Angel Armies

It was summer and the screen door was the only barrier between me and the evening.  I sat at my desk beside the door so I could see outside while I wrote a class paper.  The yard outside was dark as the streetlight hid behind the towering trees that lined the property between my little cottage and the parking lot beside. 

** Photo Cred: D. Boyte 

Crickets and distant traffic played a quiet song as city life battled nature.

I wrote.  I don’t know what I was writing or for which class.  I was feeling settled and safe.  The cottage was small, but quaint.  My belongings stacked up upon themselves around me.

I loved that the church was across the street.  The church where I volunteered, where I worshiped God, where I connected to people.  I felt less alone. 

I saw a bright light make its way across the lawn and I stood.  It was an odd angle and seemed as though it searched my yard.  I saw a car moving slowly down the street.  Ah, just a car turning the corner.  Back to work. 

Bloomington is a big-small suburb rich with diversity.  I liked it. I hadn’t been there long, only a couple of weeks, but I liked it.  I liked going to Starbucks and hearing several languages.  I liked walking to the grocery store without fear.  I liked that families played at the park and walked along side streets together. 

I heard a “whoosh” and thought I saw a dog run past the open door.  It was frighteningly close.  Instinctively, I jumped up and closed the door.

Before I could lock it I heard a shouting voice from the back of the cottage, the side of the parking lot, the darkest place in the yard. 

“Let me see your hands!  I have a gun.  I’ll shoot.”

“I ain’t got nothin’.”

“I said let me see your hands.  Drop the knife.  I have a gun.  I will shoot you.”

I moved cautiously to the middle of the cottage not sure where the safest place to avoid a stray bullet would be.  I wasn’t even sure where they were or why they were there or who they were. 

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus,” I heard my own voice whispering.

Red and blue lights lit the other side of the cottage, the street side, and I realized I was definitely not alone.  Carefully I opened a piece of the blind and looked out.  The street was lined with police cars and officers standing at attention.  Some with guns drawn. 

“Jesus, Jesus, Jesus.”

Just outside of the back door I heard a rustle and more angry voices, though I don’t recall what they said.  Emerging from the short walk between the garage and cottage two officers escorted a third man.  Wild hair, messy clothes, slumped shoulders.

I was too stunned to feel afraid or angry or sad.  I watched as they took him to the car, closed the doors, exchanged information and cleared the space.

In retrospect, I find it interesting that no one checked on the cottage inhabitants.  How did they know I was safe?  It almost felt like a dream or a movie or a book with me as the reality scene actress. 

At one point before the exit of the crew the Assistant Pastor, who lived across the street, called me.  

“Kris?  Everything ok over there?”

“Yes.  Inside is ok.  I have no idea what’s happening out there.”

“Ok.  Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks.  I will keep you posted.”

No shade on him or his wife for not waiting until the hullabaloo quieted before they crossed the street to check in person.  I sure wouldn’t go out there!

Though this happened many summers ago, I was reminded of it the other day.  I heard a line from a song about the God of Angel Armies being always close.  I wonder how many times I have been minding my own business, doing my own thing, unaware of danger around me because I am surrounded by unseen caretakers. 

There are times I could almost feel the shield.

The time when Kellie and I walked down a late, dark street on our way home and were met by a line of leering, drunken men.  We simply sidestepped them and kept walking as if we didn’t see them.  What stopped them?  Or should I ask what did they see that stopped them?

Accidents avoided, credit cards not stolen, purses recovered untouched… how many times was I obliviously living my daily, scattered life while I was surrounded and protected from harm? 

I’m not trying to be mystic or super spiritual or tell you to look for signs of halos and swords.  I’m just saying that there was a night when I was clearly in danger and I didn’t know it because Someone had sent someone to find someone who meant harm. 

Just in case you were wondering, the bad guy had stabbed someone about a block away from my quiet door step.  He hid in an alcove beneath my window and would have been safe in his darkness had it not been for a K-9 unit dispatched.  The German Shepherd was not fooled by the hiding place and lead the rest of his crew straight to the fugitive.  This story could have ended so many other ways, but God had other plans. 

I believe that God really does care about those details of our lives and He really does send angels to protect us.  Sometimes He even lets us glimpse them.