Ive been anxious the last couple days about my upcoming visit with the oncologist. Mostly because of the numbers. The one the surgeon didn't want me to pay much attention to. I know they'll be bad. And part of me doesn't want to hear them at all. But that's not who I am. I need to know what I'm up against. And I know I'm up against a Goliath. So I'm nervous.
But this morning--as with most mornings these days--I got a visit from my very own angel. She happens to be housed in a mortal body for the time being, but that's a mere technicality. She is, in every measure I know, a true angel--generous and unselfish to the hundredth degree. I'm sure she wouldn't want me to say her name. Angels are like that. But My Angel arrived as she often does, and nurtured my physical body--to turn me into a David--then fed my spirit with a pep talk like only she can give. Then, either sensing the extra level of muck or my extra level of stress--or both--she even cleaned my house.
She slipped out with the house sparkling while I was in the shower--preparing for that appointment--and left me armed for battle.