“No, Chad,” I snapped, spotting my energetic little boy racing for the front door as it closed. “You can’t go with your sister.” Chad ran to the window and knocked on the glass. Shauna waved before she ran off down the street to play with her friends. At two and a half, Chad was a handful. Trying to keep him out of mischief and danger, I’d nailed drawers shut, built a wooden box over the TV knobs and duct-taped safety plugs into the electrical outlets.
For nearly two years, since I’d suffered a slipped disk and had to leave my job, Chad and Shauna had been my responsibility at home. My wife, Lori, worked at her gift shop, which specialized in angel items: books, cards, ceramic, jewelry—everything she could find to offer her customers some of the glory she found in these heavenly beings. Lori saw angels as symbols of God’s love; to me they were merely a source of income. My day was consumed by more practical matters; namely, making sure Chad stayed out of trouble or worse.
I watched him at the window that morning, tears welling up in his green eyes. I’ll never be good at this house husband thing, I thought.
Suddenly Chad streaked away from the window and up the stairs. Just walking was an effort since my injury; running was out of the question. I went after my son as fast as I could. It was another long day.
When we picked up Lori in the evening, I decided to treat my family to dinner at the Burger King near her shop. After we finished eating, Lori and I talked while Shauna and Chad played around a partition near our table. Then Shauna came back and plopped down in her chair. I got up to get Chad.
The second I reached the partition I heard the restaurant’s door click shut. I looked across the dining room through the wall of glass windows at the traffic streaming by on Lincoln Avenue. There was Chad. He’d already bounded across the sidewalk and was ready to step into the street.
I’d never get to him in time. “Please, God,” I begged, “he’s just a baby. Don’t take him now.” Instinctively, I started to run, and amazingly, my body obeyed. But I couldn’t feel my feet hit the floor. A force seemed to lift me by the seat of my pants, propelling me toward the door. I kept my eyes on Chad. He stepped off the curb, and headlights loomed toward him in the dark. “No!”
In the blink of an eye I reached Chad. I scooped him up with one arm, whirled and made for the curb. The car sped past, missing us by inches.
Neither Lori nor I could find words to talk about the incident. The next day seemed like any other. I tried keeping pace with Chad, my body struggling with the limitationsI knew so well. How had I suddenly become so agile and strong in those crucial moments the night before? My son was living proof that it had happened. When we picked up Lori that night at her shop I asked her to tell me more about angels. Surely God had told them about me.
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