April | 2015 | Slipstream

I was ten, but I saw everything she did. How she took care of my four siblings and me. How she turned back my mother’s bed at night. How she cleaned our tiny home. She didn’t have to do it; after all we were her nieces and nephews. My Mother, her devoted sister. But at the moment she heard of my father’s death, she came.

For days I’d watched her every move, waiting for the perfect time to tell her how I felt. Then one night after she’d tucked us in, I got my chance.

After leaning into our bunk beds and kissing us good night, she touched the foot of our beds and said,

“God, put angels on their bedposts.”

Lying on my stomach I rested my chin in the palms of my hands and watched my Aunt Jeanne Marie shut off our bedroom light. Then she turned in the doorway and said goodnight. Long streams from the hall light fell around her and the raglan sleeves of her robe flowed when she moved. She looked angelic.

Overcome with emotion, my mind searched for something to say. I longed to tell her that I knew how much she loved us.

Finally I blurted out, “I got it Aunt Jeanne Marie. You’re our fairy godmother.”

She laughed softly and said, “Good night darlings.”

Then she turned off the hall light and I listened to her gentle footsteps fade away as she walked down the stairs.

In the dark, I rolled over on my back and tucked my hands underneath my head. I stretched out my legs and crossed my ankles and stared up at the ceiling.

Yeah, that’s it. She’s our fairy godmother. Just for me and my brothers and sisters.

I didn’t really believe there were angels on my bedpost. But, Aunt Jeanne Marie was real. And she was there and she belonged to us. I didn’t have to wonder if she loved me. I just knew she did. I didn’t have to wonder if she’d take care of us. I just knew she would.

Sometimes we must grow up before we realize, that from the beginning, God was orchestrating our lives. That in this crazy mess of a fallen world, brokenness invades, but God delivers.

I don’t think it’s by chance, who shows up or when they arrive. I now think it’s all part of His master plan.

We all came, some new friends and some old. We gathered at the table and we broke the bread and drank the wine. All to celebrate fourteen years of a rebuilt life.

And as the stories were told, we remembered.

He was a boy then, and now he’s a man. And he never wants to forget what almost cost him his life. The foolishness that lead to the arrest, the imprisonment, and the walk to freedom.

But most of all, on this anniversary of his release, he remembers the people who helped pull him from that pit.

So that night, Tommy, his youth pastor and friend asked,

“Daniel, do you remember the first time I saw you at the jail? You were on the other side of that glass, and we were talking on that phone. And I said, ‘How did you get there and I get here?’ Do you remember what you said?”

He didn’t even pause, “I told you I stopped listening to the people I respected.”

And for over an hour we feasted at that table, and we shared our stories. And we became full on the evidence of Gods greatest miracle.

The restoration of a man’s soul.

Over two thousand years ago, twelve men gathered around a table. And as He broke the bread, and He poured the wine, He told them to remember.

To daily remind themselves how His body broke, and His blood poured out.

And how their souls will always need nourishment as much as their bodies. And without Him, they’ll never be full.

This Easter, I challenge you to prepare a feast. To invite all those you love to the table. Gather them around and break the bread, and pour the wine.

And let the conversation flow. And as you do, remember all the ways He has restored your soul.