Hi, Friends! I’m trying something a little different with this story. Think of it as the same old “Allen” tale, but with more room to breathe, more pauses, and a touch more heart. I’m still figuring out this format and would love to know if it felt like a good fit for you—or if I need to reel it back a bit. Let’s dive in and see if we like this new slightly quirky groove.
Ordinary Angel
A story of unexpected grace on a Wilmington street.
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A Call and a Prayer
I met an angel yesterday. Her name was Sheila.
An hour before we met, her voice flowed through the phone—rich and warm like hot chocolate, with a gentle Southern lilt.
“I got your son here with me,” she said. “I want y’all to know I’m keeping him safe.”
At that moment, I was driving south on I-95, heading to rescue my son Allen. His 1998 Mercury Villager had broken down again in North Wilmington.
I was weary of the routine. That car had caused more than its share of headaches and drained my bank account. But Allen, navigating life on the autism spectrum, clung to it—a symbol of control in a world that often felt unpredictable.
When he called at 1:00 PM to report the breakdown, frustration bubbled up. But instead of lashing out, I offered practical suggestions. Two hours later, unable to reach him by cell, I prayed:
Dear God, send another angel to help my son. Keep him safe.
Almost immediately after my prayer, my phone rang.
Allen, using Sheila’s phone—his own out of minutes—assured me he was fine. Sheila had given him a drink and some chicken strips, staying with him until I arrived.
Sheila returned to the line, providing the address: 4th and Church Streets in North Wilmington.
“God always sends an angel for Allen,” I told her. “Today, He sent you.”
A Guardian on the Stoop
Driving through unfamiliar parts of Wilmington, I reminded myself that Allen was safe. As I approached, I saw Sheila gently restrain him from darting across the street.
Though an adult, Allen's place on the spectrum keeps him closely tied to me. I help him navigate a world that often feels foreign.
We had about an hour before the tow truck arrived. In true city fashion, we sat on the stoop, sharing stories.
“I never had no trouble here,” Sheila said, “but you never know. Nobody’ll mess with you if I’m right here.”
Sheila opened up about her 14-year-old daughter, a victim of gang violence years ago. “My church helped me,” she said. “I ain’t too proud to ask for help when I need it.”
Now, she gives back when she can.
I offered her a $20 bill.
“I don’t want that,” she said.
“I know,” I replied. “Give it to someone who needs it.”
She spoke of her fiancé, a kind man, contrasting him with her former husband. I shared about Ron’s car accident and the burdens I carry as the well spouse and wage earner.
She patted my shoulder, a simple gesture of understanding.
An Unexpected Connection
When the tow truck arrived, I almost felt reluctant to leave. For a moment, I had forgotten the stress that brought me there.
I handed Sheila my business card from KeCo, where I serve as Editorial Director.
“Sweet Jesus,” she exclaimed. “Just how many jobs you got, Dr. Linda?”
“Three or four,” I laughed. “Depends.”
I explained our mission: helping people write and share their stories.
“You, dear one, have a story to tell. It can help others.”
Tears welled up in her eyes.
“My other daughter,” she whispered, “she was there when SeSe was killed. She’s never gotten help. She holds it all inside. She’s got a story to tell.”
As we prepared to leave, Allen gave Sheila one last hug. I lingered.
“You got a special son,” Sheila said. “But you got burdens, honey.”
“You offering to help me and my daughter,” she continued, “but you needing help, too. Maybe, just maybe, we find a way to help each other. I can help look after your husband a bit,” she offered, “and do some cooking, too. I’m a good cook.”
I smiled.
“I think you’re right,” I said. “I think we can help each other.”
One final hug, and I left the angel on the Wilmington stoop, her smile and the faint scent of hot chocolate lingering.
So… what did you think of this new storytelling style? More breaks, more breath, more feels—did it hit different? I’m experimenting, and your thoughts help me know if I’m onto something—or just overly caffeinated. Your voice helps shape this space.
Quirky: Because we're all a little different is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber.
I love the new format. Keep up the good work! ❤️
I love everything you write. I ❤️ the new format