I kept listening to that old cassette in the radio of my beat-up car, the used one I had paid too much for and financed with my soul—the voice of a Texas woman, accent thick as my debt, preaching something about a verse from the Bible and being made in the image of God. How her sexy husband with long blonde hair was really a mighty angel, how he drove a shining motorcycle and spoke the truth, lifting her up in her times of need, telling her she was more than worthy. And while I knew she was trying to sell me more makeup that I really couldn’t afford (though I’ve always loved my colors and creams) I played that cassette repeatedly until I felt a little better— about my babies who wouldn’t stop crying, how I wished they didn’t need daycare, how I prayed that my (now ex) husband would be a little more like hers. And I thought how my mother's father, a single dad of five in the forties, was named after a mighty angel who killed evil in its place. And I'm reminded now of a brilliant professor I had as an undergrad— a woman with wild hair, impassioned and in love with poetry. She’d been denied important tenure because she hadn’t published, but boy, did that woman know how to teach us! The way she lectured about William Blake and the tiger burning bright. How he thought miracles were in everything, his own mind crazy and beautiful. How he, a wandering cloud, saw angels in the architecture—except he really saw them. Living angels, with white on white feathers, perched over London’s dim lights. And I loved that image of protective wings and that southern woman’s voice, so I played the tape over and over, rewinding to the parts I believed in. And it taught me if you do that again and again, what you’ll hear is exactly what you need—that some men and women and people can really be agents of truth, and they live where you least expect them. That there are angels among us. And you were made for greatness. Katherine Mercurio Gotthardt, copyright March 9, 2024, all rights reserved
Posted in Katherine's Coffeehouse
