Getting into a flap over modern guardian angels

I proudly admit to firmly believing in my guardian angel. It is important to state, though, that my belief is in the old-fashioned guardian angel we were taught about as small children.
I abhor the avalanche of wing-flapping, know-all ‘angels’ that have descended upon us like a swarm of bees from – where else – America. Actually, forget a swarm of bees or even vuvuzelas. These angels are similar to Superman, complete with cloak, or Wonder Woman with her magic bracelet.
Naturally, the proponents of these angels have, in their advocacy, acquired money – lots of it. The money they accumulate through books, public talking-shops and one-to-one meetings is akin to their striding into an amusement arcade, walking up to a fruit machine and finding the handle permanently jammed on jackpot. They coin money just as easily as I run the tap and boy, does it make me mad.
I tend, and encourage others, to travel Ryanair where anger/angst are concerned. A lifetime of endeavour in this regard is paying off because, ordinarily, I refuse to allow negative thoughts or feelings to persist. I do acknowledge them – only a blinkered idiot living in the wonderland of Denial pretends life is a smooth ride. Having allowed them limited living space, I swiftly shed them. I have neither the time nor the energy for carrying excess weight and baggage. Who’s perfect, though? Right now, I plan to surrender to my desire for a real, raging, rant against these angel pushers.
Despite the fact that communication is instant, people have never felt more isolated. Our youth – and too many adults – exist in the virtual world of Facebook and its ilk. Twittering and Tweeting substitutes for real interaction. We live in a troubled, uncertain, lonely world.
Because of our dysfunctional homes, dysfunctional Government and our highly dysfunctional Catholic Church, we are hanging on desperately by our fingernails.
People are seeking comfort, purpose and answers. Spiritually, starved and grasping at straws, we are sitting ducks for these angel pushers.
Perhaps I’m jealous of the money these people make? Total strangers approach me constantly, confiding their problems and asking for my prayers.
But I have never attempted to capitalise on this because I realise some people sort of send out empathy signals – I am not unique. I absolutely believe, though, that we are each assigned a guardian angel. Daily, I say a collective guardian angel prayer for my loved ones and those I pray for.
“Angel of God, our guardian dear,
To whom God’s love commits us here,
Ever this day be at our side,
To light, to guard, to rule and guide.
Amen.”
Many events have occurred in my life to verify the presence of our guardian angel. Here are two incidents.
My sister lives on one of the busiest roads in Dublin – a main artery. Waiting to cross her road is a nightmare, with constant traffic. Actually, she now walks quite a distance to cross at pedestrian lights.
One night my niece arrived from work at 6pm, ashen-faced. She had twisted her ankle, right in the centre of the road as she crossed and fallen heavily. “But what about all the traffic?” cried my horrified sister. “That’s why I’m so shocked, Mam, there was absolutely no traffic.”
We live in the middle of nowhere, in the mountains. There is an extremely dangerous hump-backed bridge on a sharp bend between home and town.
My husband’s car was in for a service and the garage loaned him a replacement – it was huge. Approaching this bridge blindly – and too rapidly – he was confronted by a massive lorry but there was no collision. Suffice to say that he, the lorry driver and, subsequently, our guys who went down to examine the “phenomenon,” were confounded by the fact that their mirrors had not even touched. It continues to be a source of astonishment to all. But it is no mystery to me. None whatever. And those are only two examples.
So, back to my rant. I would dearly love to buy an apartment in Dublin where all my family, both immediate and extended, are living. Absolutely impossible right now, as everyone knows.
Reading an interview with the author of a best-selling angel book, I discovered she lives between two homes, both of which were ‘loaned’ to her.
According to the interview, she can barely write and has ‘enormous difficulties’ spelling ‘even the simplest of words’ when signing her book. No problem, though. “One person just bought me a laptop and a ‘speak easy’. You just talk into it. Someone else set it up for me.” Simple, see?
Angel of God…, tell me, please, where have I gone wrong? Just a one-bedroom apartment will do.