“Behold, I do not give lectures or a little charity, When I give I give myself.” Walt Whitman, Song of Myself

Walt Whitman is only one of countless heroes and heroines who have impacted my world view and my sense of self. Three such angels changed me forever. Like Scrooge’s ghostly messengers these angels graced my life in a time of need, rescuing my spirit from despair. I would like to celebrate these angels three by sharing their gifts with you.

I was a student alone with a new baby, struggling to make ends meet. We would ride the bus between campus and Rachel’s day-care, her 20 smiling pounds tucked into a snugly I carried in front, a backpack of books on my back. One afternoon, two elderly women befriended us. We met them a few times after that, sharing brief but enjoyable conversations between their stop and ours. I do not know what it was about us that touched them: my daughter’s innocent beauty, her infant joy, the bags under my eyes? I never told them we didn’t have much; they just knew. One day, they asked for our address. Weeks later, a handmade baby quilt was delivered to our door. I treasure it as a symbol of the inherent goodness in others. Thank you, angels.

About a year later, a woman with whom I had chatted only a few times stopped me on campus and pressing an envelope into my hand said, “Please accept this. You don’t have to say anything. A stranger helped me once when I needed help. Take this and get something for your daughter.” Her generosity and courage is still with me; indeed, it is inside me, healing my spirit as it struggles to reconcile man’s inhumanity to man. Thank you, angel.

On the Eve of Rachel’s second Christmas the doorbell rang. I didn’t hear footsteps (but perhaps there were bells). And there, bow trimmed miracles kissing the snow, were presents. The anonymous card read, “Wishing you and Rachel happiness and peace always.” A symphony should sound, a chorus should rejoice in song to express the purity of that moment, when the benevolence of a stranger reached into my exhausted heart and said, “You are seen. You matter. You are not alone.” Thank you, angel.

Angels live among us. These every man heroes are our neighbours, our friends, our co-workers. They are strangers on a bus. They seek no fanfare, no sainthood, no monetary reward. In spite of the sorrow, and there is sorrow beyond measure, their giving moves us to a gentler place. Tiny hands that still the chaos; tiny hands that move the world, one quiet but magnificent gesture at a time.

Amanda Jane Ellis aellis@ucalgary.ca

Angels is my first submission to 2theheart.com. As luck would have it (lucky me!) Another angel sent me your web page and insisted (with love) that I submit this piece to you. I have been writing for years, but have not proactively pursued publication (until now). I am an only parent to Rachel and have worked at the University of Calgary for six years.