In late December 1979, my sister, Debbie, and I set out on a nine-hundred-mile drive from our family home in Pennsylvania to Florida, where Debbie was to attend college. About twelve hours into our journey, as we made our way through Fayetteville, North Carolina, our car began to stall out at every stoplight. Fearing we would be stranded on a remote stretch of highway if and when the old Subaru finally died, we steered the sputtering car into the parking lot of a roadside bar. With dusk and temperatures descending quickly, we ventured inside for help.
A haze of cigarette smoke, backlit with tacky Christmas lights and buzzing neon signs, greeted us as we entered the building. Clinging tightly to each other, we approached the bartender, doing our best to ignore the two young men at the bar who were clearly scoping us out.
One of the men was short and wiry, with a prominent scar across his pock-marked cheek. A ball cap was pulled low over his bloodshot eyes, and he wore dirty denim overalls and a black jacket with “Stud” stenciled across the back. The second man was big, soft, and pudgy, with unfocused eyes and a mullet haircut. He, too, wore denim overalls and a flannel shirt. Both were smoking and appeared intoxicated.
Upon hearing us tell the bartender of our predicament, the two bar patrons offered their help, to which we reluctantly agreed after learning that the only nearby mechanic was closed for the weekend. Shortly after popping the hood, it became apparent that the men were clueless about how to diagnose, let alone fix, the problem. They did, however, offer a solution: Debbie and I could check into the seedy motel behind the bar, and once the local repair shop reopened in two days, we would be on our way.
With barely time to weigh our limited options, a third, older man appeared at Debbie’s side and whispered in her ear, “Ladies, you do not want to stay anywhere near this place tonight. How about I see if I can get your car started?”
The younger men protested the older man’s interference, but when his tinkering sparked the engine to life within minutes, they headed back inside the bar, no doubt cursing their dashed opportunity.
Needless to say, Debbie and I were overcome with gratitude, especially when the kindly gentleman, whose name we never did learn, insisted on following us all the way from that North Carolina parking lot to Jacksonville, Florida.
Fast forward to 2019 and the dedication for my novel, Against Their Will, which, though fiction, was inspired by our experience:
This novel is dedicated to my sister, Debbie, who set out with me on that fateful trip south so many years ago. It was scary then, for certain, but looking back now, with daughters of our own, I am much more frightened by what could have been. Could have been but wasn’t, when our own guardian angel, in the form of a kind and concerned truck driver, stepped in to help us. Be safe, Nicole and Emma. We love you.
Forty years after we were rescued from a potentially perilous situation, Debbie and I finally understood that the caring man who appeared at our side at the precise moment we needed him most was, in truth, our Guardian Angel.
The following year, in the early days of the COVID-19 pandemic, I returned to the Catholic Church, and there is little doubt in my mind that, just as our Guardian Angel safely guided us on our 1979 journey, so, too, did my official recognition of his very existence serve as a spiritual signpost that guided me, at long last, home to the Church.
The beautiful truth is that God, with love so perfect, pure and unconditional, blesses His children with Guardian Angels to watch over and guide us on our earthly journeys. Jesus, Himself aware of their spiritual existence and role, reminds us in Matthew 18:10, “See that you do not despise one of these little ones, for I say to you that their angels in heaven always look upon the face of my heavenly Father.”
While we remain largely unaware of their presence, most of us have experienced an internal feeling or premonition that has prompted us to alter our route home or to cancel a quick stop at the grocery store. To justify the last-minute change of plans, we might credit our sixth sense or women’s intuition. Later, when we learn of the horrific car crash on a road we normally travel, or the woman assaulted in the food store parking lot, we think, “There but for the grace of God….”
“From the beginning until death, human life is surrounded by their watchful care and intercession.”
Catechism of the Catholic Church 336
Similar are the moments when, like Debbie and I experienced in 1979, we narrowly avoid danger or outright catastrophes happening in real time. Too often we attribute these near misses to our good luck or fortune, but the truth is far more beautiful and abundantly clear. Our Guardian Angels have interceded on our behalf.
“For he commands his angels with regard to you, to guard you wherever you go.”
Psalm 91-11
Given all that I have been blessed with throughout my life, all the moments I have escaped just and unjust injuries and chastisements, I encourage everyone to accept God’s amazing gift and call unreservedly on their Guardian Angel.
Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God’s love entrusts me here. Ever this day/night be by my side, to light, to guard, to comfort, and guide.
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