“Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained angels without knowing it” (Hebrews 13:2).

It’s Friday the 13th and I received the dreaded call.

“Your Father is dying,” said the hospice nurse. “We’ll do everything we can to keep him comfortable.”

Dad was in the advanced stages of Alzheimer’s disease and had contracted the Norwalk virus. A 104-degree fever kept him from eating in days.

“You should be on your way,” the nurse urged.

My face spoke the words I didn’t need to say to my manager, and I grabbed the camera as I left the office. There was a job site on the way to Memory Care I needed to get a quick photo of before demolition began. Not in the best part of town, but a bitterly cold winter day should be enough to keep strangers away.

Just as I parked my car and began snapping photos, the stench of poverty caught my attention. A soft spoken voice called from a distance.

Uncomfortable, I pretended not to notice and snapped more pictures. The voice grew nearer, until I was met with a cataract stare and pleas for a ride home.

“Please, miss, I do you no harm. I am minister from the Church of God in Christ,” he said in broken English. “I give you nine dollar if you take me a few blocks home.”

Being raised as the play-it-safe type, I never picked up strangers. My self-protective nature told me to turn and walk away. Instead I shot up a quick prayer.

“Jesus, it’s Friday the 13th, my Dad is dying, and this stranger needs a ride. What do I do?”

Then I asked, “Sir, is there anyone who can vouch for you?”

“Yes,” he smiled and darted into the food shelf bringing out the manager.

She said, “Come on in where it is warm.”

Smiling, the food shelf manager confirms, “Wilmet’s ride fell through. I’d take him home if I could get away, but I’m the only one here today. Wilmet is a good man and will not harm you. He might talk your ear off though!”

“Alright Wilmet, I’ll take you home, but you keep your money,” I said.

We loaded his food shelf items into my car. On the drive to his apartment I told him that I am on my way to see my Dad who is dying.

With empathy and understanding, Wilmet shared that he had lived through the Liberian Civil War and had lost his parents. Then he came to America and met his wife who died of cancer. Together they had been raising several foster children who he now cares for as a single Dad. He recently lost his job, his home, and his car, yet Wilmet is still full of joy, hope, and faith in Jesus Christ, and grateful to live in America.

We arrived at his apartment, and his son came out to carry the food inside. Just before I drove away Wilmet said, “Let’s pray for your Father.”

So I let him back into my car to escape the bitter cold. Wilmet began to pray and Heaven filled my car so strong that I thought the windows would blow out! After he prayed, Wilmet said, “I thank God for sending me an angel today to take me home.”

I laughed and said, “Oh, I’m no angel, but I think you are!”

When I arrived to Memory Care, my 105-pound Dad was incapacitated with a high fever. I prayed for him, kissed him on the top of the head as I always do, and told him I love him. I stayed with him for several hours until my sister arrived. We visited while Dad slept and then I went home. I asked her to let me know if anything changes.

The next day my sister called. “You’ll never believe this,” she said. “Dad’s fever is gone. He’s in the commons area sitting in his chair—eyes wide open. He ate breakfast and then lunch. Hospice said it’s a miracle!”

Angels unaware.