A New Orleans Angel

We were arriving in New Orleans in the rain after a Caribbean cruise . I always feel anxious disembarking from the cruise.  It's not so much leaving a pampered life style behind as it is being in long lines of grumpy people who are worried about their flights home, finding their luggage, getting someone to help them get the luggage to the curb or they just need another cup of coffee.  I have more anxiety than most because I feel like it is all up to me---getting the luggage and managing my husband Dave in a wheel chair, navigating the whole process.

I had left Dave in a wheel chair on the curb with our  small travel umbrella and our luggage, as I scampered over the railroad tracks to get our van on the cruise parking lot in a light rain.  I had a pretty good idea where our car was, having spotted our silver mini-van from the cruise ship and taken a photo—wow, was I wrong.  I wandered up and down the aisles searching for our van getting wetter.  My anxiety was building as I thought of Dave just sitting there in the rain with our luggage AND I had at least a 30 minute drive from the parking lot to where he was since the street was one-way in a giant loop with lots of traffic and stop lights.  

I started praying, “Please, God, help me find our van” as I continued searching up and down the endless aisles.  After a few minutes an elderly man in a golf cart approached and asked, "Do you need help."  I started crying, “I can’t find our van my husband is in a wheel chair on the curb getting wet and it’s going to take me at least 30 minutes to get him because I can’t wheel him over the railroad tracks.”  “Ma’am, let’s first find your van and then we’ll get your husband.”  

We found the van which wasn’t even close to the area I was searching in.  Then, he said, “Let’s go get your husband.”  He took us over the tracks, loaded the luggage, Dave, and the wheelchair into the cart and took us back to the van.  He put the suitcases and wheel chair in the van while I helped Dave get in. I could feel that weight of anxiety slowly slipping away.

Before he left, I tipped my rescuer $20 and said, “Thank you for  rescuing me—you are like an angel answering my prayers.” He looked at me with tears and said with a catch in his voice, “That means more to me than the tip.  Thank you.”  I often tell people, “my guardian angel is an elderly man in New Orlean riding on a golf cart." I try to remember that moment anytime I feel weighted down with anxieties and worries.  If God could send that man to rescue us in New Orleans, he will be there for this crisis too.