I’ve gotta admit I tensed up a bit when I saw him walking toward me. I don’t live in the best neighborhood, and I feel kind of vulnerable with my car running, my door unlocked and nothing but a snow brush in my hand.
“How you like this snow?” he asks, watching me swipe my brush over the trunk of the car.
“It’s pretty,” I say, smiling a little, telling myself no need to worry.
“Now this is how you do it,” he informs me, spreading his arms across the roof of my car, using his body to sideswipe my windows and doors.
“Wow, thanks!” I’m laughing now at this guy I don’t even know getting himself completely covered in snow for me.
“Hey, look,” he ribs me, “I’m all done and you’re still working on your side.” He’s got snow all down his coat, down the front of his shirt where his coat hangs open.
“Thanks,” I say again, speechless but smiling. He waves good-naturedly and wanders off toward the local liquor store.
Sometimes God tells me He loves me in funny ways. Like sending a car-cleaning angel my way.