Angels...On Assignment!

Do you believe in angels? I know I do.

Not the fluffy, rosy-cheeked, porcelain skin angels you see at Christmas or in a collector’s curio cabinet. I’m talking about the angels who are on assignment to serve we humans, here on earth, now.

Like the one who changed my tire. (Yes, I said changed my tire.) Who came out of nowhere, on a white motorcycle, wearing a white helmet, and knew my name even though we never exchanged greetings.

Or the angel who sat with me at the bottom of my Grandpa’s stream, underwater...for several minutes until my brother could retrieve help from our Dad who was fishing nearby.

And then there’s Tumbler.

My son was having night terrors. Not just bad dreams. Terrors beyond the imagination of a child his age. Wide awake, he would scream for me, begging to sleep in his parent’s bed so ‘they would leave him alone.’ At times we would sit up all night watching television together, David snuggled in the blankets between his father and I. The torment my young son experienced was exhausting him and the dreams were increasing in violence and frequency.

“Lord,” I prayed, “send angels to David’s room at night. Show my boy You fight for him!”

A few days later while fixing my son’s breakfast, I casually asked him how his bedtime had been.

“Oh Mom, didn’t I tell you? Tumbler is taking care of it.” He yawned and dug into his cereal.

“Tumbler? What are you talking about?” I asked.

“My angel, Mom. He’s called Tumbler. Know why? When the bad guys come to scare me, he jumps up and he tumbles like this! Then...WHACK! He gets them good, and they take off.” David wipes the milk off his chin and dives in for another spoonful of Nutty-O’s.

Was it a coincidence my son’s bedtime hero was a warrior angel? No. Had he heard his mother’s prayer specifically for God to send someone to fight the evil robbing his sleep? No. It was just the right angel...on assignment.

Many years later, my heart is broken with the reality of the death of our grandson, Jake. Born eight weeks premature on his Papa’s birthday, Jake had fought valiantly for his life. The nurses had often commented on his feisty protests to the wires and tubes that kept him bound to his plastic ‘cell’. Each night, when his mother would be leaving the NICU for home, in pain and exhausted, Jake would raise his tiny head, open his big blue eyes as if to say “Now where do you think you are going!?”

His Papa and I were blessed to be with Jake and his parents when he passed from this life to eternity. His short life had impacted so many lives. His mommy designed his grave marker with boxing gloves, and the wording that read: “Our Baby Boy...Toughest Lil’ Fighter There Ever Was!”

A week later I stand in church raising my hands in surrender during worship. The tears of grief flowing down my cheeks, I sing with the congregation ‘How great is our God, then all will see, how great is our God!’ Suddenly, it was if I was taken back to the scene of Jake’s last moments on earth again.

Except this time, I watch as a being dressed in glistening beige clothes and sandals gently lifts Jake’s lifeless body from his daddy’s arms. He turns and hands him to Jesus, Who puts the now gurgling happy baby on His shoulder and smiles at me. As the Lord leaves, He casts a glance at the being who is smiling as well. It was Tumbler. Just as my son David had described him to me years earlier.

Tumbler and Jake. Both fighters. Coincidence? Not hardly.

Angels. On assignment.