Hey Ya'll. Today is the feast of the Guardian Angels. October 2nd. I always loved this special day.They's so much angel lore out there, but I thought I might make note of jes' a few thangs, then invite ya'll ter share any angel stories ya might have.
Of the named angels in scripture they's only three: The Archangels Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. Michael means "Who is like God?". Gabriel means "power of God" and Raphael means "God has healed."
St. Michael the Archangel is called the "prince of the heavenly host" and is known fer throwin' Lucifer out of heaven. St. Gabriel is the one heaven sends ter us'uns wif' astoundin' messages, an' he was the one ter announce the birth of Jesus. Raphael healed Tobit, and safely married Sarah ter young Tobias (Tobit's boy). An' ter this very day theys is still ladies whose desire is ter find they own true love, so, they invoke St. Raphael ter bring forth the right fella!
We's told that there are seven Archangels, but only three names is given in scripture, though some traditional texts from ancient times mention the Archangels Uriel, Raguel, Sariel, and Jerahmeel. (cf Book of Enoch) .Uriel means "God is Light." The early fathers say Uriel brings the "Wisdom of God." But the Coptic Church has a tradition that Uriel means "God's purifying fire."
I'se admittin' right up front that St. Michael is mah most favorite of all--an' I done seen his image in a few of the more famous spots in this world.
Other than, "In the beginning..." mah all time favorite opening line of any book is:
"The archangel loved heights." This is from Henry Adams' Mont St. Michel and Chartres, a fine volume iffin' youse interested in architecture and some history.
It woan be news ter ya'll that I ain't into no channeling and new-age -ish stuff on angels.
But I does, fer real dern sure, believe that each of us has a guardian angel (Since Jesus tole us so). An' on mor'n one occasion, I think an angel yanked me back from a precipice or two.
Onc't I had mah chillens playing out on the mud flats at Sanibel Island, while Uncle were off Snook fishin'. I were a real young young'un meself, and not too bright.
A lady totin' a sack of shells on the beach done tole me it were the season when --onc't in awhile-- the tide went out nearly a mile ter reveal the flats whar' we was now happy watchin' live shells "fight" (mate).
She said, "Missy, ya' know that this tide comes in faster than a horse can run? So when ya feels the water seeping back up yore ankles git'cha self on in ter the shore."
I jes' said, "Yes mam" and thought no more of it, her being an elderly woman of 40 or so.
Soon I noticed all sorts of folks was movin' steadily toward the beach, and I wondered if iffin' a dinner bell done rung or somethin'. Me and the chillen's was entranced wif bein' out so far on the sea bed, seein' all the shells in they natural live state.
Next, folks was hustlin' right along, but heck, the water was barely on mah ankles and the chillen were havin' a heap o' fun...so when a fella said "Better move along, honey," I jes' nodded at him.
We was out about a 1/4 mile from the beach and the mud was now suckin' at our feet pretty good.
But oh! The shells! So rare ter see them big old fightin' whelks an such! All alive and active. I did look around, an seen that we had the place ter ourselves, "not another soul left out heah wif' us" I thought...which is why I was tempted ter break the law--ya' ain't supposed ter take them live shells, but nobody was heah ter see. (I din't DO it, jes' thought I could have) ...so thas' why I noted thar' warn't nobody around.
The sun began ter dip, its rays all slanty orange and gold.
Then the sea come up. The ocean roared in wif sound and fury. The oldest baby were jes' able ter swim a bit, the next one down, frail and tiny, was no swimmer and the baby was not walkin' yet, me hippin' this one all day.
...an' the ocean heaved up walls of water at the horizon, the waves surged forth like steeds at a gallop, flooding the mile of flats in the blink of an eye. A metallic burn in the back of the throat, a frantic search of the land ahead. Aunty was strainin' ter walk-swim in hip high water, wif a baby on her shoulders, an' the frail toddler holdin' onto mah arm, bouncin' on tippy toes under the water then my arm liftin' the chile out of water fer a gasp o' breath. The older young'un was sputterin, jes' tryin' ter do what had been learned at far away placid city pool, arms flailing and chubby legs churnin'.
The sea was hungry that day. Its roarin' fury din't drown out all them warnin's folks had given me, now screechin' in mah brain, "You foolish, foolish girl, yore babies will drown on account of yore foolishness!"
Ahead, the white sand of salvation shimmered in the heat, a mirage a quarter mile away. Even a fool could see that only wings would get us thar'. Was that a prayer?
From behind us, "I'll take these two, mam'. But you'll have to swim to shore."
He were ordinary lookin'. Sunburned ears, flakin' skin on his nose. Wrinkled brow, no smile, but his eyes were all assurance. "We'll all make it."
He hoisted the toddler onto his shoulders, "Let me take the baby, now. You help the older one."
By the time Aunty got ter the hot, blessed sand, them littlest ones was playing happily on a blanket that warn't ours, wif a pail of toys that warn't ours. There was nobody else. Down the beach a stretch a dog frolicked wif a couple of boys tossin' a ball...thas' all that was on that strip of terra firma that afternoon. Over mah shoulder the sun was kissin' the sparkly sea whar' nary a boat could be seen. Not even a gull.
