The Universe Spoke To Me
Angel At My Door

by Julie Russell Beebe

in issue four
Scintillations
Purple Bikini
Saraswati
Change In Air
Sarah's Gift
Fairy Chimes
Real Dreams
Xena
Writer?
Younger Self
Fledgling Artiste
Goddess Poetry
No McD's In Cuba
AF Photographers
Goddess On Phone
Moody Girl
Met The Goddess
To My Mother
Life Changing Books
Girl Crushes
Universe Spoke
Visualize This!
Contributors

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future issues
Issue Five: Bravery
Issue Six: Friendship

previous issues
Issue One: Change
Issue Two: Balance
Issue Three: Spring

I have a hard time remembering what would have made me such a fearful irritated bitch when I answered the door that night.  I know I was in the midst of relationship angst, job angst, and life angst.  I wanted the whole world to just go away!  It was the wrong night for anyone to come to my door – especially someone claiming to be an angel.

Many months ago there was a knock on my door at 9:30 on a Tuesday night.  My husband wasn’t home yet and I didn’t know where he was.  I looked out the peephole.  A small person with their head covered in a scarf looked back at me.  I was fearful.  Why would a small person be at my door unless big people were with her, waiting to barge in to steal from me and attack me?  “Who is it?” I growled.

“An angel.” A female voice responded.

Panic.  Maybe it was a devil disguised as an angel?  I didn’t really believe in the devil, but I hadn’t seen proof that angels existed either.  Maybe it was a test from God to see if I believed enough?  Or maybe God knew I needed an angel and used my poor hearing as a way to get one to me.  In any case, I wasn’t ready to believe an angel was at my door – I didn’t believe I deserved one and if so, I certainly didn’t believe that one would travel as a small woman wearing a scarf!  I paused, for what must have been eternity to the woman on the other side of the door. 

She knocked again, interrupting my inner turmoil.

The rational part of me decided to open the door, satisfied with the thought that if someone big and threatening was with the Angel-woman that a door probably wasn’t going to stop him.  She looked normal, but I was already so irritated at circumstances that had nothing to do with this. “An angel?” I threw the words at her like an accusation as I glared at her petite frame, thinking nobody wore scarves like that anymore. 

“No, no, no,” a thick, native Mexican accent responded, “I’m your neighbor.” Her accent and my poor hearing had modified the words, or I had really needed an angel.  “A package…wrong address…did I get it?”  The words tumbled out.  Looking back I realize she was immensely brave to stand there in the face of my blatant irritation and anger.

Package?  My memory kicked in.  Yes.  We did receive a package a few days ago with our address and someone else’s name.  There it sat in the corner, smirking at me.  “Just a minute,” I grumbled, closing the door in her face, as if this petite woman would force herself in the door.  Still wondering if she was a devil pretending to be an angel.

I re-opened the door and shoved the package at her.  I don’t think I said goodbye before I shut the door.  I guess I felt a tinge of guilt and my obvious and atypical meanness, but I was overwhelmed with my existing irritation. 

Months passed.  I was about to move, separate from my husband, and watch my job and salary disappear all at once.  Despite all this, I was surprisingly calm.  I was at peace in the way I only could be when I gave up total control and handed it over to a power greater than myself.  I would have no problem trusting a woman who came to my door and said she was an angel.

I was having a garage sale to de-clutter my life and make my pending move easier.  It was a huge success.  Towards the end of the sale my energy was winding down and I was looking forward to a nap.  A petite woman wearing a scarf tied under her chin appeared in my garage.  She looked familiar but I couldn’t place her.  She wandered around, picking up knick-knacks.  My exhaustion threatened to turn into irritation, but I was peaceful and relaxed enough to know a nap would come soon.

“Have you lived here long?” she asked me.

“Yes, just over two years,” I responded.

“But not in this house that long?”  She was puzzled.

“Yes.  This house.” I responded, curious about her questions.

She looked at me with confusion and out tumbled some strange words:  “Package.  An angel.  An angry woman lived here”.

The memory and fear I’d felt that night flooded back in.  I had forgotten how fearful and angry I had been that night.

“That was me,” I admitted sheepishly. 

“No, you are so nice, so different!”  She was genuinely surprised.  She really didn’t recognize me as the person she’d met months ago.  Had I changed that much?

“No, it was me.  I am so sorry.  I was so irritated.”  I tried to explain with feeble apologies.  She wandered around as I closed up the sale.  After I closed the garage door I said I was going to take a much-needed nap. 

“Oh yes, you look exhausted!”  But she wasn’t done yet.  I smiled to myself and sat down as she chatted.  I felt I owed her the courtesy I couldn’t show that previous night.  She selected a few items to become her future treasures.  “Oh!  But I don’t have the money!  I’ll bring it back!”  She was so genuinely concerned to pay me for the items I’d marked at one and two dollars that I was amused.  I made her take the things with her and we agreed that she’d put the money in an envelope and put it in my mailbox.

She returned later that evening – a few hours after I awoke from a satisfying nap.  I was surprised and pleased to see her at my door.  I was grateful that my energy was renewed.  She wanted to look at the garage sale items that remained, but first she told me her side of the Angel story: the confusion and her frustration with the order.  The shipping company asking her if she could pick it up at my house.  Coming many times to my house and finding nobody home – wondering if we were mean people who had stolen her package and would deny receiving it.  And then the incident with me.  I felt about two feet tall and kept muttering apologies when she paused to breathe. 

“It wasn’t you, it was ME!  I was irritated and scared – it wasn’t you!”  I finally got out.

She smiled.  I smiled. 

“Will you come in?”  I asked.  We sat down and a few hours melted away in animated conversation about Mexico, Cancun, weddings, destiny, and life.

As my new friend was leaving I told her, “I was right all along.  You are an Angel.”