I’ve been painting angels for my grandbabies.
I can’t quite remember when I first became aware of my angels.
It might have been when I was seventeen. I accepted a lift home from an evening class I was attending, from a couple of guys I thought I knew. After dropping off three other kids, instead of delivering me home, they drove and parked on a totally deserted stretch of land along side a stream (Blairgowrie – for those of you who know Jo’ies – in those days it was a very new development). Not a soul in sight and the nearest lights about half a mile away. I was in trouble.
In the second the driver reached out to grab me, the entire interior of the car was spotlighted in the headlights of a small green Mini, parked mere metres away. The would be rapists (?) had an instant change of heart and drove me home.
My father was besides himself. Talk of laying charges. My mother placed an ad in The Star newspaper thanking the driver of the ‘little green Mini’.
Luck? I don’t think so. I was there and that ‘little green Mini’ appeared literally out of thin air. Intervention. And this is not the only time they’ve saved my bacon, by any means. Or provided a solution to a problem I had no idea how to solve.
All you have to do is ask :-).