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"I've seen grace manifest as spiritual WD-40, as water wings, as ribbons of fresh air in tight, scary rooms. And I've witnessed the intervention of goofy angels,
the poor short-straw angels who seem to draw me."
~ Anne Lamott
It's easy to spot the angels in Wim Wenders' 1987 film, Wings of Desire. They're the ones in the black trench coats. They wander around West Berlin, unseen by the residents, listening in on the thoughts of people in distress and comforting them. Ever since I saw that film in 1987, that is how I have imagined angels; no wings or halos, no white flowing robes, just invisible people in trench coats with a gentle touch that comforts those in need.
I'd like to imagine there is a trench coated angel watching my back. But even if there isn't, I'm not hurting for angels in my life. They just happen to be of the more garden variety. I've got angels who can coax a laugh out of me on a bad day, who bring me presents from the thrift store, pick up my kids from school, walk dogs with me and listen to me yammer on about my life; angels who will drink a beer with me, sing with me, or send me a card in the mail just because; angels who take care of my pets when I leave town and always make me laugh; angels who have been with me through all my hair colors, fashion adventures, and relationships and yet somehow know the real me; angels who tell me they adore me and bring me flowers and sweet kisses; angels who never stop being huge hearted parents to look up to and admire, or the most generous sister ever, or a daughter and son who make me smile and watch Star Trek and play Trivial Pursuit with me at the end of the day. I even know a couple of angels with four legs and the ability to wag their entire bodies.
None of my angels are angelic 100% of the time. They get grumpy sometimes and have bad hair days. They don't always eat right and they drink unhealthy carbonated beverages more than they should. They work too hard and feel overwhelmed sometimes. At times they watch too much TV and don't read enough. They have messy houses and smelly dogs. They have been known to yell at their kids and complain about their spouses, although their love for them is always evident. The four legged ones are prone to fleas.
Aside from the lack of cool black trench coats though, I wouldn't trade my rag tag choir of angels for any number of white robed, beatific beauties. My angels teach me how to be generous and kind, patient and forgiving. They teach me how to offer and accept help, and to give and receive love. I'll take grace that's down to earth and gritty anytime. As singer Gillian Welch croons, "I'll take a red clay robe, red clay wings, and a red clay halo for my head." ... Trench coats would be pretty cool though.
