angel

When I was in at the hospital through the afternoon to be beside my Mum, I got talking to a man from the Philippines.

I presumed he was a nurse from what he did, but because I'm not familiar with the nuances of the way they dress I didn't get it right. He was something less than a nurse, a nursing auxiliary or something like that.

In another life, he's actually a professor at the university, teaching US and Asian history. But now he's here, along with his wife, he's settled for a rather different job.

His name was Angel (pronounced 'Ang-hel', the Hispanic way, he said). And he's a Christian: and his name means 'messenger' (he didn't tell me that - I just happen to know that!).

It crossed my mind that that's a great name to have, so very much appropriate for those who follow Christ. Messengers.

Our lives and our words bring a message to those that we meet. That's what I'm called to do. Each day. Wherever I am. Whatever I do.

I started to think of all that my day had involved. I'd been at the school (the secondary school) first thing. A 5th and 6th year assembly. A chance to say a brief few words to all these teenage pupils.

A message. It made sense, my being a messenger.

From there I went on to call on a couple whose mother had died. The funeral's not till next week, but it was good to be with them, to let them chat on about all that this lady had been.

I must have been there for close on an hour, a lot of the time just listening to what they were saying and how they were feeling and why the man's mother had plainly made such a big impact on him and his brother and all of their children as well.

A message? Well, I suppose there was a simple message that I brought. A message of a God who cares: a God who sits and listens to the stories of our lives and to the whispers of our hearts: a God who will remember all the details of our individual needs.

A message such as that is only brought by sitting there - not speaking all the time. But nonetheless, there's still a message there.

The afternoon was mostly in the hospital. My Mum's not well at all. A lot of the time she simply drifted in and out of sleep - or that strange land half-way between a wakefulness and sleep.

So there wasn't a lot of chatting going on. It was more a case of simply being there for those moments when she opened up her eyes and looked around. I guess it's reassuring when the first thing that you see is something most familiar.

Peace is what I give you, Jesus said. I want to do the same. To give my Mum some peace amidst so much that is confusing and distressing at this time. 'Angel', again. A messenger.

Having seen her in the afternoon, I worked at night: and arriving here at the Halls I met a girl from primary 5, out with a friend on roller blades. We got chatting. She's the one who started pitching up on Sunday mornings and who really so enjoys it all.

She'd loved the P5 classes that I'd led. So I asked her if she'd like to read the passage from the Bible at the service this coming Sunday. (The person I'd hoped would do it had not been able). She was thrilled to be asked, over the moon!

'Angel', again! A messenger of grace. A bit like the angel appearing to Mary. Well, in some ways! A message of significance. This girl was being told she's significant. And I won't forget the look on her face when that fact hit home! Wow!

But the night wasn't done. I was up at the hospital once again late on. My Mum was far from well. I was glad I'd gone. My sister and I were able to be there as they tried a procedure which is always both sore and distressing. Without success, which only made it worse.

'Angels', again. You're not alone. The message that we, all of us, always need to hear.