“Do you believe in angels?” I remember being asked this question when I was just a kid. It is a common question. Nearly as common as, “do you believe in God?” As a kid, my answer was quick, “Yes!” My child-like faith allowed me to believe in things without trying to find alternate explanations, and my answers to these questions were without the cynicism that I quickly acquired in my early teenage years. Today, I am just as likely to answer, “yes” to questions like this, but I have to battle against my reasoning that makes me want to attribute the things that we can only describe as super-natural as such.

A couple of Fridays ago, I was at the office. It was a typical Friday. There was a lot to get done from a week of being [just a little] behind, and the “shift horn” was about to blow us into a warmly welcomed weekend. As a ministry, and especially being downtown, we find ourselves recurrently visited by people who notice the “ministry” sign hanging outside and assume it to be a beacon for those in need – as well, that is exactly what they should assume, if we get right down to it. For someone who says he loves to serve, I sometimes – admittedly – get frustrated when the completion of my “to do” lists are delayed because things get added to them.

On this particular Friday, at this particular time, we were trying to meet a mail deadline for our summer flyer blast. Then, as though she had spotted the ministry from the doctor’s office adjacent to us, an older woman made her way across the street and to the sidewalk in front of our office. As soon as we realized she had noticed us, we started paying a little more attention. With just a slight hesitation she started walking the few more steps to our office. Only moments before we realized she was going to come in and not just window browse down South 5^th, my collogue and I made, what could be – at best - described as critical comments about this lady that we knew absolutely nothing about. We christians (intentionally left un-capitalized), in the confines of our lofty office, exercising our refined disciplines of “to do” ministry, thought nothing of giving her labels and stereotypes. All while having spent the last few weeks promoting our Mexico mission projects under the tagline, “You don’t have to go around the world to make a difference.” After rethinking this, maybe I should rewrite the line to read, “You don’t have to go far to make a difference, start with yourself.”

She was an older lady… maybe in her 60’s. Her thin, dull hair, aged face, and quivering hands were indicative of the life that had brought her to our doorstep. She reached for the handle, which put both my coworker and me in a brief, silent stage of conjecture. She stepped just inside the door and, with a voice as shaky as the hand she extended to greet me, she asked, “Are you a ministry?” Even then she only had half of my attention as I tried to keep doing my “work” and talk to her. “Yes, ma’am, we are,” I replied. It was a typical question that was commonly a lead-in to requests for any number of things. “Do you do missionary work?” she asked. The particular phrasing she used in asking the question was different enough for me to stop what I was doing and clarify the inquiry. “Do you mean, do we do mission trips?” She nodded and replied, “yes.” “Yes ma’am we sure do. Breakaway has been all over the world the last several years, and we are going to Mexico a good bit this year.” I said, boastfully. At this juncture, I wasn’t sure what was coming next, but I assumed she had stepped in to make conversation.

“I’d like to give some money to the mission trip,”

she said. She opened her purse and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. My heart broke under the weight of its own poor condition. I took the bill and sat in on the desk. I had no idea what to do or say. God had brought my sin into the light, and I couldn’t even say “thank you.” I went to get my Director, Eddie, from next door, and on the way, I had to regain myself. I returned with Eddie about a minute after going to get him. He began talking to the lady about her life and where she had been. She immediately began talking about God with this faith that just poured out of her. She talked about her church, and about miracles in her life and times when she had experienced the presence of the Lord.

Eddie reached out to grab her hand, and she began to pray scripture over him. Not “bowing her head and closing her eyes,” but locking eyes with him and boldly proclaiming scripture over him with extraordinary authority. After which, Eddie prayed for her. The lady then left and I literally was sick. The only thing I could think about was this woman whose faith could crumble mountains. The fact was, her faith wasn’t just spoken. Speaking is easy. Her faith was evident, tangible. Why? Because there she stood with nothing much to offer but giving all she had.

I thank God that His response to me was not the same as my response to her when I first saw her coming. My wretched sin had me so caught-up in the agenda of ministry that I forgot to do ministry. I am often crippled by the lie that my God is so caught-up in his God-sized agenda that perhaps he really doesn’t worry much about me when he sees me coming. Or the lie that maybe he sees me coming and grumbles about ‘what I am going to need next.’

Truth be told, we look like this lady. We are worn out with not much to offer. Our faith should never be placed in what we have to give God. If that were it, we’d put a lot of faith in ten-dollar offerings that bear ten-dollar results. We, the offerers, do not determine the value of our life’s offering. Its value is determined by to whom we offer it. If we keep our life to ourselves, then the only value it will have is the value we can accrue, but end the end… it’s worthless. This lady came and gave what she had. She gave regardless of what the gifts value appeared to be. Rather, she gave ten dollars in obedience, and in faith that her offering was priceless and that all she had to give was enough.

Some say they don’t believe in angels. Some say angels do exist, but they don’t come to earth, and certainly they don’t come in the form of a person. Others do not believe in angels. To some, they have a “guardian angel” that protects them and comforts them. To others, angels are bright lights that speak to them. To others still, it is their loved ones, and children. To me, an angel is an old white-haired woman with a faded dress and worn-out shoes who gave what little she had in obedience to her God she loved.