When an acquaintance had a sudden nervous breakdown, disappeared from home, and was found by detectives a week later living on the underground railroad tracks of Grand Central Terminal, New York, Kelly’s perspective on life was changed irrevocably.

“If it happened to him, it can happen to me,” a voice whispered within Kelly. “Am I so arrogant as to think that I can remain untouched by life’s vicissitudes?” reasoned Kelly. Then she reflected: “There but for the grace of God go I.” This mantra became the motto by which Kelly lived from that point forward. She began to look at troubled souls differently, with a softer, gentler eye. Working as she did in Greenwich Village, Kelly had frequent encounters with these down-and-out souls.

This is her story:

“One evening, I was standing outside my office building on Twelfth Street and Broadway, waiting for my husband to pick me up by car when I heard these words: ‘Please, ma’am, can you spare some change?’”

“The voice, soft and entreating, broke into my reverie. A panhandler stood before me in tattered clothes, his manner mild, apologetic. His eyes were gentle and kind and sweet. Despite the harshness of his life, his face was luminous and radiant. There was a certain aura he emanated that made me feel safe. I dug into my pocketbook and began to pull out a dollar bill. It was nestled close to a five. I began to feel the tension, a tug at my temples. I gave him the five. His mouth crinkled into a large grin, and his eyes lit up:

“‘Oh thank you, ma’am!’ he said effusively. ‘You don’t know how much this means to me. I haven’t eaten a decent meal for days.’

“I nodded my head in acknowledgement and he began to walk away. A minute later, he made a U-turn and wheeled back to my side:

“I want to thank you again and shake your hand,” he announced magnanimously, extending his arm in an almost chivalrous way. ‘What’s your name?’ he asked softly.

“I trusted this man, but for some strange reason that I still can’t fathom, I told him that my name was Alexandra.

“‘Alexandra,’ he mused. “I’ll never forget you, Alexandra. My name is James. I’m sure we’ll meet again one day.’

“Two years later, deeply engrossed in my thoughts, I stepped off a curb at a busy intersection at Broadway and Forty-second Street. A horn blared and a woman screamed. I had stepped right into the path of an oncoming car:

“‘Alexandra, look out!’ a voice shouted in warning.

“Suddenly, I felt a strong hand pull me away and back up to the curb. The car whizzed by, just inches from where I had stood a second ago. I turned around to face my benefactor. It was James. Where did he come from? I gazed at him in disbelief, thunderstruck. He, however, didn’t seem to share my surprise at all:

“‘I told you we would meet again,’ he smiled sweetly. He stretched out his hand once again – the hand into which I had dropped the five-dollar bill, the hand that I had shaken with such restraint, the hand that had saved my life. We shook hands once again and then James disappeared into the crowd. But where did he go? He was nowhere to be seen.

“Sometimes we encounter God’s protection in ways unimaginable. The gospel of Matthew says, ‘God will put his angels in charge of you’ ( Matthew 4 : 6 ). James, the panhandler, who saved my life on the streets of New York and disappeared conveniently was my ministering angel.”

Offered by Kelly McAdam.