While sitting, minding my own business at Panera yesterday, I had a conversation with an angel. I call this person an angel not because he possessed a set of guilded wings, or supreme spiritual insight, although obviously a very well studied man. I call him that because I believe that at times when you don't even know you need it, God sends people into our lives to heal the broken places with a word, encouraging smile or simple touch. Temporary angels, momentarily possessed with the precise words or actions that are like salve to the soul.
"He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim freedom for the captives and release from darkness for the prisoners" that's from Isaiah 61 verse 1. Isaiah was not God, he wasn't the messiah, he wasn't a savior. He was just a man who allowed the message of God through his lips. A vessel. For whatever reason, God found a man willing to bend to His will enough to reach out to a stranger buried in her breadbasket and give her the words her heart needed to hear.
But how often do we let societal norms force our silence? Have you ever felt like reaching out a hand to touch someone? Like all the energy in the universe tells you that person needs human touch as much as their next breath? This man told me his studies have shown just how deep something as simple as a few fingers to the hand can stir a person. I don't mean that in a romantic context, so drag your head from the gutter. But I can think of a few occasions where I've seen someone who just looks desperate for a hug or a "how can I help you", but I don't know them, they don't know me, so I refrain. I hope I never do again. I hope the next time God shows me a person who needs him, I allow him to work. I want to be a vessel for that amazing grace and love. I want to be an Isaiah. I can't save anyone, but maybe I can give them the hope to keep searching for the Savior.
Only one more thought. If we're all angels, can we fly?
