The Hands of Strangers

a poem and angels among us

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

There are times

care arrives

in tissue-wrapped,

delicate bundles

of thoughtfulness –

hand-cut paper hearts,

and hand-stitched words

that bring life and love,

mailed across states

from a stranger

who knew it was time

for care to be sent;

it was time

for care to be received.

There are times

care arrives

in bustling beach parking lots,

people carrying heavy loads,

but a stranger in a hat

has her hands free

to take the hand

of a little boy,

lost, scared, and wandering,

before he crosses the street.

She stops to talk to me

on the busy pier and

before she leaves,

I read her hat in bejeweled letters:

ANGEL.

There are times,

care arrives

when the stranger with no home

no teeth, and no money

approaches, asking for help.

I am alone

and in poor spirit

with no cash to give.

I offer my hands,

and hold both of his.

They’re rough, dirty, and wet;

I bow my head

and pray.

I have blessed him,

I think.

His tears and gratitude

and toothless smile

change my heart.

No, the blessing is mine.

There are times

the hands of strangers

do the work of angels.

My son says,

“Mommy, I wish I could see angels.”

And I tell him,

“You can. You do.”

I share with him

stories of

the hands of strangers,

and that

there are times,

when care arrives

and that care

is an angel.

I wrote this poem as a THANK YOU to a new friend who mailed a package to me while we were strangers. She had no idea how meaningful and timely it was. I hope she does now.

When I think of angels, I’m reminded of the stories I’ve heard over the years about angel encounters; the kind of stories that send chill bumps over your entire body in an AWE-some way. But I also think about this lady, pictured in my photo, who likely saved a little boy’s life that day (she was holding his hand in this photo). This woman was so calm and kind when my mom and I encountered her on this bustling beach. After we had our exchange about the little boy and her plan to help find his mom, I turned to leave and stopped to notice her hat. She hadn’t called any attention to it, but I thought it was pretty AWE-some! I asked her if I could take a photo of her hat to remember this moment. It’s been 7 years since this happened and I’m happy I’ve had this chance to include her in my poem.

I have not forgotten these hands of strangers.

What about you? What kind of encounters have you had with the hands of strangers?

“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without knowing it.” – Hebrews 13:2