Angel in the Room

Thought it would be easier to get published in a Christian Rag. I was wrong. Nonetheless, still a good read.

It wasn’t until we got back into our hotel room that evening that Dale was finally able to reach me, with a little help of course.  Earlier that morning he and I had awoken to a glorious early summer morning.  The light wind brushed our cheeks, harmonizing deftly with the warm morning air.  The sun and the wind performed a perfect dance for us, keeping our bodies warm and cool all at once.  The air was just so comfortable. If I had my eyes closed I could have guessed I was dreaming. 

“Today’s a gift from God,” Dale said smiling, his gaze fixed on azure Heaven.

“Or just a nice day,” I replied doubtingly.

Dale turned his head back from the sky frowning at me.  It was a friendly frown, which was revealed by the smile in his eyes.  He always seemed to have that smile in his eyes.  “Well it is a nice day nonetheless,” he returned kindly.  “Whether it’s a gift from God or not is a matter of opinion.”

“I know, I know,” I replied laughing.  I didn’t mean to laugh but something about his expression, the way his nose scrunched and his brow creased that just always made me chuckle.  “Well let’s take advantage of the weather, from God or whoever, and finish this job up.”

The job I’m speaking about is road construction.  Dale and I are traveling construction workers, which means we are rarely home.  It also means we rarely get to see our families.  The money we earn is substantial, and so it makes life away from our wives and children a little easier.  At least we are able to provide for their needs and then some.  It’s especially hard for Dale unfortunately because he has a four year old daughter named Maggie who has Down syndrome.

I asked him once if he were ever angry that Maggie was disabled.  In retrospect now the question seems a bit ugly for me to have asked.  His reply was sweet and unhesitating.  He simply smiled and said, “God has a purpose for us all John, Maggie included.  I’d never be angry about that.”  What was most striking in my memory about that interaction was that his reply was so unrehearsed, and while he spoke his eyes smiled.  As I’ve said they always seem to smile, regardless of topic.  I remember thinking to myself, why on earth would God send you such a hardship.  And further more, how could you be so understanding?  My biggest question was this; how could Dale have so much faith in a God who would give him a disabled child?

As for me, I have a happy healthy wife and two beautiful sons at home.  John Jr. is eight and Will is six.  Of course if you ask Will he’d tell you he’s six and three quarters.  Sarah, my wife is a pediatrician, and together we have worked and built a wonderful life for ourselves.  Dale will tell you that we are blessed.  Before today I would have laughed and possibly agreed.  Sure we’re Christians but we don’t entirely act it.  I don’t think the family and I have been to church in three years.  God forgive us…

So, as I said the morning was beautiful, a gift from God, remember?  That afternoon was no different.  The sun was bright and warm but the wind played its part in the dance keeping us cool.  It was about seven o’clock that evening when it happened.  The it that happened was something both Dale and I will never forget.

After an afternoon of fixing potholes on interstate 390 near Rochester NY, it was time for us to gather our road signs and head back to the hotel.  In the distance I could see a tractor trailer booming down the road as the twilight set in.  It wasn’t out of the ordinary, those road monsters are everywhere anymore.

I said to Dale, “Do you think I have time to grab that last flagger sign before that trailer gets close.”  I may or may not have had an opportunity but nevertheless, I was tired and wanted nothing more than to lie in my hotel bed and talk to my wife and kids on the phone.

Dale hesitated for a moment.  Even the smile in his eyes was gone.  Before he could muster, “Don’t even think about it,” I was slamming the door of the truck behind me.

As I jogged toward the sign, I looked back and saw the worry in Dale’s eyes, which were pointing toward the sky.  I remember seeing his lips moving rapidly, mouthing something to no one.  That’s when I tripped in the road knocking myself unconscious.

When I came to I was sitting beside Dale once again in our pick-up truck.  His face was milk and there were traces of tears down his cheeks.

“What happened,” I said groggily, trying to regain my wits.

Dale paused for what seemed to be an eternity.  His dried tears became whole again.  “I almost lost you John,” he cried.

“What do you mean,” I said trembling.

“When you were lying in the road,” he hesitated, “that tractor trailer went right over you.”

“What?” was all that I could muster, my hands shaking.

“The tractor went right over the top of you John.  It completely missed you.”

I was stunned.  I couldn’t believe that I was alive and well.  In a frenzy I began to laugh.  “Man am I lucky to be alive,” I yelled.  I don’t know why I had to yell.  Maybe to prove that I really was alive?

That funny look came back to Dales face again.  You know the look I was talking about early with the scrunched nose.  His eyes gleamed with a smile brighter than I’d ever seen.  “You’re blessed is what you are John, you’re not lucky.”

“C’mon,” I replied laughing at his expression.  “That was pure luck.”

“No John,” he insisted.  “I prayed for an angel to save you.”

For some reason, what he said annoyed me.  I was just glad to be alive.  Lucky to be alive.  I was tired of him giving credit for things that happened to God.  This was my reply, “Why do you always think God is responsible?  I don’t go to church; I hardly even have faith anymore.  Why do I have such a fortunate life when someone like you, who’s filled with so much faith, have nothing but bad luck?”

After I blurted that out, I remember seeing a deep sadness fill Dale’s face like an impending storm.  He sat quietly for several minutes.  Thinking back, he was no doubt praying for me.  As he finally began to speak the storm that was his face had passed and there that smile was back in his eyes.  “I don’t have bad luck John,” he said smiling.  “You are my friend and I prayed for an angel to come and save you…and here you are.”

I leaned back in my seat and took a long stretch.  Boy did it feel good to be alive.  “Thanks for the prayers,” I yawned, “but you can think what you think, and I’ll think what I think.”

Later that night as we lay in our beds, I could tell that Dale was still awake.  The room was dark but the starlight coming in through the window revealed Dale’s silhouette, his chest heaving through deliberate breath.  “Can I tell you a story,” he asked slowly.

“Sure,” was what I replied.

“Did you know that my father was a preacher,” Dale said.

I replied, “No.”  It did explain Dale’s strong faith I thought.

“He was a preacher, and a darn good one too,” he continued.  “About a year before he passed away, he unfortunately had a falling out with the church.”

“Really,” I replied, “what for?”

“That’s not important, but what was really tragic is that after the falling out, I think he may have lost his faith.”

“That’s too bad,” I said, reaching my arm up to turn on the table lamp beside me.  At this point I was probably lying.  To me it didn’t matter who had faith.  Why should I care when I didn’t myself.

“The fact that he lost his faith really bothered me John.  So, about a week before he died I went to see him at his nursing home.”

“What about,” I said.  I remember for some reason, that the story was becoming fascinating to me.  I didn’t know why, but something within me was urging me to listen.

Dale rolled over in his bed to face me.  There was that look again so of course I laughed-I couldn’t help it.  “I wanted to know whether or not my dad was going to Heaven.  I needed to know if he still had his faith.”

“Did you find out,” I said, my eyes glued to Dale’s.

“Not from him I didn’t.  He blew me off and a week later he passed away.”

“Do you think you’ll ever know,” I said.

“I already know John.”

I sat up in my bed and leaned back against the headboard.  At this point I was all ears.  “How do you know?” I asked inquisitively.

“About six months ago, I was watching a Christian program on TV.  A man came on and said ‘Someone out there is having some questions about his father.’  I had been thinking about my dad that whole day.  Next he said, ‘You’re sitting in your recliner right now with your feet up.’  I looked down and I was doing just that.  Then he said, ‘You are wondering if your father is in Heaven.’  And that was in fact what I needed to know.  I was certain at that moment that the man on TV was talking to me.”

I remember watching Dale tell his story as the wind blew in from outside, the curtain on the window dancing.  “What did he say next,” I said as the breeze began to make my shoulder tingle.

“He said to me that my Dad was in heaven,” Dale smiled.  “He said that my Dad’s angel was in the room with me then and always would be in times of need.”

I remember feeling so peaceful in that moment, blessed to be alive.  “Was he on the road with us today?” I asked slowly.

Dale’s face shined as he looked beside me.  His eyes weren’t smiling when he spoke next, they were laughing.  He said, “He’s touching your shoulder right now.”

“I know he is,” I replied happily, my eyes smiling.  “I know he is.”