Back in the days before Bay Area Rapid Transit (Bart) I used to take the Greyhound Bus from my home in Lafayette, California, over the Bay Bridge and into San Francisco. The bus came to its final stop on Seventh Street at the Bus terminal. It was a seedy area just a few blocks from Market Street where shoppers, workers and tourists mingled.
At sixteeen, when I went to San Francisco by myself, it was usually to visit my grandmother. In earlier posts I wrote about her beautiful Mediterranean house. I loved to go there for a couple days of sewing in her organized, peaceful sewing room.
I got off the bus at the terminal and then proceeded down Seventh Street toward Market. I clutched my purse close to my side and ignored the wolf whistles blowing out of the lips of unshaven, dishevelled, wasted-looking men hanging out on the sidewalk.
Market is a wide street that must accommodate car traffic, buses, taxis and street cars. Streams of pedestrians, more numerous than city pidgeons, cross the wide avenue at signals or at any other convenient place.
Raised concrete islands hold all the pedestrians who want to take a street car.
I crossed most of Market Street, but then the light turned red and I had to take refuge on one of the islands to watch for a break in traffic.
About five or six other pedestrians stood with me on the island. At last, a signal on 5th or 6th Street turned red, holding traffic back.
I gave a careful glance down the street.
No cars.
I stepped down onto the street.
Immediately, someone grabbed me by the coat collar and hauled me back onto the island.
At that second, a car whizzed through the space my body had just occupied.
I whirled around in surprise.Who pulled me back?
The man appeared to be about sixty, with slicked-back salt and pepper hair. His clothes looked cheap. His face was lined.
"There was car coming. Didn't you see it?" He said, pointing to the narrow stretch between the island and the sidewalk.
I checked it out. Another car whizzed through. How had I not seen those cars?
I turned to thank the man and. . .
he was gone. Gone!
Cars and streetcars zoomed down Market. There's no way he could have gone anywhere. He wasn't on the island. He hadn't stepped into a street car. He hadn't crossed the street.
In the time it took for me hear the man's admonishment, turn my head, look at traffic and turn my head back --perhaps one second -- the man had disappeared.
Forty some years later, I still wonder. . . was that man an angel?
Had my Heavenly Father sent one of His messengers, speeding from heaven at supernatural velocity, to appear as an old man, in order to grab my coat collar and pull me away from certain death?
How about you? Have you had some strange and wonderful angelic rescues, too?
That would make for an interesting little book.
Praise God for His untiring vigilance and care.
"Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvations?" (Heb. 1:14)
"Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it." (Heb. 13:2)
At sixteeen, when I went to San Francisco by myself, it was usually to visit my grandmother. In earlier posts I wrote about her beautiful Mediterranean house. I loved to go there for a couple days of sewing in her organized, peaceful sewing room.
I got off the bus at the terminal and then proceeded down Seventh Street toward Market. I clutched my purse close to my side and ignored the wolf whistles blowing out of the lips of unshaven, dishevelled, wasted-looking men hanging out on the sidewalk.
Market is a wide street that must accommodate car traffic, buses, taxis and street cars. Streams of pedestrians, more numerous than city pidgeons, cross the wide avenue at signals or at any other convenient place.
Raised concrete islands hold all the pedestrians who want to take a street car.
I crossed most of Market Street, but then the light turned red and I had to take refuge on one of the islands to watch for a break in traffic.
About five or six other pedestrians stood with me on the island. At last, a signal on 5th or 6th Street turned red, holding traffic back.
I gave a careful glance down the street.
No cars.
I stepped down onto the street.
Immediately, someone grabbed me by the coat collar and hauled me back onto the island.
At that second, a car whizzed through the space my body had just occupied.
I whirled around in surprise.Who pulled me back?
The man appeared to be about sixty, with slicked-back salt and pepper hair. His clothes looked cheap. His face was lined.
"There was car coming. Didn't you see it?" He said, pointing to the narrow stretch between the island and the sidewalk.
I checked it out. Another car whizzed through. How had I not seen those cars?
I turned to thank the man and. . .
he was gone. Gone!
Cars and streetcars zoomed down Market. There's no way he could have gone anywhere. He wasn't on the island. He hadn't stepped into a street car. He hadn't crossed the street.
In the time it took for me hear the man's admonishment, turn my head, look at traffic and turn my head back --perhaps one second -- the man had disappeared.
Forty some years later, I still wonder. . . was that man an angel?
Had my Heavenly Father sent one of His messengers, speeding from heaven at supernatural velocity, to appear as an old man, in order to grab my coat collar and pull me away from certain death?
How about you? Have you had some strange and wonderful angelic rescues, too?
That would make for an interesting little book.
Praise God for His untiring vigilance and care.
"Are not all angels ministering spirits sent to serve those who will inherit salvations?" (Heb. 1:14)
"Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it." (Heb. 13:2)
No comments:
Post a Comment