might as well find feathers falling past your windows, that’s how rare it seems these days to find an angel in your stepping path.
but, oh, when they appear, wings spread wide, head cocked at full attention, offering up the whole of their heart and soul and thoughts, well, it’s enough to take your breath away.
and inspire you to be the same: be the angel in the hard-trod path of someone else’s life.
and so comes the tale this morning of the doctor, the medical doctor with the jam-packed calendar. so hard is it to score an appointment, or even a phone call with this busy bountiful someone, that you will pencil in her name on your calendar after turning page upon page. or you’ll wait days for a call to be returned.
it’s not–not at all–that she doesn’t want to fit you in. it’s that she can’t. she is too darn booked.
so imagine this: in an email dispatch sent across the wires on a sunday, no less, she asked if perhaps a certain boy i love might meet with her for coffee on a thursday evening. it would be a fine time for them to catch up, to see how things are going, to see if perhaps there is any tweaking she can do to his medical plan.
imagine that: a coffee call.
in an age when house calls are all but extinct (try finding the box to check on the insurance forms for that one), a revered and blessed doctor–one who surely trekked off to med school to join in the art of healing–offered up a winter’s evening, to share tea and words with a teenage child.
in my book, that’s an angel all right.
can you imagine the message it sends to a kid? you are important enough, i care about you enough, to give up an evening of my time.
not because you are paying me. not because the insurance company will have a clue what to do with any sort of billing code–as if she’d submit one.
because you are a patient—a human soul and body that needs a tad of tinkering to make things flow as they should flow—and i, as a doctor of medicine, have the knowledge and the life’s practice to steer you on that path.
i, for one, cannot stop thinking about it. i can’t forget the smile spread across my firstborn’s face when he bounded in the door, snowflakes on his shoulders, ice clomped on his boots. he had a deeper understanding of how things worked, and how the medicine might be calibrated to fine-tune the machine that is his lovely self.
it makes me wonder just how many angels are out there, sprinkled on our paths.
it makes me want to start to track them, their meanderings through our days and nights.
for surely, they are here. planted unsuspectingly among us, for the work to be done here, can’t be done by mortals all alone.
i am starting here, a list of angels and their stories. we might all sprout wings, if we begin to understand that the fine line between heaven and earth is bridged by those among us who live with wings spread wide and luminously.
add your angels here: