Even if I’m asleep at the wheel, my angels are awake

When you’re on earth, approaching your eighth decade, you realize that you can start to relax a little. You don’t have to worry about a lot of the things that are concerns when you are younger and in a different station of life. For instance, when I was a young man, I’d never wear white socks with shoes and slacks. The socks were always black or brown. Now, who cares? Years ago, I may have had concerns about what others may have thought when I brought up a somewhat controversial topic. Now I rarely do.

Which leads me to the issue at hand … my total belief and faith that I do, in fact, have a guardian angel, who has been given the task of looking out for me. I realize all won’t agree but, in my case, I have had one too many close calls and angelic intervention no doubt has played a big part in my weathering those storms.

Like, when I was 26, back in 1973, the first day of the new job in Temple University’s Facilities Department. Bud Wilson, my new boss, decided to show me the main warehouse on the main campus. This was a good idea because the distribution of the furniture stored there was one of the areas of our responsibility. As we took the large freight elevator to the third floor, I was impressed with all of the furniture and equipment that was neatly stored. As Bud walked over to a wall phone to call the office, I noticed a piano alongside a rectangular wooden railing. I decided to go over to see how the piano sounded. It was clear that it was a shorter trip if I walked in between the wooden rails instead of walking around the structure. I did so and reached to touch the keys. The next thing I knew I was holding onto one of the rails, with one hand, dangling over a large opening, three floors up, that contained the hoist used to pull up heavy loads. I don’t remember grabbing the rail. Bud was a hero as he pulled me up to safety but after I thought about it, I realized that the grabbing of that railing, in that split second, was something I never thought of doing.

Five years earlier, I was playing baseball in a college league in South Dakota. Since the teams included players from all of the country, I enjoyed making new friends and having the opportunity to compete with some very talented players. Among my teammates were three guys from California. Our games were played at night so on a very hot afternoon they decided to go “tubing” on a local river. As a kid, our neighborhood “swim club” was located at the 65^th Street fire hydrant, midway between Elmwood and Buist Avenues. Since the water never got more than two inches deep, I never learned to swim a stroke! So, when my teammates asked me to go along on the tubing trip, I declined. However, after many assurances that the water in the river was shallow and we’d all be together, I decided to take the plunge, so to speak. This was not one of my wisest decisions. Two guys had cars. One parked about two miles downstream and then we all drove upstream to the launching point. As I held my inner tube, I noticed that the current was pretty strong and perhaps I may have made the wrong call. However, I jumped on the tube and started to be whisked away. In a matter of seconds, I realized that the water was lot deeper than advertised, I had no control over the steering and those guys were way downstream so I would be on my own.

I jumped off.

Clinging to the tube, I barely made it back to the shore. Sitting down catching my breath I realized that I had come pretty close to being one of those drowning victims that we unfortunately hear about every summer. I was thankful that somehow, I was brought to my senses and I was now safe. As I walked back to the car, I was attacked by hordes of mosquitoes. The car was locked. With only a bathing suit on, I became an Italian smorgasbord for about an hour and a half until the others returned.

The incident that really convinced me of my angelic intervention occurred in the winter of 2002. On this day I was working in the Princeton, N.J., area about 35 miles from my home. I had had very little sleep for several nights before, fighting off a terrible cold. This had proven to be a very long day and as I headed south on a dark Interstate 295, I was really feeling sleepy. It was well after rush hour, so the traffic was moving at the rate of 70-75 mph. I felt myself nodding off but was able to shake it by opening the window, raising the volume of the radio and making a conscious effort to focus on the details of my surroundings. I noticed I was approaching Exit 47B, the Burlington-Mt. Holly. I thought “great, I only have about 10 more miles to go.”

That’s the last thing I remembered until I opened my eyes and saw the sign that read, Exit 40, Moorestown.

I am convinced that I was not in control of the car for those 10 miles. I was not awake. I passed five exits and then awakened just in
time to get off at my exit and arrive safely home.

As I sit at my desk typing this I can look up and see my 5-inch statues of the Archangels, Michael, Gabriel and Raphael. I can’t be sure that any of these guys were with me on those days but I am certainly sure that one or two of their buddies were.

Charlie Sacchetti is the author of three books, “It’s All Good: Times and Events I’d Never Want to Change;” “Knowing He’s There: True Stories of God’s Subtle Yet Unmistakable Touch,” and his newest, “Savoring the Moments: True Stories of Happiness, Sadness and Everything in Between.” He was raised in Philadelphia and lives in Cinnaminson, New Jersey. Contact him at worthwhilewords21@gmail.com.