Angels

I'm no longer hesitant to tell you:  I believe in angels. 

Here's what I've learned about these other-worldly beings:

Angels seldom present with all of their teeth.

Angels often wear dirty, worn out clothing rather than white raiment and feathery wings.

Angels know how to beg--apparently, they've been doing it for centuries.

Angels reframe my take on the 24-hour-a-day news cycle. 

Often, angels just "appear." 

Angels "disappear" just as easily.

Sometimes, angels smell bad.  Actually, they smell bad most of the time! (Maybe the trip from heaven causes that.)

In my experience, angels almost always appear very, very poor.

If I give them just a moment of my attention, they'll tell me everything that I wonder about them.

Angels keep me confused by their  requests, their honesty and their simplicity.

Angels reveal to me that this world is not all there is by any stretch of the imagination! 

Angels put all of my problems into healthy perspective; which is likely the reason why they show up so often in my world. 

Angels can be aggravating!

Angels show me the way to be human.

Angels exist everywhere.

Angels come to bring me a word of truth that I need but too often resist!

Funny, over the last two decades living and working among impoverished folks, I've met more angels than in all my life before. 

Angels love "poor people."  As a matter of fact, the homeless poor in Dallas, and especially those in "tent city," reside with the angels. 

Just sayin.'

Truth or Lies at dusk on an urban corner

I didn't see her coming.

We were standing outside a crowded restaurant in downtown Philadelphia waiting to get in for dinner.

Out of nowhere the woman appeared, almost like she "materialized" before our eyes.

"Sir, I need fare back to New Jersey," she began an all too familiar pitch to me.

"How much is that?" I asked, not making much effort to cover my frustration--come on, it's my vacation!

"Fourteen dollars for bus and train," she spoke clearly with confidence mixed with z frustration much more deeply seated than mine.

The woman was dressed with care, a poor lady at the end of her disappointing day and her rope most likely.

"I was a fool, sir. I came over here to meet my ex and he just put me out of the car on this street and I can't get home without some help," she went on.

By now we'd attracted a crowd, all listening attentively. I motioned her aside and moved closer so we could hear without raising our voices.

After getting a few more details of her story and her need, I challenged her.

"You need to know that I work with folks in trouble and on the streets in Dallas," I informed her. "I don't think your story adds up. I think you may be lying to me," I pushed her hard.

She never wavered.

"Sir, I have told you the truth," she assured me, looking right into my eyes.

"I don't have the ability to know that, but you do," I replied. I handed her $20 and pressed again that she knew what was true.

"I would rather give you what you say you need not knowing if you're telling me the truth than to refuse your request and chance it that you might just be sharing exactly what happened to you," I explained.

She assured me again that she was speaking the truth.

"One last question," I said as we prepared to part.

"OK," she said.

"Why did you pick us to talk to out of all these folks?" I asked.

"I don't really know," she answered. "Maybe it was God."

She turned and headed toward the subway entrance into the rest of her night.

Do you believe in angels, heavenly guests?

Jane Lowe

I'm thinking of you today, Jane Lowe.
Lots to remember as I stop to think of you;
Your dirt-floored shanty nestled under
That Claiborne Street overpass right downtown
New Orleans--folks driving by, but never seeing your truth.

Been now nearly thirty years since you made your rounds in that
Wild and wonderful city of light and song and fear,
Coming by my place in the mix to read my palm, tell my fortune
And share a story to draw down a tear and a laugh or two--
Always asking about my babies.

I remember your dirty face, your toothless, grinning mouth;
Your black and gray hair pulled back tight in a greasy knot,
All you owned--a treasure trove--piled high on your grocery cart;
And you, the most optimistic person I've ever known,
Who had so much pain and little else to show, or so it seemed at first.

At times you worked me for a buck or two,
A meal, a bit of cash for the bus, or
A bottle that I'm sure consoled you in the
Darkness of your lonely nights and
Very hard days on those stressful, amazing, wonderful streets.

You were my church, truth be known, smelly though it surely was
And full of frustration and gaping need; but I never could relate much to the holy folks come into town from elsewhere
To make their bucks and secure their futures, and pay my salary
But you just coming by to make sure I was okay, and to help yourself.

Cheap assurance you sure provided,
No doubt in my mind your wisdom about life was more than sound;
Your needs so simple, your laughter so real, old, homeless woman, I know you were an angel, sure enough,
Come down to those streets for me.