I stepped off the bus with a heavy heart.<\/p>\n
Usually this was one of the most exciting parts of my week, going to my college biology class.<\/p>\n
That class was the start of a whole new life for me. I\u2019d been ill during high school and only earned my diploma later in night school. Finally I\u2019d enrolled at Medgar Evers College, a brand-new school opened by New York\u2019s City University system. The college was so new it didn\u2019t have a campus. My biology class took place at a church in Brooklyn, a 45-minute bus ride from my parents\u2019 house in Bay Ridge. I loved that class.<\/p>\n
Except today I was coming to drop out for a while. The day before, my father had died. He\u2019d been a janitor at a big building in midtown Manhattan. He\u2019d fallen from a ledge at work and broken his leg. Three weeks later he\u2019d suffered a fatal embolism. My mom wasn\u2019t doing well either. She was struggling to recover from an operation. I\u2019d already missed yesterday\u2019s class and I was coming to tell the professor I wasn\u2019t sure when I\u2019d return.<\/p>\n
I approached the church, a beautiful Gothic sanctuary more than 100 years old with a soaring bell tower, Lafayette Avenue Presbyterian. A warm September sun shone down.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood morning,\u201d said a voice. Startled, I looked up to see a familiar face. A tall man with thinning blond hair in khaki pants and a blue collared shirt stood at the church door polishing the glass. I\u2019d seen this man most days I came to class. I assumed he was a janitor like my father. He was always cleaning something or sweeping the walkway. He wore funny, old-fashioned glasses. He was friendly, always said hello to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cDidn\u2019t see you yesterday,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Before I could reply to him my eyes filled with tears. \u201cI know. My father died yesterday,\u201d I choked.<\/p>\n
The man\u2019s face clouded with concern. \u201cI\u2019m very sorry,\u201d he said. \u201cCan I do anything for you?\u201d<\/p>\n
Suddenly the prospect of going to class and explaining about my father all over again filled me with dread. \u201cWould you mind telling my professor what I just told you? She needs to know why I won\u2019t be in class.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course,\u201d the man said. \u201cCome back soon.\u201d I thanked him and walked quickly to the bus stop.<\/p>\n
Things only got worse. My mother\u2019s condition deteriorated, and I realized that without my father\u2019s income I couldn\u2019t take care of her and go to school at the same time. I\u2019d gotten a job at a coffee shop but it didn\u2019t pay much. I figured I wasn\u2019t meant to get a college education.<\/p>\n
On the morning I decided to drop out altogether I left the coffee shop and walked home. I was tired\u2014my coffee shop shift had begun at 4:00 a.m.\u2014and depressed. I collapsed onto the sofa and fell asleep. Hours later I awoke with a splitting headache. For a moment I wondered what was wrong with me. Then the strangest thing happened.<\/p>\n
Despite the eruption in my head I felt a sudden urge to stand up. The urge became a command to leave the house and board the bus toward Lafayette Avenue Presbyterian. Still directed by this mysterious force, I got off the bus, walked to the church and sat on the steps outside. My class had long since ended for the day. The church appeared closed.<\/p>\n
Minutes later the church door opened and I shrank back. White light poured from the door. I shielded my eyes and saw, silhouetted, a familiar figure. It was the man I\u2019d often seen at the church, the one I assumed was a janitor. The moment I saw him my headache vanished. The man stepped toward me.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t see you coming to class today,\u201d he said, smiling.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2014I didn\u2019t go to class,\u201d I replied. The man stared at me. Something about his gaze caused me to blurt, \u201cI\u2019m dropping out of school. I can\u2019t afford it. I want to go but I can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
The man nodded. \u201cHow much money do you need?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cEighty dollars a week,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou just got yourself a working scholarship for three hundred and thirty-two dollars a month.\u201d He extended a hand for me to shake. I looked at him.<\/p>\n
The man laughed. \u201cI\u2019m sorry, I haven\u2019t introduced myself. I\u2019m George Knight, the pastor here. I need someone to answer the phone and vacuum after Sunday services. You start Sunday.\u201d<\/p>\n
My expression grew even more dumbfounded. \u201cGet some rest,\u201d George said. \u201cI\u2019ll see you Sunday.\u201d<\/p>\n
I did see George that Sunday. And for many years after. My friendship with him only confirmed the miraculous events of that providential day. The same week I began work at Lafayette Avenue Presbyterian my mother passed away. George attended the funeral and asked if I\u2019d like to live in a spare room in the church\u2019s rectory. I said yes and in the following years George helped me finish school, even doing my vacuuming whenever I got too overloaded with homework.<\/p>\n
Eventually I graduated, married, landed a stable career and had a wonderful daughter who grew up to become a social worker. What would have happened if I\u2019d never met George, never returned to his church and discovered he was so much more than the janitor?<\/p>\n
Well, God doesn\u2019t think in what-ifs. George Knight was my rescuing angel. I thank him in my heart each and every day. <\/p>\n