I can no longer hear them,”
So I move up beside her and search for sight of them.
“They are standing on their hind legs looking at you, Em.”
“Really?”
“Of course I mean you are nice to look at.”
Her smile grows all the way as to reach her eyes and guided I suppose by my voice she playfully slaps my arm.
“Squirrels don’t think women are nice to look at, silly.”
I quietly reply, “Everything thinks you’re nice to look at.”
“Huh?” she asks.
“Uh, well, these two do.”
“That’s not what you said.”
And since she was right but I was too shy to repeat what I had only meant to think, I walked on in silence.
After a couple hours we’re both worn out and ready to call it a day when a dove startles us by taking flight. Em, by turning in the direction of the noise, causes her black hair to shimmer like pure silk and put an extra sparkle in her already gorgeous eyes due to the sun. with the sun backlighting her she also appeared to be glowing.
I, like Em, kept walking throughout but because I was like a deer caught in the headlights at her ethereal appearance, I tripped on an unseen rock. Fell forward and tumbled down a steep embankment. This is where my memory ends for a little while ‘cause I was knocked unconscious.
I woke in a hospital bed with a cast on my left arm and gauze wrapped profusely around my head — which pulsed with much pain — and in the corner sitting in the visitor’s chair, head bowed in obvious prayer, was my precious Em. I coughed to get her attention.
“Oh you’re awake. I was so worried, how do you feel?”
“Well my head is pounding. my arm hurts like crazy but it’s my pride muscle that hurts the worst.”
“I don’t know what happened to hurt your pride. I see no reason — no pun intended — but I’ve been so worried about you so I prayed for help. and since I couldn’t do much else I cried as well.
A few moments later I heard the voice of a child behind me say, “He looks pretty bad.”
“He does?”
“You can’t see it,” the child says but not as a question. “But he needs help.”
“I don’t have a cell phone with me. It’s back at the car and I can’t make the trip by myself.”
“I could lead you. Is your car parked in the reserve parking lot?”
“Yeah but where are your parents?”
“Oh just up ahead.”
“Well I would be very grateful if you could.”
So Em and the boy headed for the car with Em holding on to the boy’s shoulder for guidance. She says that she remembered clearly how fluffy wool like his shirt felt. that it was very soft. The whole way Em kept asking about his parents and showing her usual concern for the child but in response he said his parents were around. He continuously reassured Em with words of hope about my safety. Which Em only found unusual later.
Upon reaching the car she quickly located the phone and called 911 for a rescue team and was made to stay on the line until they arrived.
When they did she told them to get directions from the child. with an uncertain look one of them responds.
“Ahh ma’am there is no boy here. Yours is the only car here.”
Bewildered but with the task of my rescue she persisted by having them lead her back down the trail. Because I had fallen and rolled so far from the trail they were about to give up thinking that I like the nonexistent child may be imaginary as well . Feeling defeated, Em dropped to her hands and knees to weep when her hands instead of dirt felt the familiar softness of the shirt the boy had been wearing. Holding it up as proof that she wasn’t crazy caused one of the rescuers to look in her direction. In doing so at that view he saw down to where I lay.
To this day many years later Em still has that fleece-like shirt and swears that the child could be nothing but an angel sent to show her the way. I don’t doubt for a second her belief in this, as my recollections of the story matches almost verbatim. The only difference is that I believe Em to have been an angel as well — both sent to show me the way!
“Don’t forget to entertain strangers for by doing so some have entertained angels unaware.”
Part Two
As I set out writing, I’m now 81 and Em is 82. It’s been about 50 years since the little boy — or angel appeared to Em at the park. Now looking back, I can see its significance but like most things in life we rarely recognize their importance at the time.
As I’ve said, I’m an old man now so please allow my memory some amnesty. I have to remember that I’m observing a knowledge of how effect was manifested from cause. With this in mind, let me add a little backstory to this backstory.
Growing up, my father was in prison so I was raised by my mother. A woman who tried with every fiber of her being to raise me right, teaching me of Jesus, of how to treat a woman, of right and wrong, etc. Juggling both areas of parenthood, that of mother and father, with great poise and grace. No matter her exhaustive efforts I was bound and determined to emulate people doing the exact opposite. One case in point, or the pertinent case in point to this recollection is that me and “a friend” were mowing lawns for an elderly couple. One day while they were gone my coworker stole some jewelry while I was working. We finished the day, got paid, and went home, but the next day we were both arrested. It mattered not that I knew nothing of the theft. I was found guilty and sentenced to 18 years in prison, but only did four, getting released on parole with many stipulations, one of which was 1,000 hours of community service at Mary & Grace Wellness Center, and although I detested the idea of having to spend so much time around disabled people, I was willing if for no other reason than to assure my freedom.
My first day at M&G Center I got there about 1 p.m. Planning to get a lay of the place and see what I was up against. The first thing I noticed as I walked in as I scanned for a supervisor was a girl all by herself off to my immediate left sitting in a plastic chair listening to an old Walkman cassette player (retro, right?). Anyway, the volume must have been up pretty loud because she didn’t hear me come in and accidentally slam the door.
With no one else in sight, I walked over to her and when I got fully in front of her I was struck speechless. She was gorgeous. Beautiful brown eyes, wavy dark brown silky hair, angelic features. You know: dimpled cheeks, the cutest little nose, full pouty lips, and the spark in her eyes held my attention as it only accentuated sunfire patterns in her irises. As I’m duly noting all her beauty, it dawned on me that I was no more than 4 feet directly in front of her and she just looked right through me as if I wasn’t even there.
Then for reasons still unknown to me, she smiled — not like at me but just in general — and it transformed her every feature from amazing to extraordinary climbing as far as breathtaking. I estimated her at about 5 foot 4 inches. She was petite but not even close to anorexic. Right there and right then at only 21 years old my mind made the image of this girl the example, the template, the very mold that I would for the rest of my life measure all others against, with her being perfection.
This was totally subconscious, maybe even supernatural. Whatever the case may be, the simple truth was that this girl, this woman, was what love songs were written about, what poetry was composed of, the very essence of beauty, but even the word “beautiful” was a misnomer as it too fell short of an accurate portrayal of the girl I would come to know as Em, so I won’t embarrass myself by trying to frame words that will only fall short.
Interrupting my inner monologue, a matronly woman snaps me out of my reverie with a stern,
“Can I help you?”
“Uh,” catching my composure. “Yeah,” I continue as I hand her my time sheet. “Reporting for duty.”
“OK,” she says, looking at the paper I handed her. “Mr. Devas, let me show you around. You can call me Ms. Sarah.”
During our tour of the place she explains how I am expected to clean all common areas and restrooms, but “assisting” patients in need is of first importance.
When I left that first day I was tired but all day long I stayed expectant that I would get to see the girl again to no avail. Over the next few days however I saw her everywhere. I’m still embarrassed to admit the extent of my shock when I came to know that the girl was a patient and not staff and more so the realization that she was completely blind. The only silver lining being that since she was blind, she hadn’t seen me gawking at her my first day and thought me a weirdo, but her blindness did nothing to lessen my growing enthusiasm.
I’m of the opinion that “stalker” is far too strong a word for my behavior over the next week or so. I think a better description would be a stealthy pursuit. Whatever name or label is put on it — and as cliche as it sounds — I fell in love with that girl at first sight, even more so I learned over time that she was even more beautiful inside than out.
It never ceased to amaze me every time this beautiful blind girl behaved more like a helper than one in need of help. I mean she maneuvered through every room, hall, nook or cranny of the center so well that it gave the illusion that she could see. She was eerily quick and ever attentive to both staff and her contemporaries. Daily I would watch as she would tie a young girl’s shoes who suffered from cerebral palsy. How two or three times a week she was the only one who could calm and soothe an elderly lady in early stage dementia. Not to individually mention all the times I saw her sit for long periods of time just listening to many other patients who were struggling with coming to grips with their disabilities — even though she had her own — once before I could protest to stop her she stooped down to help me pick up some garbage I accidentally spilled because I was busy looking at her — and not where I was going — which as fate would have it was the instance when I first learned her name, also the first time she spoke mine!
“No, no, don’t worry, I’ll get it. It’s my mess.”
“It’s no problem, I like to help when I can. You must be the new guy Ms. Sarah hired. My name is Em. It’s pronounced like the letter ‘M’ but spelled like ‘me’ backwards, which is fitting when said by me, as Em is me or me is Em,” she stated while shooting this cocky little half-smile where only one corner of her mouth pulls up and a quick wink with one of her very pretty but unseeing eyes. Not missing a beat, she goes on in a teasing manner, “You seem to be easily distracted, so … what’s so distracting?”
Caught off guard momentarily: “Uh, nothing I’m just a little clumsy,” still in a teasing way but in no way mean.
“Well, clumsy or distracted — the latter being the horse I’m betting on — I will gladly help. What’s your name?”
“Ray Devas.”
Here she makes a show of tapping her chin with her index finger. “Ray Devas. D-E-V-A-S. Oh, wow, your name spelled backwards is ‘saved.’ That’s so cool.”
“Oh, yeah, I, uh, never noticed.”
“Well, Mr. Ray Devas, I read somewhere in the Bible about how names are important so I always analyze them. Anyway, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Are you saved, silly?”
“Well, I’m not a Christian if that’s what you mean, but I am saved from having to clean this mess by myself.”
Here I try a cocky little grin, but then remember that she can’t see it.
“Well, I’m a Christian, or saved, and I’m glad to be able to ‘save’ you from having to clean all by yourself. I’ve long been a believer that any burden is lightened when shared or divided by another.”
“Well … thank you, Em.”
“You are very welcome, Ray.”
Then she once again did that cute little smirk with the wink. The same combo that she still does to this day. Every time she does it, it’s like she knows a secret that I don’t and I’m left feeling privileged that I get to be an audience.
Over the course of the next couple of months I would only leave the M&G Center to go home for sleep, and I searched for any reason to “assist” Em. But being that Em was always the assister and never the “assistee,” I often felt the part of interloper as I was left to admire while Em offered whatever physical help was needed, all while absentmindedly administering their most important needs: time and love.
I’ve heard it said that love and time are the same word only spelled differently, and Em seamlessly rationed out equal portions tirelessly so much so that she was a much sought-after commodity, what with her being such a bright light in an otherwise dark place. Though Em never said a word — at least in my hearing — she seemed to know or sense my feelings for her and true to her nature, she gave time and love to me as well. One evening while she was helping me clean some windows — I know it sounds crazy that a blind person was cleaning windows (you just had to know Em). She was just so good, so pure that dirtiness of any kind stood no chance against her.
Anyway, while cleaning I asked if she was aware of her effect on people, to which she quickly stated, “It’s not me that affects them. It’s the realization that they are still worth loving, and that I not just tell them this but I show them without reservation, and I expect nothing in return.”
“But why do you love them?”
“Because I’ve been saved.”
At this she smiles her mischievous smirk, sans the wink.
“I am loved unconditionally by Jesus and I love that. It moves me to the point that I am compelled to mimic that love — to the best of my ability — in response.”
“But you can’t see Jesus.”
“Ray, I can’t see anyone, but I know he’s here,” she says while pointing to the part of her chest over her heart. “And I may be the only Jesus they get to see, so I try to represent him accordingly and with great care and intention.
Still not satisfied, I continue.
“How do you see, or sense, or know he’s with you?”
Side note: This was a question that set in motion our walks together. They were birthed by Em taking my hand in response to my last question and leading me outside about 40 or 50 yards from all the noise and commotion that is the center. Em squeezed my hand softly and said,
“Now close your eyes.” I was hesitant but complied.
“Now what?”
“Look using your heart, hear with your ears, and fix your mind and body on everything around you.”
If I’m being honest, at first my attention was only on the fact that Em was holding my hand, but with much effort to see as Em saw, I slowly became aware of stuff I never even acknowledged before. I started hearing birds chirping up in some tree, the slow churning of water from a nearby stream, and as I became aware of each new thing I quickly relayed it to Em.
“That is Jesus’ work — a present to us. See, I hear all that as well, but I also feel the warm kiss of the sun on my face. I both hear and feel the whirling of wind in tandem with its all-encompassing embrace all over my body. I even feel the stark contrast of solid dirt foundation give way to the softness of the grass under my feet … Do you feel it?”
Em stayed silent and unmoving to allow me time and silence to attune myself.
“I do, I do.”
“We as humans all too often take these things for granted, but the fact of the matter is that all this — and much more — are one of the ways God reveals himself to us. Then I get to bring it to your attention and in turn you can share it as well. If I’m paying real close attention, I can hear — or maybe feel is more fitting — every beat of my heart. At this Em squeezes and releases, squeezes and releases my hand to convey to me the rhythm of hers.
“That’s God lavishing his love with each and every single beat. He personally controls them all, and since Jesus prayed for the love which God loved him would be in our hearts. I think it’s why he chose our hearts to show us constantly, night and day, of our individual worth to him.”
Em’s words were beautiful — as was most everything about Em — and so full of wisdom far too sagely for someone her age that I had to ask, “Who told you, who showed you this love?”
“Well … see … my mother — or more accurately, the woman who gave birth to me — left me and my dad when I was only 3 years old so my dad did his best to raise me by himself. Raising a child all alone had to be hard enough but to raise a blind child I’m certain was almost impossible. Dad did his best with patience and love. If that wasn’t enough, he got cancer in his stomach and died when I was 6 years old. I have always blamed his death on my ‘mother’ but no matter the blame, I was sent here to M&G Center and with severe grief from losing my dad and the anger from my mom abandoning us, I became very bitter. I lashed out at every counselor, staff, nurse, even other patients that I came into contact with, so much so that no one wanted anything to do with ‘the mean little blind girl.’ But right in the midst of the darkest, lowest moments when I felt so much anger, pain, and loneliness, God sent me an angel to remind me that I was not alone and that I was worth loving, that even though I was blind I was fearfully and wonderfully made, and a marvelous creation because all God’s creations are.”
“Hold up … what? An angel, like with wings and a halo?”
At this, Em laughs.
“Ray, first of all, angels don’t really have wings, not according to the Bible, but also I can’t see so I wouldn’t have known those things anyway. The Bible uses the word ‘angel’ as either angelic beings or a messenger with information from God and this angel was very human. She is very human.”
“OK, well, who is she?”
“She was a true blessing, but she also used to be a prostitute and a drug addict. She had recently been released from prison. She tirelessly pushed past all my outbursts, tantrums, and bad behavior. Day in and day out she showed me that I was worth the effort. She never gave up on me. She always listened while I spoke of my anger at my mother and my sadness for the loss of my dad. She would just listen for hours, truly listen, she never tuned me out, she even cried with me as I spoke of how my mom was the reason my and my dad’s lives were so bad and why he died. She never judged me but when appropriate would speak truths from the Bible that referenced anything it was talking about. Anyway, one day I asked her why she was so good to me, especially when I didn’t deserve it. She told me that God found her in prison, that she’d truly surrendered to his will, and that he’d forgiven her for so much, that it was a pleasure to share with me and others what had been freely given to her: love, patience, and lots of forgiveness. She said that every day was a blessing for her. How could she not share such a gift as all that?”
At this point Em had tears in her eyes, but I can’t help but ask, “But who was she? Where is she now?”
This question brings a small smile that somehow conveyed great pride in what she was fixing to reveal to me.
“She’s probably in her office,” she said. “She is the supervisor, but you call her Ms. Sarah.”
The Greek word “angelos” translated to English is “angel,” meaning “messenger” (bringer of news) or a person regarded as beautiful or good.
Part Three
As I reminisce on years past I realize that though me and Em weren’t overly outgoing or spontaneous, memories quickly stack up to uncountable proportions. I suppose this is true with most everyone, and the older we get the faster time seems to travel, and in so doing we gather a plethora of both nightmarish bad times and breathtakingly good ones. We soldier through the former, while we lollygag as long as possible in the latter.
In my ruminations, I attempt to deposit the last leg of one of my breathtakingly good memories. I struggle with indecision as to what’s absolutely necessary and what details I should exclude as not to become a bore. For that matter I wrestle even with the order in which to accurately convey this, my last missive. My will to articulate, organize, and create a seamless rhythm or cadence is unwavering, yet my memory, body, and intellect have lost a bit in the ol’ “get up and go” department. I use the excuse that I’m an old man but the truth is I never had much to begin with. So I pray for adequate strength and wisdom, as all things are possible with God.
OK, where was I? Oh yeah, at the bombshell Em dropped on me about Ms. Sarah being her “angel.” Since then I’ve found myself constantly observing her. It’s amazing how we can meet someone and build an opinion based only by appearance, maybe tone of voice, or even age. Only to discover just how far off our assumptions had been — we all know what they say of assuming — this was the case with Ms. Sarah. The first day I met her she looked like that strict math teacher we’ve all had who would crack the whip to get us to apply ourselves and who would snatch passed notes from students and read them aloud in class. But the more I watched Ms. Sarah, the harder it became to see her like my first impressions. One fateful day I remember wiping down the center’s kitchen counter when I noticed that out the window Ms. Sarah and Em were conversing — of what I don’t know — but the entire time they talked Ms. Sarah’s whole appearance morphed into that of a totally different person. She smiled a bigger, more serene smile, her eyes lit like Christmas lights. Her whole posture shifted from uptight to carefree right in front of my eyes. I couldn’t help but wonder if Em was aware of how drastic a change her company had on Ms. Sarah, so much so that maybe, just maybe, to Ms. Sarah, Em was her “angel.”
Crazy, huh? I know. Anyhow, I was so enamored in my thoughts that Ms. Sarah had come back inside, into the kitchen, right to my side.
“Boy, you got it bad, huh?” she asked me.
“Uh, no, I mean, I got the counter cleaned good.”
“I ain’t talkin’ about no counters. I’m talkin’ about Em. Just ‘cause I ain’t said nothin’ don’t mean I ain’t notice.”
After minutes went by with me unable to articulate a reply, she continued, “Don’t worry, it ain’t just you. Em’s got it bad too. Ever since you’ve been around, your name has a way of being brought up every time she speaks. So listen to me and listen well. Em has been dealt a lot of bad cards in the game of life, and as far as I know, you’re the only boy she’s ever liked, so if you ain’t serious about her, tell her now. I ain’t worried about your past. I’m worried about her future, so make no mistake, if you’re serious about her and you make her happy, I’m happy. But if you ever hurt her, you won’t have to worry about going back to prison. You’ll have to worry about surviving ‘cause I’ll run you over with the center’s van, ‘on accident.’”
That didn’t scare me at all because I couldn’t think of ever hurting Em. I loved her! So with a shaky voice and nerves so jumbled that my hands shook, I spoke my heart, “Ms. Sarah, since I laid eyes on Em I can think of little else. I have fits sleeping because I can’t stop thinking about her. I can hardly eat because my stomach is in knots worrying how I’ll ever get Em to feel about me how I feel about her. Sometimes I even get migraine headaches because I push my mind so hard coming up with things to say to make her want to be around me or ways to make her smile. Oh, that smile! I know she deserves way better than me, but I can’t stop selfishly trying to win her affections.”
Caught up in my putting voice to my feelings, I didn’t hear Em come up behind us until … “What are y’all talking about?” This from Em.
I needn’t worry to come up with a response because Ms. Sarah responded almost before the
question was fully out of Em’s mouth.
“Girl, I know your hearing is such that you’ve got a pretty good idea, but just to clear the air, and so the two of you will stop this whole round and round of liking the other one but not having the nerve to ask how the other one feels, so … Ray was just telling me that he loves you so much that his body is shutting down on him in his worry that you won’t love him in return, and to be completely fair —” At this point she turns her full attention to me. “Em was telling me outside — you know, when you were eavesdroppin’ — that she, too, aches physically when you’re not around, and she prays for you until she falls asleep every night …”
As embarrassing as that was, obviously me and Em fall in love, get married, and we even have a child (a boy, who is a whole other story for a whole other time) and we’ve grown old together — happily — but my reason for sharing these particular memories that all dovetail on how God uses heavenly angels to guide us or human vessels with messages who we perceive to be angelic is to give hope to the otherwise hopeless and faith to the faithfully challenged. I was in both these categories, even after I met Em that first day listening to the Bible on her antique cassette player, even after the boy/angel helped guide Em to save me at the park, even after all the times I observed both Ms. Sarah and Em walk the walk of true Christians living this thing we call life as close to the example Jesus left for them as they can. What finally got me was the day I met Em’s mom, and the message she revealed to me left no doubt in my mind that God was in fact real and that if he could save/transform her life, then there was still hope for the likes of me … and you!
So it was several years after the boy at the park and two days after Christmas. Em was in the hospital recovering from surgery on her wrist from a slip and fall. Though I didn’t want to leave her side she insisted that I go to the center and help Ms. Sarah with cleanup after the holiday mess. It was about 6 p.m. when we finished and I had sat down to rest in a recliner in the TV room but due to being plum tuckered out I must have dozed off because I started dreaming that me and Em were at some park barbecuing, what made me aware that I was dreaming was that Em was cooking — she never cooks because of her blindness — and she was obviously burning whatever she was cooking because all I could smell was smoke. Then I snapped awake and what I saw still causes my pulse to race.
The center was on fire, all of it, like everywhere. No matter where I looked, all I saw was smoke or flames. I had no escape. I was so scared I went into full victim mode and lost my ability to think straight. I did, however, think about Em but not of her beauty or her laugh or all of her sass, but of all the hard times I’d seen her tackle and how she’d handled them all — on her knees in prayer.
So I prayed. True enough, it was a purely selfish prayer, to save my life, but I sought the Lord, and he heard, and he answered, almost instantly.
While still praying, I hear a really loud crash, that of glass shattering mixed with wood splintering. I open my eyes and swivel to face the direction of the noise — expecting to see part of the roof caving in on me — but instead I see a glowing angel who has crashed through the half wood/half glass door that separates the TV room — where I was — from the kitchen. Her hair was wild and over her angelic clothes she had some type of billowy outer garment but turned out to be a soaking wet comforter. It also turns out that she wasn’t an actual heavenly angel — but my angel just the same — she was a badly burned Ms. Sarah. Before I could say a word, she forcefully led me back the way she came and on out of the center altogether. Once outside, I turn to find Ms. Sarah lying on the ground with horrible burns all over her body, half her otherwise long hair singed to her scalp, and the grimace on her face makes evident she’s in a large amount of pain, so after locating my phone in my pants pocket and calling 911, I lean down to better assess her injuries when she grabs my arm with a blistered hand in order to pull me closer because her voice was but a whisper and while looking me directly in my eyes she says words that change my life forever.
“I made sure everyone was safe (cough) but I couldn’t locate you. I have come to love you like a son, but more importantly, Em loves you, and I refuse to let her down again. Tell her I’m not abandoning her again. I just made a choice so she wouldn’t have to lose you.”
“What are you talking about, Ms. Sarah? I don’t understand.”
Before I can finish she’s talking again as if I hadn’t spoken at all, so I stayed quiet, as it was obviously a great effort on her part to speak at all.
“I need a favor and a promise.”
“Anything, of course, just relax, save your energy.”
“No, now is the time. Promise you’ll protect, love, cherish and listen — really listen — to Em.”
“Don’t talk like that. You’re gonna be fine. I already called the ambulance.”
“Don’t talk, Ray. Just listen. Now the favor is, please tell Em … my daughter, that I’ve always loved her. Tell her that I left so I wouldn’t hurt her more by staying. Whenever she gets sad, remind her that God loves her so much that he got me clean so I could watch her grow into a beautiful woman, to watch her fall in love, and even more important, I got to see her live her life for Jesus. I never told her all this ‘cause I’m a coward, plus I saw that what she needed more than a mother who abandoned her was a friend.”
As the pieces start to fit together in my mind, I start to take notice just how much Ms. Sarah favors Em. Even badly burned, the resemblance is substantial.
“Tell her that I’m very sorry and that I pray someday she’ll be able to forgive me. Tell her that I loved her since the day the doctors placed her in my arms.”
Ms. Sarah now has a coughing fit so severe that it hinders her speech and flecks of saliva mixed with blood run down and out of her mouth but the second it subsides, she continues.
“Ray, I know you won’t understand right now but you meeting Em wasn’t just happenstance, you met her for reasons beyond just the love you share. I know without a shadow of doubt that Em will lead you to the foot of the cross. See, Ray, spiritually speaking, Em’s not the blind one … you are. This is why I asked that you listen to her … really listen. She only knows how to speak from her heart, and since her heart is for Jesus, and more so since she has given her heart to you, listen to what it says and always treasure the gift.”
What she does next floored me in that it seemed so out of place — but somehow right — and it solidified any doubt lingered about Ms. Sarah being Em’s mom. She gave a cocky half-grin like she knows a secret I don’t, then winks. Then both her eyes close for the last time …
Needless to say, I kept my promise, completed the favor, and I took Ms. Sarah’s advice (to listen). So now at 81 I look forward to the day that me and Em will get to see our angel/messenger again in heaven.
Ephesians 3:20: “To him who is able to do exceedingly, abundantly above all that we ask or think according to His power that works in us.”
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