Michael, the Unlikely Angel

Have you ever seen the movie “Michael” with John Travolta? In case you haven't, here's a brief synopsis (if you've seen it, feel free to skip ahead): John Travolta is purported to be the Archangel Michael, enjoying the heck out of his last visit to Earth while based in a motel in rural Iowa. Some reporters travel from Chicago to Iowa to investigate, and that's when the movie really starts.

John Travolta's Michael is about as un-angelic as you can get if you're thinking of the stereotypical angels of books, movies, and paintings. He swears, he smokes, he philanders, and he wears a suit visually reminiscent of the suit John Travolta wore in “Pulp Fiction”, with a “Matrix” trenchcoat...pretty un-angelic traits, right? More like human traits, right?

Recently I, too, have met an unlikely angel named Michael.

Oh, he didn't have wings or a visible halo, but he was an angel to me.

One extremely blustery and rainy day (no, it wasn't a dark and stormy night) at a local medical facility, he appeared, giant umbrella in hand. He had one of those umbrellas made for 3 golfers and their clubs. We were walking to the car, in this driving rain coming down in sheets. It was the kind of rain that makes it seem like you're looking through curtains. We had my cute little Totes automatic umbrella, the one that opens with a push of a button, then collapses down to the size of a pen (Okay, slightly larger than a pen. We'll say a Sharpie.). Anyway, as you can imagine, my umbrella wasn't affording much protection from the buckets of water dropping from the skies.

Then, I heard the theme from “Superman” (the old animated series, not the movie) play, and my Michael appeared.

“Is this a little better?”

He was holding the umbrella over us.

“Yes, thank you very much!”

I assumed in those nanoseconds that he was an employee or volunteer with the medical facility.

Turns out, he was just an angel. We started to chat. His wife was inside, where he was moments before, and he saw us getting soaked and decided to come help.

He lost his mother a year and a half ago, he severely injured his back and required surgery, which left him mostly disabled, his wife is sick, and here he was, being kind to strangers. Not just kind, but over-the-top wonderful.

He was a big guy, maybe 6'3” or 6'4”, an FDNY ball cap on, and had the kind of physique that hearkened back to a fitness guy at one time. Seeming to read my thoughts, he explained that since he hurt his back, he had to stop working out.

All this kindness, from a stranger, from another land.

To add another element of doubt to this story, he was originally from New York City. While I've been there and personally found it to be untrue, New Yorkers have a reputation for being uncaring and rude.

So there he was, a stealth knight wielding an umbrella as a sword, protecting us from the evil water gushing forth from the sky. My towering angel of Harlem*. My umbrella ninja.

After he helped us to the car, again I thanked him profusely. We exchanged a little more small talk, and just before he left, I said, “God bless you, and God bless your family.”

Unless I'm around someone who is sneezing, that just isn't something I readily say. I just don't. It's not about believing or not believing in God, I just don't say it. And it was out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. So, you tell me, now do you believe in angels?

*I don't in fact know if he was from Harlem, but I don't know of a song called “Angel of Manhattan” or “Angel of One of the Five Boroughs”