Angels (Drive?) Among Us

Do you believe in guardian angels? 

I do. 

I think. 

Well, I'd like to; let's put it that way.

I've been a little down about a couple of things lately.  Lots of hand wringing and a little sadness and lots of worry. 

So imagine the smile it brought to my face, yesterday, when I pulled up to a stop light and read the bright pink bumper sticker on the gold van in front of me:  I'm glad you were born.  Now, don't you think that's pretty unusual for a bumper sticker?  I do.  Perhaps it's me and my personal sensibilities, but I usually find most bumper stickers to be a poke in the eye, at best.  How nice, how surprising, how uplifting to read such a pleasant message.

Then I noticed the oval vehicle sticker next to it; you know, the ones with abbreviations for people's favorite destinations.  But it read with something I'd never seen nor heard of before:  Angel's Landing.   (I have since found that there is an area of Zion National Park with that name, but we are nowhere near Utah . . . so I'm choosing to believe it was something more unearthly than that.)

As the light changed and we proceeded down the road, I had to marvel at the positive impact those two small little signs made upon me.  And just when I really needed it. 

Then I got this silly idea that perhaps it really was an angel in that van . . . appearing before me, fitting herself into my routine, and shining a small ray of sunshine into my life for that moment.  What a lovely thought.  Funny that she should be so adept at driving a mini-van, but, hey, angels are amazing, aren't they?  Yes, they are.  I decided to stop dismantling the idea:  Take the moment as it was offered and don't over-analyze it away.

When we stopped at the next light, I just had to pull up next to the van and get a look at the driver.  Would I see a glowing halo?  Fluttering wings?  Rays of light?  I mean, that would really make her an angel, right?

Well, I didn't see any halo.  No wings.  No glowing light. 

Nope. 

But what I did see made me sure she was, indeed, my guardian angel. 


A yawn.  She was yawning.  A great, big, deep, long yawn . . . the signal of exhaustion.

Yep, that would be her.