Entertaining angels?

We were celebrating a significant milestone for a special friend. Around the lunch table we swapped “quirky stories about Betty” – like mini-eulogies without the funeral. A picture emerged of a kind-hearted, fun-loving, doggedly determined Christian. The showstopper came when her daughters spoke about an incident from their childhood that left an indelible imprint on their hearts. With Betty’s permission, I’ll share the story with you.

Supper simmered on the stove late on a bone-chilling February afternoon. Suddenly, a knock sounded at the door. Betty opened it to see a small, scruffy man standing there. Numerous layers of clothing swallowed his slight frame. His pale face peered out from under a toque soaked by the blowing snow. His bicycle stood in the driveway, expertly loaded with four bulging duffle bags.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said. “I was wondering if you’d allow me to set up my gear in between a couple of snowbanks in your front yard. I need somewhere to spend the night.” (Betty’s kids had been gleefully tunnelling into those snowbanks all afternoon.)

“Well . . . no,” she said. “Why would you do that? You need to come inside and get warm.”

“Oh, no ma’am,” he replied. “I wouldn’t want to intrude.”

“If you sleep out there in the cold, I won’t get any sleep here in the warmth of my house. Come inside. I’ll make you a hot coffee.”

Her two pre-teen daughters peeked fearfully around the corner as the man peeled off multiple coats and outer-trousers, hanging them around the kitchen until he was down to a red flannel shirt and track pants. He stood over the heat register and introduced himself as Bill.

Rocks and a hot breakfast

The girls listened incredulously as their mother – the same one who had diligently lectured them on “stranger danger,” insisted that this man should spend the night in their house. She tried to soothe them, reminding them that Jesus would have us help those in need. “But Mom,” they implored, “We don’t know him at all. And . . . he smells bad!” Their little brother continued playing in the corner, completely unconcerned by the drama. When their dad, Wim, came in for supper, he also had no problem at all with the situation.

So, Bill became their guest. He spent the evening with Betty and Wim in their living room. Derek slept peacefully in his room. Heather and Heidi hunkered down safely with their Oma in the granny flat.

Betty was into painting rocks in those days. Bill asked if he might join in. He produced something with vibrant lights and some kind of demonic creature. “My version of ‘Starry Night,’” he said with a chuckle. Now Bill had opened a door. And Betty immediately invited Jesus into the conversation.

The next morning, after a hot breakfast, Bill declined the invitation to church. The family dropped him off at a country intersection and then he rode away down the wintry road, never to be heard from again.

To this day, her daughter’s eyes are wide as she says, “I still can’t believe you did that, Mom.”

Betty responds with her signature smile. “What else could I do?”

She confided to me later, “Sometimes I wonder if this was a case like that Bible verse about ‘entertaining angels unaware.’”

It wouldn’t surprise me, my friend. Not at all.