An Unexpected Guardian Angel

That damn black book. Begging to be written in. Pleading. Demanding even.

I couldn’t.

I hadn’t been ready or willing to do the exercise I had scoffed at publicly.

“How ridiculous,” I had mocked. “Writing something down makes it happen?” I hadn’t verbalized my additional snide comments, but I just couldn’t believe I had agreed to join the summit. To participate in a gathering of touchy-feely losers who spent their lives writing shit down and waiting for it to happen.

Friends insisted I’d love it so much they were willing to pay for it. Thank god I didn't have to find the money for the program myself. I only had to attend. So, there I was slunk down in my seat at The Universe Wants to Respond. The only thing I wanted the universe to respond to that night was that no one I knew saw me there.

The book had been part of the registration fee. The official ‘Place to write down requests to be answered’.

The exercise was supposed to make those requests more real. They encouraged us to visualize how life would change once our requests were answered. And spend plenty of time doing so. Who had the time? I had real things to do.

I remember the car was making some noise I hadn’t heard before, which usually meant it would be expensive. The kitchen sink had been dripping non-stop despite my half-hearted attempts to wield a wrench and fix it. Not knowing the first thing about plumbing never seemed to stop me from trying. I always ended up paying the plumber, but I felt better for having tried.

Once again, my month was lasting longer than my money. Shaking my head softly I remember thinking, “How about more money universe? That’s my request.” Even now, the memory makes me almost laugh out loud.

I had called the plumber. I had scheduled the car repair. Both took money I didn’t have.

That stupid book. A reminder of a hard life. I had tossed it on my way to the grocery store.

Between working and worrying about money, I rarely thought about that night. When I did, all I could visualize was the empty black book. Empty except for my name. That had been a group assignment during the program. I had lied to my friends about how much I enjoyed the evening and whether I had done the exercises. They were pleased with my answers and that allowed me to justify the lie.

I had lied to the bill collector last night, too. Knowing I was meeting friends for the rare afternoon out today, I needed that money I owed.

As usual, the sidewalk café was crowded. Bustling and loud. Truthfully, it was hard to hear myself think there, but it was a longtime favorite place. I arrived a little early; not going out much makes me eager to soak up the experience.

This part of town has an interesting history. Prior to the cafes and chic shops opening here, the area was a destination for the homeless. Just down the street was a shelter where I had volunteered for a bit before life got hard. I decided to stop in after my afternoon with the girls.

Afternoons like this always raised my spirits. To see my friends and commiserate about life helped ease the rough patches. It was sorely needed today. As usual, it was an interesting assortment of patrons. A younger woman who was celebrating her birthday. Obviously drunk, but with a laugh that had us all chuckling. Another table of friends in high spirits. Two men, possibly father and son, sharing a meal and apparently, a lottery ticket. We only knew this last piece when the younger man cheered about his good fortune. A $200 winning ticket. I was jealous.

I found myself looking forward to stopping in at the homeless shelter. Volunteering there had made me feel good. Wholesome. Frankly, it had been too long since I’d thought more about other people’s troubles than my own.

Sorely underfunded, the shelter always looked sad to me. Walking up I could see they slapped a new coat of paint up. It felt more welcoming. I started to smile.

The blankets on each cot had been changed. They looked softer and warmer. My smile was getting bigger. I was happy to see that someone had finally stepped up to help. I found the Director of the shelter and as before, she welcomed me with open arms.

“It’s so good to see you,” she said. “Have you seen all of our upgrades?”

Excitedly, she took me on a tour of the shelter, pointing out the new paint, blankets, much needed pots and pans in the kitchen, and a small library area that was new.

I was amazed. In the time that I volunteered there, finances had been tight and patrons sorely lacking.

“Wow. I’m really happy for you and for the people who come here. How did this happen?”

She told me about one of the formerly homeless women who had gotten a job and wanted to give back. How every month for the past few months she came in regularly with money or paint, or kitchen stuff. Every month. Their guardian angel. I was thrilled.

The Director heard her name called and turned to wave someone over. There was a time I knew all the volunteers, but that was a while ago. We were briefly introduced and the two of them started chatting.

From their conversation, it was clear this was the mystery guardian angel. She was delightful and thankful for her good fortune. She liked her job, loved her sense of independence, and especially loved helping the shelter. I was only half listening, too busy checking my pathetic bank balance and the several calls I had received from unknown numbers that afternoon. Debt collectors, I presumed. I wasn’t sure exactly when I started to listen more closely. Perhaps it was when they started to laugh about the Director having written down her list of needs for the shelter and the angel showing up to help.

“We are so thankful for your help,” said the Director, “but you shouldn’t be spending all of your extra money on us.”

“Oh, I haven’t,” said the angel. “I kept a list of the things you needed here, and every day I’d think about how much better the shelter would be once you had them. One day, I was given a large tip at work, and I brought that here. More often, I ended up talking to someone who was able to give me the things on the list. The custodian at work gave me extra paint that I brought to you. I was hired to help clean out an old restaurant and found all the pots and pans I brought you.”

“Amazing,” said the Director. “Almost like the universe heard you.”

I looked up.

“The most amazing thing just happened, and I wanted to share the news with you,” continued the angel.

“I got a new job. The old one was a good start, but the pay kept me close to poverty level. I got an offer that’s $20,000 more a year. The exact amount I had put on my list.”

We both looked at her.

“Yeah, once I saw how the things you needed here kept showing up in my life, I decided to see if writing a list for myself would work too.”

Suddenly, the angel turned to me. “What did you say your name was?”

After I told her, she said, “last year, when things were at their worst, I didn’t know where I’d find food. There was a big trash can by a grocery store and I figured there might be food in there. I’m ashamed to admit I climbed in so I could eat.”

I knew exactly where that trash can was.

“Most of the food was gross, but I found a book in there. The book was new. The cover said, “Hello, Universe”. Inside was your name.

I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh.

The angel continued, “I’ve carried that book with me every day”. She reached into her jacket and pulled it out.

Smiling, she said “this belongs to you.”

I was too dumbfounded to do more than murmur a thank you and leave.

I stopped on the way home. Leaning against a worn bench, I took the book out and flipped through the pages. Sure enough, there was a long list for the shelter. She meticulously crossed each need off as it was satisfied. A few remained.

On the short list of her own needs only one remained.

Find my guardian angel