In the place where the angel appeared to me, I lie face down. Every day — morning, noon and night — you will find me here praising the Lord for the miracle he delivered me. I seldom dream and even less frequently am I able to recall them. This was more real — a vision in semi-awakeness. I was sound asleep when I sensed a pull on my elbow. I rolled onto my side and looking across my body, he was there — bent toward me and pointing out the row of windows in the north wall of my bedroom. I didn’t feel drawn to climb out of bed to see if there might be a sight out there for me to see. He was the vision — the angel himself. All white: His clothes, body, hair. Not glowing. Not vibrant. Not ghostly or frightening. Just a white figure against the background darkness of my bedroom. I fell back to sleep and eventually woke up, going about my morning without the slightest memory of what happened in the night, until mid afternoon when I suddenly remembered and spent the next few hours trying to decipher what this visit meant. I landed on the Biblical reference in the book of Daniel and his prayers three times daily at his window — faith under the threat of death for worshiping his God. The same Daniel who was thrown into the lion’s pit and through the Lord’s protection stood among them unharmed. But what did that mean? The Lord is clearing a path for me — protecting me from my enemies as I grow bolder for him. As my mission takes me nearer and nearer to those who don’t see him in this world, he thickens my skin, he readies my words, and he lets me see who can be lifted into the light and who will remain in darkness. And more fervent prayer … you will find me in the space between the window and my bed, where the strange figure was, thrice daily. Me, not quite Daniel, facing Jerusalem. Me, not quite ready, trying in vain to be as glorious as the angel who God created a little higher than man.