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Angel In The Morning Dew

Angel In The Morning Dew

This entire story unfolded a few days ago.

As prologue, I must explain that the challenges we faced in the past few weeks were often enough to make me cry and ask friends for more prayers.

To name a few, an 11-foot gator was fished out of our backyard lake because he thought this was his feeding ground, compliments of construction workers. This turned out to be the largest gator patrol had ever caught!

A few days later, my son suffered a mild concussion when his bike flipped for no apparent reason. My underage daughter was left stranded outside a large casino at night on day two of her Catholic university orientation by other thrill-seeking college kids, which worried me immensely.

Several people also tried to scam me online in various ways to steal money or my identity. The movers brought my belongings six weeks late with many damaged and soiled items, and stole my credit card, charging $3000 in one weekend.

Then, a much older and married Colombian neighbor also tried to offer me a full-body massage hours after introducing me to his devoted Catholic wife. He said I had too much stress and would bring oil so we could do it together on the carpet! I had to firmly decline. “Todo su cuerpo, todo su cuerpo!” he kept repeating, like he was possessed.

Then one afternoon, my kids were attacked by rogue dogs coming out of the woods. One dog jumped up and shredded Christian's lanyard and school ID but left him unscathed. At the time, a friend said to me, “Yes, the challenges you have, but look at the protection!”

Getting our home furnished was also opposed. Many unsatisfactory or defective pieces ordered through various online vendors. Countless hours spent assembling, disassembling, reassembling, reshipping, ordering and reordering furniture. I had enough!

Now back to our story.

We needed a table for the living room. I found one on Craigslist. It was from Marco Island, the ultra posh neighborhood where you can find beautiful second-hand furniture from very wealthy people. I called the number. An older gentleman picked up the phone. We made plans to pick up the piece, a marble table that he described as “the real McCoy. “Something told me this encounter was going to be another challenge, but that I needed to see it through.

My sons and I went to his house and I noticed an unusual aura about this fellow, very powerful with a mix of light and darkness. Many of his furnishings are French with references to Napoleon, Jefferson, Paris and the Goddess of Liberty. I realize there is no way I had not met this fellow before in a past life.

He is most peculiar. He tells me he goes to Paris every year and stays in a home west of the Eiffel tower. He is tall, statuesque, with big blue eyes, and he reminds me of a movie star. He is still very strong physically even though he has diabetic bandaged sores on his feet. His ringtone is Elvis, “I can't help falling in love with you.” And he keeps saying. “God bless.” His wallet is full of cash and he owns two luxury homes in the Marco Island area. I wondered to myself what he would say if I ever mentioned Saint Germain or the Great White Brotherhood to him.

This fellow is selling the house the furniture is in and wants me to buy a few more items. I agree to come back. Every transaction is intense, cash first. I leave with the marble table and a TV. He won't let me try out the TV but assures me that it works. I get home and the TV works beautifully. What a relief! Maybe this fellow is not dishonest after all. I make note, however, of how persuasive he is and how very hard it is to say no to him.

He starts calling me on the phone several times a day to coordinate the next load. I figure he is just lonely. I don't have a truck, so he comes up with the brilliant idea to rent one from the airport. It's cheaper than U-Haul and less hassle, and he says he will help me. He tells me to meet him and we can do this together.

Then, he tells me he likes me. I tell him he is quite the character. He asks me to send him a picture. I send him the picture with Wyatt. “Send me close ups,” he replies. “Of the dog?” I ask in jest.
“No, of you,” he insists.
“Sorry,” I reply. “I'm not big on selfies and I'm not comfortable with that.”
“Oh, OK”

This puts me on alert, but I still want the furniture, and I know I have to see this karma through. I ask my daughter to come with me for the second round. “This guy is really strange, and I can't go alone,” I tell her.

We get to his place. He offers us some bottled water and starts telling me how he dated Marla Maples seven times. He tells me details about President Trump that I won't repeat, but that were clearly inappropriate.

Then, he proceeds to share that he was head of the democratic party in New York state. He shows me a cap from the White House and tells me he was at Camp David many times. He also tells me he was in charge of the Clinton and Obama presidential campaigns.

I am more amused than impressed. “Small world,” I tell him. “My mom dated Bill Clinton in high school and my grandmother was his English teacher. I also had a college teacher who tried to set me up with Kissinger.” He is not impressed either.

He tells me he has a gift for me, a large picture of Paris. It's art-nouveau. He tells me the picture does not have the value of his other insured paintings. I look at the signed and numbered reproduction of a night out with champagne on the Champs Elysees. The picture is not something I would hang up in my home, but I don't want to offend him and it does remind me of Paris. I figure it will look nice in our garage—something for Wyatt to look at. 

“I accept the gift,” I tell him. Then, he offers to take me on a tour of Marco Island. I realize that even though this fellow is a quarter of a century older than me, he wants to date.

His son calls while we are there and he starts to break down emotionally and cry in front of us, telling his son over and over that he loves him. My daughter says to me, “Mom, this guy is really crazy.” I agree, but I have a more experienced perspective than she does on the challenges people face in life and I know I will have to see this through. I'm still trying to figure out what lessons and karmic interplays are unfolding. Not to mention I still want the furniture!

We finally leave, furniture loaded. He tells me he will follow us. We get to the first intersection outside his home where crazy Floridian drivers are zooming at an insane speed. There is room on a road island between the two highways for both our vehicles. I can feel his impatience behind me but I know I need to wait for a break in the traffic before pulling in.

That's when our car gets slammed. I can't believe he just hit us with the rented truck full of furniture!

I get out of the car. I'm stunned. He is already trying to rub the damage on my vehicle off with his spit, like it's no big deal. Meanwhile, the big rental truck has no blemish.

He groans, "I can't follow anyone." Then he says, “We have to leave, we have to leave. There is too much traffic here.” I ponder if I should call the police, but he is pressuring me enormously and my car is still drive-able. And I want to make sure I get this furniture that I bought back to my house.

I tell him that we will have to go through insurance for this. He tries to offer me $300 to avoid going through insurance and I tell him it is likely a couple thousand dollars worth of damage. “OK, fine,” he says.

I notice he is not following us anymore, so I call him. He tells me the truck won't start because of some shut off after the accident. He asks me to turn around, so I park in front of him on the inside of the highway. I know I mustn't let him out of my sight. Finally, the truck starts up again and we drive off.

He keeps calling my cell phone to tell me to drive faster and to switch lanes and is watching me from behind. I call the insurance and the police on my cell phone and tell them what happened. They agree to meet me at my house.

He calls again and again. “Why are you on the phone all the time?” he asks. My daughter tells me, “This guy is really crazy.” I agree. I tell her, “The masters say there is no accident in the universe. In the Keeper of the Flame lessons, we read that every accident is a karmic play out.”

I ponder how someone with so much power in his aura and attainment in some areas of life can also be so broken. Clearly, he is not all bad. Clearly, I cannot trust him. Clearly, he wants to get his way and make the world his oyster. Clearly, he hit my car on purpose, out of impatience and self-righteousness because he wanted me to move faster, like an impetuous child in a bumper car. Clearly, he sees life as a game he has to win, but some of the edges are starting to fray.

I realize I must not tell him until we get to my house that the police will be there, or he may drive away with what is now my furniture. We arrive and I tell him the police will be there. He concedes. The lady officer tells me when she arrives that we should not have left the scene of the accident. He smiles with satisfaction because he knew that.

I get frustrated. I tell him I'm a single mom with three kids, that I don't have money coming out of my wallet like he does, and that I have had it with Florida scammers!

She calls for reinforcements. Now, we have two female police officers in the house. He tries to sweet-talk them and impress them. He tells them he worked for three presidents and the next one should be a woman. I ask the police not to leave until I get all of his insurance information and he still tries to wiggle out of it. 

They hand us a form to fill out and sign. I will not let this supposed do-gooder, woman-loving democrat cheat me out of my car repair. Now, he says it's Enterprise rental car's fault because the truck had a mechanical issue. "Work it out with Enterprise," I tell him. 

 Then, he tells me he's insured through Enterprise—which isn't so because he refused the supplemental coverage. I hold my ground and call the insurance and rental car companies with the police standing by. Finally, he says he's insured through Allstate and I get what I need to proceed with the claim. 

He walks away, salty that he didn't get his way. “Good luck to you," he says acrimoniously. “Good luck to you too/" I reply. “And God bless," he adds. “God bless you too." I reply.

Done with this episode in strife. I feel shook up but relieved. At least he won't try to date me anymore! And the insurance company tells me I am not at fault, and that all will be covered.

The next morning, I wake up early and go outside to meet the dawn. It's a new day and everything is covered in dew. I look at my car. To my utter amazement, there is a big picture of an angel traced in dew on the hood of my car, with two wings, a halo and a shield of armor. It looks like it was traced with a finger. I marvel at the image and take comfort in this clear sign that Archangel Michael was standing by to roll back what happened with his shield.

Angel In The Morning Dew

Angel In The Morning Dew

Later, I asked my children if they had drawn the picture. They said no and when the dew evaporated, so did any trace of the image. I took several pictures before it vanished and remembered the clip on my visor, “Protected by angels.”

What a tangible physical sign. Thank you, Archangel Michael, for standing by us with your shield when we were rear-ended by none other than the guy responsible for the Obama and Clinton campaigns. Thank you for bringing us and our furniture safely home. And thank you for helping me get the insurance help I need to fix my car.

Credit

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