Here is a great story that illustrated how angels work by my friend Rose:
Yesterday, at my friend Mark Mezadourian’s Friday angel peace and clearing call, we got guidance made out of alphabet blocks. Mine said, HELPFUL TO ALL. Now that could’ve meant them or me or both, but it didn’t feel instantly applicable (as guidance sometimes doesn’t). I tucked it away.
Later in the afternoon, I felt a sudden strong urge to go back to S’ house. (I have been watching the cats and crabs while he and P are visiting his parents in Ohio.) I was reading a good book, and felt lazy and agoraphobic, my fanny was basically superglued to the couch for the duration, and I had already spent three hours down there in the morning. But I got ready and went.
Partway down I pulled to the side for a fire truck and fire chief SUV that were whirling past like bats out of hell. I thought, “nah, can’t be. That station is too far from S’s house.”
As I neared his block, however, I saw a gigantic emergency blockade – lights whirling, seven or eight pieces of fire equipment, many many police cars, yellow crime tape, etc. Everything was blocked off so I found parking a little ways up and walked down (rather calmly. This must be the drug I’m on to block the action of adrenaline on my heart). As I approached I noted no flames shooting out of S’ house, so the panic stayed at a low boil. Two houses away, though, one house was gutted and another damaged. The firefighters were venting the gutted house’s roof.
I asked a female cop if I could go through, that I was house sitting, that there were animals inside, etc. She said I could.
I caught up with neighbors – the house’s pitbull, Hefty, had been home alone (Hefty and I have a history. I will look at him from my car – he is always watching – and we will engage in a staredown. From my car, I will say, “Hefty!” in a menacing voice. His ears will perk up. The staredown will continue. He is a pretend nemesis.)
My neighbor said Hefty had passed, that he had been carried out unconscious, but paramedics were still working on him, administering CPR, and then giving oxygen. I saw his tail wagging from the lawn as he lay on his side.
I called S. He picked up the phone for once.
ME: Yo, your block is on fire.
HIM (so unbelievably calmly, S monitors neurosurgeries for a living): OK. Which houses?
I waited a few minutes to go into S’ house as the Hefty drama unfolded, as there were a zillion emergency responders and I didn’t want to do the wrong thing. When I went in, Minnie was hiding between the shower curtains, and Faffy and Beaker were curled up together in a very smoky basement under the desk. I assessed their breathing and I reassured everyone, and began venting the house with a huge cyclone fan.
I went back outside.
The fire victims were sobbing on my steps. I asked if they wanted anything. They said no. I went in and got them juice and gave the little girl one of P’s stuffies. I gave someone else a pair of shoes. I let someone else use the bathroom.
A restored Hefty soon joined the group, eyeing me warily. As it happens, the fire was called in by P’s friend next door. She smelled smoke and heard the dog. Then she didn’t hear him. She went outside, crying hysterically, trying to break down the door as no one was home. A man in a bright blue shirt appeared out of nowhere, flagged a cop who appeared out of nowhere, and together they got the door open and Hefty out. The trucks arrived.
P’s friend tried to thank the man in the bright blue shirt. He had vanished. When she told me the story, I said, “that’s because he wasn’t a man.”
Archangel Michael wears bright blue. He is the patron saint of emergency responders.
HELPFUL TO ALL.