Angels Unawares
The bus ministry captain said her name was Tiffany and that she was 3 ˝, the same age as our Sara Jo. Gloria and I had been teaching the 3 & 4-year olds class for almost two years now and had seen some pitiful children, particularly the ones called bus kids.
I never liked the term, bus kids. It was demeaning to the child and suggested a preference for church members’ kids, but I was guilty of using it. Now though my heart went out to this little girl like nothing I’d ever experienced. She stood by the Noah’s
“Hi, Tiffany,” I said, bending down to speak to her.
Her reaction wasn’t what I expected. Her big blue eyes widened, her little mouth opened in a failed attempt to scream and she put her tiny hands up to her face as if to block the slap she knew was coming. My heart broke.
Why would she think I’d hit her?! What kind of monster would do such a thing? I knew immediately this child had been abused, beaten. Sheer terror shone in her tiny face, expressing itself through her trembling body.
Without hesitation, I picked her up and held her tight, but she pushed herself back away me, trying to avoid this big, mean man holding her against her will. Her entire body was like some rigid porcelain doll. I held her all the more tightly.
“It’s okay,” I whispered into her dirty brown hair. “Nobody’s gonna hurt you here.”
She didn’t believe me. Even though she stopped pushing me away, she remained rigid. I asked my wife to keep an eye on the other kids as I walked around the room with Tiffany in my arms. Pointing to various baby animals posters on the wall or toys scattered on the floor, I tried to get her to relax. She wouldn’t, so I sat down with her in the big rocker. Sara Jo waddled over to us with two small doll babies in her arms, gesturing to the scared little girl in my arms that she could have one. Tiffany turned her head away from both of us. Sara looked at her then at me then went back to the little, pink playhouse where she had been playing. I was comforted that she wasn’t jealous of the strange little girl in Daddy’s lap.
I took a moment to take a closer look at this frightened little stranger. Her hair smelled of cigarette smoke. Her face, hands and legs were dirty. Her dollar store sneakers looked to be hand-me-downs, more faded than the wrinkled dress she wore.
“Tiffany,” I whispered, trying to get her to look at me. “Your name is Tiffany, right?”
My voice startled her out of whatever little world she had gone. She looked up into my eyes for just a nanosecond then turned away just as quickly. During that moment though, I saw an angel looking back at me. Yes, an angel.
It occurred to me at that moment Tiffany was testing me. If the love of my Lord Jesus was in me, I should be willing and able to share it with someone for whom love had never been shown. The church bus ministry was an extremely important ministry, but it was one I tolerated more so than I supported, if only because I was often annoyed with bus kids’ behavior. None of them had ever been taught discipline though most of them were well aware of violent spankings and beatings. Some could recite words that shouldn’t be uttered at all, much less in God’s house. Few of them had both a mama and a daddy, and even those who did rarely heard those precious words every child needs to hear: “I love you.”
Tiffany was one of these bus kids. Her ragged clothes and unkempt appearance testified to her poverty. Her fear of me – of men – suggested she was abused by one, maybe many. How was I going to teach this child about the love of her Heavenly Father when she’d never known the love of an earthly daddy?! This was my test. This strange little girl was sent to me to see how I’d react to her. She was my angel unawares [Hebrews 13:2].
I leaned back in the rocker and began humming – I don’t remember what, Jesus Loves the Little Children – I think. Tiffany continued to distrust me, although her overall countenance improved over time and her fear of me relented. Because I was pre-occupied with Tiffany every Sunday, Shelly or Patrick, our two oldest, would sometimes help Gloria with the other kids.
Week after week, Brother Garrison was faithful to drop her off at our classroom, and I’d immediately take her in my arms and eventually sit with her in the big rocker. After several weeks, I finally got her to relax. After several more weeks, she would stretch her little arms out to me, eager for me to hold her. She let me read to her from picture books and even began to look up at me cheerfully. Once or twice, she actually smiled. Tiffany was getting use to me. Moreover, I think she liked me. I was the closest thing to a daddy she ever had.
Then Promotion Sunday came. I explained to Tiffany that she would be going to another classroom soon. She and Sara and several others were being promoted. She looked up at me with the sweetest, saddest eyes I’ve ever seen, sadder than the day I first met her. But as before, she didn’t cry. She marched reluctantly across the hall with the others, looking back at me with every step.
The following Sunday when Gloria and I dropped Sara off in her new classroom, I looked for Tiffany. She wasn’t there. I asked Brother Garrison. She wasn’t outside the apartment building when the bus came by. She wasn’t there the following Sunday either, so I asked Brother Garrison to ask for her by name the next Sunday morning. She was gone, her and whatever her family consisted of. I felt a tremendous sense of loss that has never gone away. Did I do enough for Tiffany? Did I make a difference in her life at all?
She certainly made a difference in mine. She taught me to care about strangers, to care about bus kids. We all have to be careful how we treat strangers for there are indeed angels among us. I know. I’ve met one.
Tiffany would be 16 or 17 today, a junior in high school, if she’s still in school [if so, probably a government school]. The author finds himself wondering where she is today, if she ever got saved. He still prays for Tiffany and all the other children like her, including those he tried to help during the four years he taught English in public high schools. Did he do enough for them? Did he make a difference in their lives at all? How about you? Are there any Tiffanys in your past? Have you met any angels unawares?