Encounter with an angel? You decide.

Angels can come in all kinds of disguises.

My friend Nevine, a fellow breast cancer survivor with whom I share a special affinity for all things spiritual, shared this lovely story on her blog a while back. I have finally gotten around to sharing it with all of you. Enjoy!

My patience was again tested that afternoon as I took my house remodeling plans downtown to the building department. I had enough change to feed the meter for 20 minutes, just enough time to run up and get back.

I was about to cross the street when a man approached me. My kids will recognize this scene because for some reason, all the homeless people, whether they are genuine or not, always pick me. It doesn’t matter how many times it happens, I always stop, listen and give. 

This man, African American middle-aged and missing all his front teeth, stopped me and asked if he could ask me a question. I was expecting the usual “can you spare a dollar or I need a bus ticket to go home … etc.” But instead he begins with, “I see you have plans in your hand, are you a courier for the architect or engineer?

He spoke with a stutter and his head bobbed from right to left, which would make one think that he is not all together there. “No. I replied; I am the architect. His eyes widened with surprise and a wider smile: “Oh, you’re an architect of a different color… you’re a woman!” He was laughing as if he stumbled onto the Loch Ness monster that no one believes exists. I had not thought of myself as a woman architect in a very long time.

“Do you mind if I ask where you are from?” he said detecting my accent. I answered I was from Egypt. ‘”How long have you been here?” he continued. Answer: 30 years. Question: Cairo?… Born and raised? He knew the capital. Yes, I answered, feeling the time ticking. But he kept going on.

“There are Egyptian Jews you know, ” he said. “Yes.” I said ,”And there are Christians and Muslims too…and maybe even a couple of Buddhists, ” feeling the pressure to move on. He continued telling me the story of the Jews crossing the Red Sea, which he says is actually the Sea of Reeds, where they found chariots’ wheels. He had seen it on National Geographic TV. He kept on with the story and at that point, I felt, mainly puzzled and a little bit impatient. I finally told him I had to go. Not so easy.

“One more second,” he says, “Are you Christian?” I replied yes. “What is your favorite song about Jesus?” he asked.  ”Amazing Grace” was all that came to mind. So he went on telling me everything he knew about the song, who wrote it, who sang it, what year…

“I really have to go,” I told him. Finally he told me about this sandwich place at the corner of the street that sells one-foot subs for $5.  “Aha! Five dollars will buy me a ticket out of this!” I thought. But he insisted that he had to give me something in return.

While I was reaching for my wallet, he stood straight and began singing of the top of his lungs “Amazing Grace, how sweet the sound,” serenading me and the entire street. How could I not be touched? I thanked him,  gave him the money, and ran into the building with his voice lingering behind me.

That short encounter reminded me that things aren’t always what they seem. I didn’t look like an architect to him, and he didn’t look like an educated man to me. In my impatience, I forgot to ask him his name, but then I thought that he could just as well have been an angel in disguise singing God’s praises and reminding me of my blessings. For five bucks, what a bargain.