A Visit with an Angel

One of the things I loved most about acting was the feeling that I was tangibly using my faith to touch people. Before every performance I would pray that my work would somehow enlighten the Holy Spirit in each audience member and, through that light, they would see the path they need to take to spend eternity in God's presence.

That was my standard, heartfelt prayer before every performance.

When I moved from on stage to behind the camera in television, I felt a sense of loss from not saying that prayer, of slowly losing the ability to put God in my work. However, the creative aspects of the industry kept me distracted.

Only after I left television and was stuck doing monotonous office work in the "real" world did the loss of converting my faith into daily action become substantial... almost painful. I missed living that daily prayer through my performances.

I felt lost.

I was struggling on how to take managing second level technical support on the phone and converting that into something as real as my acting performances.

This loss made me question how the Lord could take me from the passion of acting... a passion that he had instilled in my very bones... and place me into a mind-numbing office job?

How can helping people connect to the internet equate to the satisfaction that comes from giving an audience your best performance? How can assisting the same people who consistently mess up their internet connection compete with the energy you get from an audience during a performance?

But, most importantly, how can helping people troubleshoot their computers be an expression of faith? The arts, by their very nature, are intended to touch people, reach them in areas of their hearts and psyche that they rarely explore. How can punching a time clock even come close to that?

This loss, this realization was quite depressing.

At the time I was working the second shift (4 p.m. - 1 a.m.). The team covering second shift was small and scattered through the large and mostly empty building. The phone calls were intermittent and I had a lot of time to think... to wonder and to bemoan my current existence.

My indulgence in self pity was distracted every night by one of the two janitors that would come by and empty the garbage. I always made a point to say "hi" and to thank them for doing their job. Their work, I figured, was just as valuable as mine in the grand scheme of things... more so, actually.

One night the struggle of not knowing how to convert my faith into a tangible display through my work was weighing heavily upon me.

I felt rudderless, adrift.

I felt like I was being punished or, worse, spiritually forgotten.

Suddenly, my trance was broken by the enthusiastic humming of a janitor as he approached my cube. I had never seen this janitor before. He was a small, thick black man, constantly bent over as if suffering from back problems. He had what appeared to be a worn appearance that comes from a long life of manual labor. He had wide spaces in his uneven teeth, but they did not impede his infectious smile. He had a simple inner joy, vibrant almost, that seemed to radiate from him as he hummed and bobbed his head to his own internal rhythm while moving from one cube to the next. As he approached my cube I held out my garbage can, as I always did, and handed it to him.

I offered a sincere "thank you."

He stopped his humming, looked up to me with his joy filled eyes and said "I'm just praising the Lord with my work!" He smiled, handed me the garbage can and continued down the aisle.

The answer seemed odd at the time, but stuck with me all night. A call came in and, while on the phone, his humming faded. When I was done with the call I looked around, but he was gone. The next day I was looked for him again, but he didn't show. When one of the regular janitors made the rounds I asked if the humming janitor was working that night.

They didn't know who I was talking about.

As a matter of fact, no one knew who I was talking about. No one else remembered seeing him.

On the drive home that following night I realized that, if a simple janitor can find joy in the Lord by emptying garbage, then I too can use my job, any job, as an expression of my faith.

It was a lesson that has remained with me ever since.

It wasn't until a few years later, upon recalling this event to someone at church, that it occurred to me that my humming visitor that night was probably an angel brought to me to help me through a difficult spiritual time.

It was a visit I will never forget.