Angels along the way

I have had some stories I've wanted to share for a while and before they go into the lock box that is my fleeting memory, I'll expound...

The golden moments in the stream of life rush past us and we see nothing but sand; the angels come to visit us, and we only know them when they are gone. ~George Eliot

In the past few years I have had the incredible fortune to cross paths with an angel or two and their lasting images in my mind have shaped me. I learn of the incredible power of these people in the passing moments at a local deli, over the dying embers of a night fire, or in my longest, dearest family ties. They live inside me and watch over me.

Large Diet Coke and a side of epiphany (regular)

Most recently--and we'll start here, that's where the details are clearest--I had a emotional allocution over diet coke with local delivery man, Matt. He mostly knows me for fish tacos and cheese pizza, but he has watched me grow and change as much as anyone here. He has a kind perspective and a warm ear, not to mention great chow! Whether it be for an update on me juggling jobs, his first glimpse of my new car, or watching my puppy grow, he has always had a coke fountain and a friend in me. He has though, like a dying breed, been married for over 20 years. He had some simple things to remind me things I already knew, but this time struck a epic note. I love simple things. They are:

Listen. Always listen.
Don't expect things to be this good all the time, be ready.
At the end of the day, love is the only thing you need to get through it.
And last, but most importantly, Matt reminded me to be a good example.

Where does this guy come from? A prophetic pizza palace in the sky? No, I'm pretty sure it was Riverside, but he had me at listen.

'That's why they call it God's Country, baby.'

I made a bet a few years back that ended me up in Fayetteville, Arkansas in 2006. Needless to say, I never expected to lose that bet, but I believe it was a trip that fate would not let me pass up. I was there to return a favor to a friend of mine from Austin, Matt Munee. On one of his trips to LA to visit family, he came to watch me graduate from SC, and I went to do the same a year later at the University of Arkansas. He (props to Matt!) graduated at the top of his class, with honors, as the distinguished BS of the entire class, with a 4.0. The 4.0 was the term of our wager, and he kept up his end of the bargain. I had just missed Suma Cum, but I really didn't care. However, when I went to see what an ass-kicking great job he had done, I was a bit ashamed. Why had not I kept my standards so high of myself? Doh! However, Munee is no angel, she comes in here.

He introduces me to Kate for another punch in the reality gut. He had been raised with both parents, but mom moved away in his teens, and they did not reconnect until he moved to straighten up and finish college. Always with his thoughts of mom, were thoughts of Aunt Kate. Upon our first meeting, I could tell she was going to be one of those women who met me and saw nothing but a young version of herself. She might give me advice or try to guess at my problems without considering that I am not actually a reincarnated version of her. She was no exception. With firey red hair, scarves flowing around her, no shoes, and simple embellishing metal and stone jewelry, I had met my first, real hippie. Not that I had not seen weathered women in the art community of LA, or the cool gals who grew up in Austin and then settled in as parents in Bryan. I mean a real, live, still dressed or undressed appropriately, still smoking, still dancing to the tunes her head hippie. I was intrigued, as was she.

She first welcomed us in with open arms, hugs and kisses on Matt, his mom, her daughter, and me--all on the lips. Then she led us outside for a cold beer to calm the rays of summer peeking through the trees in her backyard paradise. She told us ghost stories of the crazy old woman who lived there before she had, she told us of the good-old-boys who hate her in the neighborhood. I was instantly transformed into a child, who could have sworn it was 1972. All five of us went into Kate's closet and found enough clothes to cover us and headed off a corner of her backyard to jump into the river that ran along the edge. These are the stories I read about with boxcar kids and Nancy Drew!! After a cool swim, I got out and hung with Kate by the fire she had built for the sunset. She grabbed both of my hands and kissed me on the head--just like the summer queen from fairytale theatre--sat me on a bench and asked me if I liked her house. Did I like her house?? I wanted her house, I wanted her life, I wanted her pure joy, I wanted her unencumbered soul. But how does she do it?

"Yes, Kate, I like it. I must say, I never would have thought Arkansas."
"That's why they call it God's Country"

We sat on that thought for a while before we headed inside to make dinner for the others who were still swimming. Then over a casual conversation about what we like to eat, cook, etc. she stopped chopping her onion, dropped the knife down, looked deep into my eyes and said, "JaNelle, I have to tell you something. Do not compromise yourself." She held the stare for a moment, said nothing else, then went back to chopping. I balled. Not a loud sobbing, huffing cry, but a simple, tears streaking down my face onto my cutting board sort of release. What a woman?! She had no idea who I was, where I came from, what my world was like, and she knew me. I had told her nothing but stories of my happiness after school, my pride in my friend, what a great time I was having...she had no tangible evidence of my life. But there was truth in her advice. I took it very seriously and it led to the biggest change in my life at that time. What made me determined to find a perfect, compatible partner in life turned out to be something she said while thinking about her life riding the Pacific Coast Highway on the back of Harley with her top off. That, to me, is a form of compromise that need not be warned against. Her words still rang with the same essential message; one that shaped me so much as a young woman, and has challenged me always.

I knew there was a catch, tho. It turned out that Kate was not an angel or a prophet. She was just a hippie with a mortgage, and low-paying job, and a kid and problems just like the rest of us. She did share with me a fresh view on Jesus and a perspective about her relationship with Christ that I had not seen in my Southern Baptist childhood. It was also a novel, welcomed appreciation that shook my Eastern theology. I did walk away from that crazy weekend in the woods with fresh blood, big ideals, a breath of the same humanity I find at home, and a plan on how to become more independent and less compromised. Needless to say, I still haven't flashed the public on PCH.

For posterity, I leave my everyday angels here on the internet.