The Sparrow and the Grumpy Angel

by Donna Poole

“Goodbye, honey,” I whispered, seeing the tears in John’s eyes, and blinking back my own.

We both knew I was in God’s care and the expertise of a top brain surgeon, but it was still difficult to let go of hands and be separated, one to face surgery the other hours of waiting for news.

When I let go of John’s hand, I slipped my hand into God’s hand, and the beautiful flute music my friend Vicky had played at church the day before wafted through my thoughts. “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He cares for me.”

God did care for me. Eight years ago yesterday, God brought me through the craniotomy with thirteen pieces of hardware left in my head and some artificial dura covering my brain. I had hydrocephalus, but the fluid buildup was mild. My surgeon left the choice up to me: have an additional surgery to put in a shunt, or, go home and let my body heal itself.

“Your body will absorb the fluid, but you will have horrible headaches,” Dr. Thompson warned me.

“I just want to go home.”

He chuckled. “I knew that was what you were going to say.”

Home I went. I’m allergic to pain medications, so I couldn’t take any. The headaches were horrendous, and my dreams were vivid. Every night an angel rowed up to the shore where I waited. We didn’t say anything to each other. I got into the boat, and he rowed me out onto a calm, black lake. It was wonderfully quiet on the lake in the darkness of midnight; no stars or moon ever appeared in my nightly dream. I laid on something soft in the bottom of the boat, my head on a pillow. The pain that tortured me when I was awake dared not follow me into that sacred place.

Once I trailed my hand through the water. It was warm and soothing.

“No!” The angel scolded. “Put your hand back in the boat. It’s not safe yet.”

Before daylight, the angel rowed me back to shore.

Gradually I began feeling better, but I kept dreaming the same thing every night for six weeks. The last night I dreamt it I waited on the shore, and the silent angel rowed up as usual. I hesitated, looking at the boat, then back at the land.

“Well, are you getting in or not?”

I was shocked. God’s angels were grumpy? Apparently, some were.

“No, I don’t think I’m coming tonight.”

“Fine. But I’m not coming back for seven years.”

I puzzled over that dream for a while. I’m not one who thinks every dream means something, but the same dream every night for six weeks had to say something to me.

Had the man in my dream been the death angel? I didn’t think so; why would he take me home every night before sunrise? I finally decided that the dream was reminding me that regardless of pain, the One whose eye is on the sparrow would give me rest. But what did the seven years mean? I didn’t have a clue.

Seven years came. Nothing happened. Seven years and three months passed, and I found out I had cancer. When the chemotherapy began and my old friend pain returned, so did the dream. The angel doesn’t come every night in my dreams, but he comes sometimes. I’m happy to see him; I get into the boat, lie down, and rest. I know God’s eye is on the sparrow, and I know He cares for me.

However dark the night, however searing the pain, God sees His children. He knows, and He cares. He can stop the pain, and sometimes He does. Why doesn’t He always?

Oh, we all know the pat answers, and they are true. Pain is a great teacher.

But we will never fully understand the why of some of the horrendous things that happen to God’s people, when a family is ripped apart by devastation more sudden than a tornado from a midwestern sky. Caught in a whirlwind of agony, what then? God’s children grasp for anything then to keep from being pulled into a pit of despair so deep there is no return. The blessed ones find the wild winds slamming them up against the cross.

We can’t fully understand all that took place on the cross either, but we can comprehend what we need to know. There, Jesus said, “It is finished.”

On the cross Jesus conquered pain, sin, death, and hell. The empty tomb assures us the day is coming when He will wipe away all tears from His children’s eyes and sorrow will be swallowed up in joy.

But that day isn’t here yet, is it?

Until then I need the reminder of the sparrow and my grumpy angel.

The angel isn’t any more talkative now than he was all those years ago. Is he still grumpy? I don’t know because we haven’t exchanged a word. Maybe I’ll dream that I put my hand in the water and see how he reacts. If he yells at me, I’ll let you know.