“Do not forget to entertain strangers, because for this reason some have entertained angels without knowing it.” -Hebrews 13:2

My husband is not often mortified by my behavior, but in the last year, two separate occasions have resulted in his eyeballs rolling up, head scratching, and more than one “I can’t.”
I think you did that” reading.

I made friends with a lady about a year ago while Ernie and I were at
line waiting to get a table at the Stage Deli downtown
Manhattan. She and her husband waited with us in the
sidewalks of Seventh Avenue, the four of them cold, hungry and very
eager to get in. It seemed perfectly normal, even given that we were in New York, to strike up a conversation with them. They seemed normal enough, were well dressed, and had fairly thick southern accents. In the twenty minutes we spent outside, we managed to find out where they were from, how many children they had, and what they did for a living. Know. normal conversation.

As it would turn out, they were seated at a table next to ours. That area of ​​the restaurant is fine, narrow, so even though we technically sat at different tables, we were
essentially having lunch together. So we chatted some more
mainly because we pretty much had to, but we tried to give each
another some space; this was New York after all, and we were
decent and respectful people. Towards the end of our meals, I saw
her struggling to make a decision about dessert. Recognized for their
pies, pies and cheesecakes such as the Stage Deli (their
the chocolate cake is legendary and stands approximately 7 inches tall; it’s some of the best I’ve ever “experienced”…and as you may or may not know, chocolate in any form is not eaten; is
“experienced”), indeed, a decision had to be made, but it was
not a big decision.

There was only one decision to make and it was a chocolate one. I hated watching my new friend fight, so I offered her some advice. But her other problem was: could she eat it all? No problem. We agreed to share it.

Our husbands’ eyeballs at the time weren’t just rolling; they
they were getting that very strange look about them that said:

“You’ve got to be kidding, please tell me you’re not going to share cake with a perfect stranger who knows what kind of germs are in her mouth that will transfer to that plate without mentioning what virus she’s carrying.” or the fact that you have no idea where she’s been, where she came from, or what kind of germs her husband and kids have.”

And yet, before they could verbalize the mental war in which each was undoubtedly fighting, the waiter brought a mammoth-sized slice of the best chocolate cake on a plate with two forks. And we sat there and ate it, laughing at how stupid we must have looked but happy to be in that exuberant state that only chocolate cake and hot coffee on a cold winter’s day can induce.

We never saw them again.

But if Ernie was mortified and bewildered by that exchange, he was downright angry about what I did a few weeks later. Last year, I took our two youngest children to the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. We set out at dawn both to avoid traffic and to secure front row positions on the sidewalk. Our house is approximately 60 miles from midtown Manhattan; I literally got the kids out of their beds and downstairs ten minutes later with juice boxes in one hand and car keys in the other.

After driving in the city, fighting traffic and tourists, all the way from the West Side Freeway to the 7th Avenue parking lot, walking three or four blocks to the perfect spot on the perfect street with the perfect view, and chatting with the tourists sharing asphalt space with us during the good hour of standing and waiting time, Victor informed me that he had to go to the bathroom. Seriously. It only took me a few minutes to make sure he wasn’t gone when he woke up. No. He had to let us go through all of that.

So what was he supposed to do? If we all left, we would lose our front row seats. (And of course, that was the smart choice.) Víctor was practically dancing at that moment, he had to go so badly. Cristina was in a bad mood thinking that the little brother was too “little brother” not to use her brain and go to
the bathroom before leaving for the city. and i was calculating
all of our options since the parade was about to start in
only a few minutes and that the businesses in the center were mostly
closed early in the morning on Thanksgiving. The good man older than me
acquaintance, who, with his wife, struck up a lovely conversation with us
for the better part of an hour, she offered to drive him in search of the
nearest restaurant. OK. I’m not that stupid. but by suggestion
from a handful of people on the street who witnessed my dilemma and who offered to babysit my daughter for the ten minutes it would take me to deal with Victor, I ended up leaving her with a group of (almost) strangers on a curb downtown Manhattan on Thanksgiving.

With the city on high alert for terrorism and dozens and dozens of police officers within arm’s reach, and a firm and very loud order to yell if anyone did anything strange, he waited calmly on the sidewalk for about eight or ten minutes while I took care. from Victor.

OK. Both incidents were not shy of sheer stupidity in my
go. And I can’t even believe I’m confessing to either of them in this Newsletter. And I know you’re thinking, “what’s the point of telling these stories anyway?” It is this: most people are good at heart. And if you allow yourself the freedom to engage with both friends and complete, complete strangers alike, you’ll find that people want the best. Most people seek the best, want the best for you, and will offer you the best. We are all on this journey together, and we all want to keep going. Everyone wants health and happiness. Everyone wants to be in love and be loved. These are universally human longings.

When we allow complete strangers into our world, we can be
allowing a touch of the divine into our lives. and sooner or later
later, we will all entertain strangers. it may not be over
chocolate cake in a New York deli, or on a sidewalk waiting for a parade. But it could be in a subway car, in a grocery store… or in a hospital room.

We have allowed a local restaurant owner into our
world over the past year. We eat at your restaurant almost
every Sunday after church, so by now we know every single one of his
waiters by name. And all of them have been very involved in our
lives. They provided homemade chicken soup by the pots when
Nick was first diagnosed with leukemia. They are going to bake Cristina a
cake for her birthday this Friday, which she will celebrate there after school with her friends. The owner comes to see us at “our table” every Sunday and encourages us and tells us how he prays for Nick’s healing. He was a complete stranger a year ago. He is an “unconscious angel”.

Wellington pump my gasoline. He was also a complete stranger last year. But after pumping me with gas almost every week for a year, he entered my world. He is also now praying for our family and for Nick’s healing. He is an “unconscious angel”.

So is a lady at the local pharmacy who has been faithfully
helping our family with routine recipes for the past
year. Now he has entered our world on a more intimate level. ace
have teachers in my children’s schools. Moms from our neighborhood. AND
dads whose kids play lacrosse with one of my own kids.

I have allowed complete strangers to dispense chemotherapy drugs.
in a port on my son’s chest, take my daughter to tennis
lessons, and the three to violin lessons in a town forty-five
minutes from home. unconscious angels.

Just yesterday, while I was queuing at the post office to send Christmas packages, an old friend whom I hadn’t seen in several months walked through the door. With her at one end of the waiting line and me at the other, he yelled across the room, “How are you?” and when I yelled a little softer, “Okay, but have you heard of Nick?” to her “No,” all the people at the post office quickly got involved in our son’s illness, whether they wanted to or not. After making five trips to my car to get some 20-something packages and apologizing profusely to the now heavily involved people in line with each new package-laden ticket, an older lady, a complete stranger, walked up to me and walked around the car. neck with arms and she waist and literally squeezed me. She kissed me on the cheek and said, “I felt compelled to do that.” And she walked away from her.

An unconscious angel.

Don’t forget to entertain strangers this holiday! Invite them to your house for dinner. Invite them to your Christmas Open House and to your coffees and lunches. Invite them into your world. And you will be delighted to find, as I have in both my moments of “horrible judgment” and my moments of total transparency, that God puts people in your path to make your journey not only more bearable, but more enjoyable. also.

unconscious angels. Each one of them.