Walking with Angels

I want to walk with the angels.

Who wouldn't?

Too many times these days I find myself lost. There is no much apathy. There is overwhelming selfishness. I feel alone and unloved and stagnant. I feel like rather than being a source of transformation I am rotting in the pile of filth that I live. I look around and see darkness. Where is the celebration? Where are the trumpets? Where are the angels? Where is the growth? The change? The life?

Peace on earth is found when sometimes,
     I look up,
          and realise that I love the people I am with.

I feel overflowing emotion as I stare at the faces that can simply be described as angels on earth.

I have often heard Christians say something to the effect of "Why feel unloved? Jesus loves you." But they seem to miss the point. How does one experience God's love? Where does it come from? God's love is not supposed to be abstract. Jesus was a real flesh and blood man. Is love not a basic need just as food and oxygen are? Do newborns not die in the hospital from a lack of love?

There is no lofty holy explanation for love. There is no abstract. How do you feel God's love? A creation of God shows it to you.

I once was flying from for Christmas. I had been out of the country by myself a long time and was put simply: tired. I checked my bag and they only routed it most of the way home -- I asked "Will I need to pay to recheck it?" I didn't have the money to check it. No, no I wouldn't. Yes, yes they were wrong. I arrive in Dulles not having slept more than a few hours all week. It is Christmas. I just want to go home. I step up to the counter to get my bags back on the aeroplane and the man says nonchalantly "That will be $85." I was mad. I didn't yell. I was too tired. I didn't cry. My feelings weren't hurt-- I had just been mislead and this man needed to do his job and apologise for the inconvenience and get me on my way. He was being unkind. I didn't know what to do. Legally I couldn't leave my bag. I didn't have the money to pay for it. I really wanted to go home. We were at a standstill with the lovely man over the counter yelling at me.

An angel intervened. I hear a gentle voice behind me whisper "Merry Christmas" as a delicate hand placed some cash on the counter, and walked away. I couldn't breathe. Tears began to slip through the cracks. Then I found myself sobbing. The man at the counter, ever impatient said some snide remark which I can now not remember. It didn't matter. Jesus loved me. Dulles loved me. A total stranger made Christmas beautiful for me. She may not know it, but there is a special place in heaven for her. She was an angel.

I hope I can some day be an angel as loving and beautiful as the Christmas spirit itself.

God bless. Merry Christmas.