The Guardian

by Mike B
(US)

Excerpt from my journal's chapter titled The Guardian


We all have a guardian angel, or could have one, if we want. He (or she) could be a past soul mate or maybe just another soul whose time of returning to life has not yet come. For all we know we could be part of their next lesson in life.

It has been written many times over the years that the more we talk to our guardian angel the more they listen and respond to us. They even appear before you, you just have to learn to recognize them. I can recall three distinct times that mine has physically been there to help me. I have no doubt that my guardian angel has acted in my behalf many more times than that, but either I did not see her in a human form (I say ‘her’, for I believe mine to be feminine) or she was acting behind the scenes. And I don’t think that this ‘person’ is (or was) just a temporary person who really didn’t exist, that doesn’t make any sense.

I hypothesize that in my time of need, she occupies the body of a willing host who can help me or affect the outcome of my dilemma. I can only surmise this based on common sense, but I do know she exists.

The first time that I can definitely recall meeting her was on a cross-country trip driving a flat-bed truck. I was hauling a rather large trailer with a VERY heavy tug on the back. Somewhere on the outskirts of some big town I was barreling down the interstate when some guy in a faded yellow station wagon pulled up along side on me, reached over, rolled down his window, and started yelling at me about something wrong with my trailer. I quickly pulled over to the side and out of traffic, as did the driver of the faded yellow station wagon. As I got out of the cab, he walked towards me all the while telling me that it looked as though the spare tire hanger (underneath the front of the trailer) had come loose and was dragging the spare tire just in front of the axles of the trailer.

As I pictured the scene I spun around and rushed to inspect the tire. The 5’ 10”, 170 lb., lightly colored curly haired, 30-something year old man had been right; the massive spare tire was poised to fall off the broken bracket and land right in front of the trailer tires. The results would have been disastrous, possibly fatal. Even after I fixed the broken bracket (and got back on the road) my heart was still racing from the near miss that I had just encountered.

I reflected on the guy that popped out of nowhere to save me from a bad situation. I can still see his face even today; there was something about his eyes, and the round glasses that he wore, that left an impression in my mind. Only it wasn’t until the second time that I saw her again did I realize that I had seen the same soul behind those ‘eyes’ before.

I was on the way to the Oakland airport via the bay bridge late one afternoon. I had a short business trip that I was scheduled to make (but probably wouldn’t). I had lost track of time at the office and left to make the 45 minute drive to the airport with only 50 minutes remaining before my flight was scheduled to leave. To make matters worse I had forgotten to take lunch out of the office and refuel my car; the fuel gage hovered just above ‘empty’.

As I passed through the tunnel on Treasure Island and started the 2 mile down-hill run into Oakland the engine went quiet and I started to slow down. I had run out of gas. I reacted quickly enough not to loose momentum by shifting the automatic transmission into Neutral and started coasting with the heavy traffic. (I even had to tap the brakes a few times in order to avoid getting too close to the traffic in front of me.)

Gradually my initial panic of getting stuck in the middle of the bridge gave way to that sinking feeling of not knowing where I would get gas, and how I would make my flight. I maneuvered my car over to the far right hand lane and made plans to pull into the highway maintenance yard located at the base of the bridge opposite the bridge tolls on the other side. I glided up to what appeared to be an office, stopped the car, and bolted through the door.

I quickly explained my situation to the guy walking down the hall towards me. He accompanied me back outside, and went on to explain, “Yes, we can provide 2 gallons of free gas to stranded motorist on the bridge." He said that the truck that carried the gas (and maintenance crew) was on its way to another bridge to help another stranded motorist, and "he would probably be back within an hour.”

My heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I realized that I was going to miss my flight. Just as I walked back to the car, and the guy with me started towards the maintenance shed (that he needed to go to), the maintenance truck pulled into the lot and drove right up next to me.

The two workers stepped out and asked me if I needed help. I told them of my dilemma, and they unloaded the gas can and started to put the gas in my car. They went onto explain that they forgot ‘something’ back in the yard (for the life of me I can’t remember what that ‘something’ was) and had just turned around to get it.

As I quickly started to piece my itinerary back together and as the one worker drained the last of the gas in my car’s tank I noticed his helper standing there (with her hands in the pockets of her jumpsuit) just beaming at me with a big smile. She didn’t say anything; she just stood there and grinned. She was about 5’ 2” tall, 30 years old, had short, straight light brown hair, was about 100 lbs, and wore round glasses. I went back to my mental debate of if, and how, I was still going to make my flight.

I was jumping back in the driver’s seat as he shut the lid to the gas cap. I lit the green Firebird back to life, rocketed out of the maintenance yard, and sped off down the interstate towards the airport.

I screeched into the parking lot, grabbed my overnight bag and bolted to the terminal. I had managed to make it aboard with only a few minutes to spare. It wasn’t until we were passing through the upper flight levels that I caught my breath and recapped the last hour’s events. Then it struck me with the magnitude of a hurricane: I had seen those ‘eyes’ before, I had seen that soul before. And then I knew that she was my guardian angel.

As I started putting the pieces of this puzzle together, I began asking myself more questions that I could not answer:

  • Who was she?
  • Why had I not recognized her before?
  • Did I know her from some past life or experience?

Many questions went unanswered. I could only surmise answers to some of the others.

It thought that the reason that I didn’t recognize her was due to the urgency of the situations that I was in at the time. I tried to recall other traumatic events from my past, and searched my memories for images of her, but I drew a blank.

I was coming back from a business trip in Atlanta and was in the company of one of our regional sales rep. Our flight didn’t leave for another 2 to 3 hours. We had made plans to drop off the rental car early, catch the shuttle to the Ramada Inn (at the opposite side of the airport) and spend an hour or so at a trade show going on there. We wanted to get a quick look at as some of the competitor’s equipment on display there.

Just after we turned in the keys and paid the bill, we walked out to the shuttle bus area and inquired about a bus over to the Ramada. The attendant informed us that they only ran back and forth to the airport and that the only way to get over there was to go to the airport and get the Ramada to send us a limo. We looked at each other knowing that there wasn’t enough time for that.

Then out from around the building a 4-door, green sedan pulled up to the curb next to us, the window came down, and the driver asked us if we needed a ride somewhere. We told him our plans and he told us to "jump on in". We piled in the back seat, still taking strategy for the trade show. I tossed my brown leather jacket over the back of the front seat, right next to the drivers. I made a mental note that his jacket was almost identical to mine, and that they were both unusual in color and style for that area. They were old-style ski jackets.

No sooner had we buckled our seat belts and pulled out our notes he pulled up in front of the Ramada. We piled back out of the car and told the 40-ish year old stranger with the round glasses, "Thanks" again and started right away towards to hotel. I had even almost grabbed his coat by mistake but grabbed mine instead.

As we walked outside to the pavilion where all of the industrial equipment was on display I stopped dead in my tracks realizing who had just given us that ride. She had snuck into my life without me even noticing it. I wasn’t in a crisis nor was I emotionally distracted, yet I didn’t recognize her right away.

Maybe that was the way it’s supposed to work: you don’t know it’s her/them until after you part company. Maybe it keeps them from being ‘discovered’. For all of the obvious reasons I don’t know for sure but I do know this much, she is keeping an eye out for me.

The last part of this chapter is somewhat prophetic, if not pure speculation. But due to character constraints with this posting that will have to wait for another day...

Thanks for reading this meager post.

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