Tommy, no one remembers those deflated balls. Just let me lead the way."
Guardian Angels
Lowest on the angel totem pole but most widely known,
guardians are spiritual bodyguards assigned to each of us on earth. They guide
us through dangers and whisper in our ear when we’re headed down the wrong
path. No one really knows how an angel is assigned his earthly ward. Do they
draw straws? Is there a lottery?
Maybe it’s as simple as being the next angel in
the que. Dozens of God’s day laborers hang out on a corner cloud as if it’s a
Stop-N-Go, waiting for the angel foreman to call out their assignments.
Celestials busy themselves playing tiddlywinks or by yakking about which movie
was their favorite, Here Comes Mr. Jordan
or Heaven Can Wait. Then, the
birth of baby Billy Graham is announced. There’s jubilation and back slapping,
and off goes the lucky guardian, his halo glowing and a wing-to-wing grin spreading
on his cherubic face. Next called out are Desmond Tutu and Timmy Tebow. It’s
been a good run for the guardians, until the last name of the day:
“Tom Brady.”
The next angel in line accepts his assignment.
He descends to earth, dragging his harp behind him. He’s stuffing cloud bits in
his ears to shut out the whispers.
“Tough ride.”
“Better luck in eighty years.”
“Watch out for deflated balls.”
As with all guardian angels, this little guy
took his charge to heart. Sure, there were bumps along the way, like being down
twenty-five points. The angel kicked into guardian high gear, guiding Brady down
the field and into Super Bowl history books with an overtime win.
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