Hi I am Tameka and welcome to this week’s Grace Across Borders. Before we begin I want to give a big shout out to my little big brother Jerry! Continue to enjoy the blessings of God on your life. I used a photo showing less gray hair to give you a little bliss.

Let’s dive in…

My husband often tells me something his grandmother taught him growing up. If someone is preaching and then offers to pray for you, no matter how they look, bow your head and receive the prayer. You never know who God may be using.

There is wisdom in that which goes far beyond prayer.

We have a way of deciding what someone being used by God should look like. We expect the pastor, the preacher, the church mother, the person carrying the Bible, the one with the title, the testimony, or the reputation. We expect God’s messenger to look like somebody God would use.

But what if they don’t?

Hebrews 13:2 says:

“Be not forgetful to entertain strangers: for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

That word unawares has been sitting with me.

They did not know.

Encounters like these may not be as rare as we think. Maybe we just need the grace to pay attention.

And that reminds me of an old lady who used to sell me cigarettes.

But before let’s look at the scripture.

Scripture: Before Samson – Judges 13

Judges 13 opens during another dark period in Israel’s history.

“And the children of Israel did evil again in the sight of the LORD; and the LORD delivered them into the hand of the Philistines forty years.”
— Judges 13:1

If you have been following the book of Judges, you know the pattern. Israel turns away from God. Oppression comes. Eventually the people cry out, and God raises up a deliverer.

But something is different in Judges 13.

There is no recorded cry.

Israel is under Philistine oppression for forty years, but the chapter never tells us that the people asked God for deliverance.

God moves anyway.

Before Israel asks for a deliverer, God is already preparing one.

We are introduced to Manoah and his unnamed wife, a woman the text tells us is barren. Yet she is the first person the angel of the LORD approaches.

“And the angel of the LORD appeared unto the woman, and said unto her, Behold now, thou art barren, and bearest not: but thou shalt conceive, and bear a son.”
— Judges 13:3

That son would become Samson.

But before Samson’s story begins, his mother has an encounter she does not fully understand.

She goes to her husband and tells him that a “man of God” came to her. She says his appearance was like that of an angel of God, but she does not know where he came from and does not know his name.

Manoah prays for the man to return.

God answers.

Interestingly, the messenger appears to the woman again while Manoah is not with her. She runs to get her husband, and Manoah comes and begins talking with him.

He asks questions.

He receives instructions.

He offers hospitality.

And still, he does not know.

Scripture makes sure we don’t miss that detail:

“For Manoah knew not that he was an angel of the LORD.”
— Judges 13:16

Manoah was already in the encounter before he understood the encounter.

It is only later, after Manoah prepares an offering and the angel of the LORD ascends in the flame from the altar, that Scripture says:

“Then Manoah knew that he was an angel of the LORD.”
— Judges 13:21

Then.

Recognition came afterward.

Only after the conversation. Only after the instructions. Only after the encounter unfolded did Manoah understand who had been standing in front of him.

Sometimes we recognize an encounter only after it is over.

The Woman at the Stall

My first experience with cigarettes actually goes back to childhood.

My grandmother was a chain smoker. She could go through a carton of cigarettes in a day, although she rarely smoked an entire cigarette. She would smoke half or three-quarters of it and flick the rest out the back door.

And we, her grandchildren, would lie in wait.

Yes. We were doing exactly what we had no business doing.

We would take turns retrieving those discarded cigarettes and experimenting with them. Thankfully, these were summer visits, and smoking never became a habit for most of us. When the summer ended, so did our foolishness.

Years later, after graduating from high school, I moved to Hanover and enrolled in Hospitality Management at a HEART Institute boarding school. The program was supposed to last a year, but it was unexpectedly cut short after six months. I graduated at the top of my class and decided I wasn’t going back home.

After a series of crazy events, life eventually took me to Montego Bay. I found a little studio apartment above a business and began working at the beautiful Ritz-Carlton Hotel & Golf Course when it first opened.

I quickly discovered that my personality worked well on the golf course, and the tips weren’t bad either. Before long, I was promoted to supervisor.

The promotion also meant long hours.

By the time I finished work, there were nights when I couldn’t get a taxi from the square to my apartment. At eighteen or nineteen years old, I was apparently young enough to think walking home alone late at night was perfectly reasonable.

Along my route, I passed a housing area. Outside was an elderly woman sitting at a little stall.

She was there no matter how late I passed.

She didn’t have much to sell. I remember mints and the only two brands of cigarettes I knew: Craven A and Matterhorn.

I felt bad for her.

Here was this elderly woman sitting outside so late at night trying to sell these few little things. I wanted to patronize her.

So every night, I bought one Matterhorn, the milder of the two cigarettes, and continued my walk home smoking my one cigarette.

I wasn’t craving it.

I wasn’t buying a pack.

I was buying one cigarette because I wanted to put a few coins into Grandma’s hands.

We developed our own little routine. We greeted each other warmly each night. I bought my Matterhorn, and I continued on my journey home.

This went on for several nights.

Then one night, Grandma looked at me and said:

“Little girl, you too pretty to be smoking.”

I paused.

And if I’m telling the truth, I was upset on the inside.

Why would she say that?

I was saving those coins to patronize her. I wasn’t a smoker. I hadn’t smoked since those foolish childhood experiments around my grandmother’s back door. I was doing this because I felt bad seeing her sitting there every night.

I thought I was helping her.

But when I looked at her face, I saw sincerity.

And all I could say was:

“OK, Grandma. No more smoking for me. Thank you.”

And I walked away.

I never saw her again.

At first, I became concerned that maybe she had stopped selling. I was fully prepared to continue giving her the cigarette money and simply stop taking the cigarette.

But she never returned.

I had a friend who lived in the very housing complex where she had been selling. When I described her to him, he told me my description didn’t match anyone he knew.

Even stranger, he sometimes came home late himself.

He had never seen her.

Yet night after night, Grandma and I had greeted each other warmly on my journey home.

Who was she?

I don’t know.

Reflection: Who Gets to Be the Messenger?

I have carried that story with me for years.

Was Grandma an angel?

I cannot tell you that.

And yes, I recognize the irony of wondering whether an angel was sitting at a stall selling cigarettes.

But perhaps that is part of the point.

The Hebrew word often translated “angel,” mal’akh, carries the basic meaning of a messenger. The focus is not always on wings, halos, or the images we have learned to associate with angels. A messenger is one who is sent with a message.

I cannot tell you who Grandma was.

But I can tell you that night, she was a messenger to me.

What strikes me now is that I thought I was the one helping her.

I saw an elderly woman sitting outside late at night with very little to sell. I had a job. I had a few coins. So I decided to patronize her.

In my mind, I was the giver and she was the recipient.

Until she gave me something I didn’t know I needed.

A message.

And I almost rejected it because I misunderstood our roles.

Maybe that is something we still do.

We look at status. We look at appearance. We look at education, position, denomination, age, finances, reputation, and sometimes even someone’s past, and decide who is qualified to speak into our lives.

We can become so busy examining the messenger that we never receive the message.

Sometimes we are even afraid of the message itself, because receiving a message may require something from us.

It may require change.

It may require surrender.

It may require admitting that the person we thought needed something from us actually has something God intends for us to receive.

Manoah spoke with the angel of the LORD without knowing who was standing before him.

Hebrews reminds us that some have entertained angels unaware.

And an eighteen-year-old girl walking home late at night in Montego Bay once thought she was helping an elderly woman by buying one cigarette at a time.

I thought I was there to bless her.

Maybe she was there for me.

This story had been coming back to me all week. Yesterday, during an appointment, I was asked about my faith, what guides me, and whether I believe in angels. Grandma came to mind. I shared the story and let it go.

Then this morning, it came back again.

While listening to the early morning prayerline, I heard reminders that it isn’t status that determines who can carry the gospel and that sometimes we are afraid of the message.

And I knew I needed to write this.

Not because I can prove Grandma was an angel.

I can’t.

But because someone may need the reminder that God is not limited to the messenger you were expecting.

Your messenger may not have a title.

They may not have a platform.

They may not look particularly spiritual.

They may not even realize themselves that God is using what they are saying.

And sometimes, you may not understand the significance of an encounter until long after it is over.

Maybe the question isn’t always, “Was that an angel?”

Maybe the better questions are:

Did I hear the message?

Did I receive it?

And what did I do with it afterward?

I made Grandma a promise that night.

“No more smoking for me.”

I honored her message.

All these years later, I still don’t know who she was.

But I am grateful I had the grace to listen.

And maybe that is the grace we need: not the ability to identify every angel, but the humility to recognize that God can send a message through someone we never would have chosen.

So the next time God sends something your way, don’t be so quick to dismiss the messenger because of how they look, where they come from, what they have, or what they don’t have.

Pay attention.

You never know who God is using.

And you never know when you might be entertaining an angel unaware.

Prayer

Holy, righteous, and eternal Father God, we just want to give You all the glory and honor that is due unto You. Thank You for waking us up this morning, keeping us in our right minds, and for the many blessings You continue to give us.

Lord, we are humbled by the messages and messengers You have sent throughout our lives. Thank You for loving us enough to speak, warn, redirect, encourage, and sometimes send someone to confirm what You have already been telling us.

I thank You personally for the messenger You sent me this week. While she was praying, Lord, I did not understand everything she was saying, but Your Spirit was confirming something in me. When she later explained the message, I may not have responded the way she expected because I was honestly in shock, watching how intentionally You have been working in my life. Lord, I am grateful.

Today, I commit my family, my church family, my friends, and everyone connected to us through prayer, conversation, love, and support into Your hands. You know what each one is facing.

Lord, send the messengers they need, but also prepare their hearts to receive the message.

Sometimes we ask, “Why wouldn’t God just tell me Himself?” when You have been speaking all along and we simply haven’t wanted to hear. Sometimes we need another messenger to confirm what You have already been saying.

Thank You for every person brave enough to speak when You call them, because it will not always be an angel You send. And when You choose to use us as the messenger, give us the courage to obey.

Continue to guide us and help us recognize Your voice however You choose to send the message.

In Jesus’ name, Amen.