My suburban town has a waste drop-off center where residents can photograph items that do not belong to the regular trash can. Chemicals, corrugated cardboard, certain recyclability, and more. I’m happy to hand over aluminum and metal cans. Aluminum and metal cans actually have some raw material value in exchange for lowering a pile of cardboard boxes that I see collecting.
The center also performs a transfer box replacement. New arrivals allow you to unload flat boxes, and anyone can take whatever they need at their own whim. It’s one of the small civic gestures that make the town feel like a community, at least in theory.
“I think you might be an angel,” she said. “Maam,” I laughed, “I can assure you that you are not. You can call my wife and confirm.”
It’s also just that I witnessed two moments that I will never forget.
The first came right after my wife and I moved from another state. We were experiencing an ugly incident. I tried to comfort her, but I rattled myself. More than anything, she felt fear. She knew no soul in our new town. She felt lonely.
Still, life had to continue. We had set up a new home, and that Saturday afternoon we loaded our car with flat moving boxes and headed for the drop-off center. After dropping off the last one, I gently placed my hands on her back while facing the car. Her face was heavy with sadness, her body relaxed with sadness.
As we approached the car, my guess was a man and woman about 60 years old and walked towards us. The woman gently placed her hand on her wife’s arm and asked, “Can I pray for you?”
The man explained that they were aware of her pain and wanted to provide her comfort through prayer. My wife was still shaking, but open, and nodded.
They each placed their hands on their shoulders. Without knowing one detail of what had happened, they prayed. They asked God to bring her peace. They prayed for the strength to carry the weight she was enduring. They asked her to feel the presence of God – she knows that she is not alone.
And my wife began to cry.
While she was crying, these two complete strangers accepted her. At that moment something changed. Her healing began.
After that, my wife and I looked back at that moment. If the angels were walking between us, we agreed, they must look like that couple.
About a year later, there was a new neighbor whose garage was filled with empty boxes. Once they unpacked I offered to take the mountain to the waste station while running errands. They accepted and we broke the box and loaded it into my SUV.
At the drop-off station, I noticed an older woman struggling with one flat moving box and failed to squeeze it into the back seat of a small Nissan. I walked up and joking. She said she needed a small box or a larger car.
I offered to fold the flaps and fold the cardboard to fit, but she shook me off.
She explained that she heard about the moving box replacement and came to see what she could find. But she didn’t need just one box – she needed dozens. She had moved from her home where she had lived for decades. It was the home where she and her late husband raised their children. They were all grown up now and away from the state. She said it was time to approach one of them and approach.
“It’s all so overwhelming,” she said. “I don’t even know where to start, but I know I need a lot of boxes.
I nodded towards my car, stuffed dozens of flat moving boxes and said, “Let’s skip the intermediaries. I’ll bring these straight to your house.”
She hesitated as the usual “I hate to impose” but eventually accepted. I continued to her house for a few miles.
Her tone became serious as she brought the box inside and stacked it in the corner.
“Why were you at the waste station?” she asked.
“To unload these boxes,” I replied.
“No, why were you there at that moment? And why did you approach me?”
“Just the timing,” I said.
“I think you might be an angel,” she said.
“Madam,” I laughed.
She handed me some strap tape and I assembled a dozen boxes to show her how to do it easily.
Before I left, I scrawled my name and number on a slip of paper.
“If you need more boxes, call me,” I said.
As I left, she asked again, “Are you not an angel?”
“I promise not,” I said. “But I’m sure they’re hanging out at a waste drop-off center, where my wife and I met a few angels once.”
