Where are your wings?

Both of my parents instilled in me the belief in miracles and angels.  My mother was more likely to tell me a story about a harrowing event in her life where her guardian angel protected her from harm. My father, on the other hand, was more philosophical in his telling of incidents that solidified his belief in a higher being.  Our family was loosely Catholic. Read: Lots of the guilt inducing practices and none of the church-going, sacramental requirements.  Regardless of the methods and theories taught, we were a spiritual clan with the ability to find reason and cause to why we were fortunate in the face of often dismal times.

I recall as a little girl my mother telling me to always listen to the little voices in my head because that was my guardian angel giving me direction. "She knows better than you do. So don't ignore her."  In my child-like mind's eye, angels have always been filmy, beautiful, ethereal beings with wings and halos.  That is, after all, how they are artistically rendered in books and movies ... unless, of course, you consider Clarence from "It's a Wonderful Life." 

As a grown up, I have learned that the holographic depiction of heavenly creatures is not wholly true.  It has become apparent that I live amongst the angels.  They have fully functional cardio-vascular systems.  They speak to me not in echoing sounds within my head, but directly to me interacting on a day to day basis.  Their clothing is no different than mine. They have jobs and toils of daily life just like me. 

If not for these angelic souls I wouldn't be able to give Mancub the Christmas he is about to behold.  Additionally, if it wasn't for the angels who greet me each and every day, I would feel less accomplished and far less fulfilled in my life.  Without their reminders that I am not only permitted to admit that I am a human requiring unconditional love and affection but encouraged to embrace that aspect of myself, I would not be able to be so open with myself here. 

Those angels are my friends. It doesn't matter whether we've met face to face or I encounter them at work. Our connections may be limited to words in an email or a limited number of characters in a text. All the same, they are able to lift me up with their wings of compassion. Their humor pulls me from sadness. 

This brings to question, what have I done to deserve this?  All too often that phrase is accompanied with someone's declaration of bad luck following them around.  Though I may often be considered a cynic, I know that we have to seek our good fortune and find the bright speck no matter how gray the day may seem.. So, tell me? What have I done to deserve such graciousness and generosity?  I do question why I strike my friends as someone special enough to receive a bounty of gifts for my son.  This isn't me looking a gift horse in the mouth, mind you.  It is simply a concept that perplexes me. It's easy to question why me when negative circumstances infiltrate our lives. 

My parental units were big supporters of the golden rule.  Though, I don't remember them telling it as such.  Rather, they took a more philosophical stance on it.  "You get what you give in life."  If that's true, I don't feel like I'm fulfilling my end of the bargain. My sister tells me stop questioning the why.  She adds that I'm not nearly as prickly as I view myself.  Are my friends just that intuitive? Maybe I should heed sis's advice and just know that I'm loved. Unconditionally.

Angels? Santa? Do I believe? Of course I do ... wouldn't you?

This is dedicated to those who've enriched my life with your love and support ... even when I tried to push you away. Thank you for sticking by my side -- just like Mama said.