My son and I have had at least two experiences we believe were with angels. The first incident happened when my son was about 6-years-old. I had finished shopping at K-mart and was getting into my car when I discovered the battery was dead.  I propped my car's hood up and asked everyone who passed if they had jumper cables, but no one did. We waited for what seemed like an eternity, but no one else came.

Suddenly, an older truck appeared out of nowhere and a man asked if I needed a jump. When I said yes, he told me that years ago his car battery had also died and someone had helped him. Ever since then, he carried jumper cables to help others. We talked about the community, about where we lived, and about churches. He said he had gotten a little put off by church, and I told him he should "keep the faith" and go back to one, even if it wasn't the same one. He smiled and said he would. My car then started and I turned to thank him, but he was gone. Poof! No truck could be seen anywhere. I am sure he was an angel.

The second incident happened a couple years ago when my dear friend decided to get a divorce and move across the country. I spent several weekends helping her pack while my son played in her pool.

One day, after visiting my friend, my son and I were driving back to our own home in northern California. About fifty miles away from home, we saw a young man with a sign in his hand that said "LA." I said to my son, "He has to be a college student. I'm going to give him a ride." My son didn't want me to because picking up hitchhikers could be dangerous. But in my heart, I believed it wouldn't be dangerous to offer this young man a ride.

I picked up the young man who told us his name was Patrick. He sat in the back seat and when I looked in my rearview mirror, I saw the most gorgeous, dazzling blue eyes. It turned out he was a student taking a special summer program in San Diego. 

Patrick's truck had broken down while he was trying to get home (he was from Oregon) to see his dad, who was sick with cancer. When he told me this, I suddenly knew I was supposed to be there to help him--he was the same age I was when my own daddy died from cancer. We were driving toward LA when he revealed someone had recommended a truck stop where he could find a ride. I said, "Well, this is the exit. If you want to go there, tell me now," but he wanted to continue riding with us.

Since my son and I had some food left over from lunch, I offered it to him. He was hungry and ate it all. We then talked about music and about Linkin Park. He said, "Isn't it amazing that three generations can like the same music--you, me, and your son!"

He rode with us to where we needed to exit, and I dropped him off in an area where there was traffic.  My hope was that he would get picked up by someone else heading towards Oregon. I pointed to where he should go to catch a ride.  I saw him get out of my car, but then suddenly, he seemed to vanish! My son, looking to see if Patrick  had crossed the street, exclaimed, "Mom, he's gone!"

I looked at my son who then said, "Mom, I think he was an angel."  I told him, "You know what? Me too!" We were both just sure of it.  Now, I always tell my son that we need to help others because we might meet "angels unawares." After all, one angel helped us and then we were able to help another!

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