An Angel at Christmas
 

An Angel at Christmas

There are small ways in which God makes His Perfect Presence known to us on a daily basis. I mention this as I was wandering around Wal-Mart wondering what it was that Mrs Bathfire had told me to buy, and had arrived at the fruit aisle (and this was real fruit – I’m not gay in the slightest) when He sent an Angel to help me.

The Angel had the appearance of a fat woman in lime-green, tight-fitting, lycra pants and unwieldy bosoms that would have compared to Abraham’s loosely supported by a jumper patterned after an epileptic fit. Like all fat women, she was remarkable only in her ugliness.

However, we know that God does not publicize his presence with obviously golden-haired Angels with a high feather content: He prefers an approach that is a sudden surprise – NB the famous “Thief in the Night” scene in KJV 1611 – and so it was here. It happened like this:

There I was, convinced that I was in the wrong place and not having the faintest idea what Mrs Bathfire had said (Gentlemen, do you notice that because women say such a lot without actually coming to a point, God has equipped us men with an attention “Off-Switch” that we might not lose years of our lives? I know I do.) when, the Angel started humming “Dee-di-dee, de-diddy dee, de diddy, diddy dee…” which you will instantly recognize as a catchy song by that popular chanteur Mr Rober Dylan, and entitled “Hey Mr Tangerine Man” – And that was the answer… Tangerines!

I took a dozen or so choice ones and turned back to see if the Angel were still there – She (or “it” – you can never tell with Angels) had mysteriously and miraculously disappeared. I was looking around for her when another woman arrived, and I asked if she had seen an Angel… she said she had not, so it must have been a private revelation and the Angel was only visible to me.

I saw this as a good start to the New Year until I got home, when Mrs Bathfire, although pleased with the tangerines, asked me where the onions were as she was supposed to make French Onion soup…

I told her that God had only sent one Angel with one message much in the way that He sent one angel to the shepherds with one message. It was sign that eating French Onion soup would be a mistake. I did not feel inclined to explain any further – if God wants to make Himself aware to Mrs Bathfire, He will do it in His Own Way and I am not going to put any pressure on Him.

Re: An Angel at Christmas
 

Hello Ezekiel,

It is great to see you got inspiration from her (or it). Inquiring minds want to know though, what did Mrs Bathfire do with the tangerines to make a proper dish? Or did you eat them ¨as is¨?

Kind regards,

Roland

Re: An Angel at Christmas
 

What an inspirational story, Brother Bathfire. You must have been made all the happier by the fact that after the Christmas holidays, the price of tangerines is marked down. :thumbsup:


Far be it from me to criticise Mrs Bathfire's menu choices, at least not to her face, but what was she thinking? What is wrong with good, wholesome, American Onion soup? She probably had the ingredients for that all along!

Re: An Angel at Christmas
 

An Angel indeed, Brother Bathfire. The French fancy themselves the world's greatest lovers, while at the same time foisting their "French" onion soup on the rest of us - the source of a foul miasma emanating from the resulting flatulence (and Global Warming if Al Gore is to be believed). I seriously doubt that the French ever consume their own onion soup - preferring instead to use it to prop up their suspicious reputation in the bedroom.

Re: An Angel at Christmas
 

You know, Brother Bathfire, your anecdote reminds me of another anecdote that took place around Christmas 2015. I don't think I shared it here and it's nothing like yours, but it is profound.


My cousin's best friend's niece was driving home from her godless college (Berkeley) and came upon a couple of elderly who were stranded near the California/Nevada line. She stopped and asked if the oldsters needed help. The man, who was obviously in need of water and was breathing with much labor, said, "Can you just help my wife? I am frail and won't make it - but my wife needs you so much."


Well, she looked over at the woman who said, "Just let him die. Get me out of here." Now, my cousin's best friend's niece happens to be a solid Baptist with more faith than Pastor Ezekiel! She said, "Let's pray for a miracle." Well, before she said Amen, the old man died.


"Finally," said his wife. "Now, can we go to a truck stop or something? I'm hungry, thirsty, and need to call my daughter." Not a tear was shed, so my cousin's best friend's niece said, "Don't you want to say goodbye?"


About that time, a handsome young man stopped and asked if he could help. It was as if God sent an angel since my cousin's best friend's niece just didn't know what to do. It was at that time she saw the gun. He shot the elderly woman, kidnapped my cousin's best friend's niece and took her (in her own car) to a motel where they engaged in fornication. However, she prayed about it and they ended up marrying and having 4 lovely children. He was never prosecuted for the murder and rumor has it that old Toyota she was driving is still running. Isn't Christ something? I still get moist eyes when I think of that story. Oh - and it's probably best kept between us.