I call him the angel in the orange t-shirt, but I don't really know if he was a bonafide angel, or just a nice guy who did a really great thing. All I know is, he was in the right place at the right time, and I'll never forget what he did for me.
It was less than 48 hours before my children and I would leave on our first ever family vacation. We'd been planning this road trip for months. What started out as a "Hey, wouldn't it be great if..." idea back in June was about to become reality in mid-October. I'd scrimped and saved but had nowhere near enough money to make it happen; at least, not the way a vacation should happen. My daughter donated part of her lemonade stand earnings, and my son pitched in from his restaurant job, but we still fell far short of our goal, and were set to leave Wednesday morning.
It was Monday, and I was standing in a used record store with my list of LPs from the 60's, 70's and 80's, and some very high hopes. I'd done some research and had an idea of what I'd like to be offered for my collection. I compiled a list of all 55 albums, categorized by genre of music and detailed with as much information as I could gather about each one, in the hopes that among my collection would be treasures unknown. I prayed that the shop owner knew his stuff, and asked God on the drive over to let me know if the offer I received for my merchandise was fair.
When I entered the small shop there was one customer ahead of me, a man in a faded orange t-shirt and nondescript shorts, sporting a day or two of stubble on his middle-aged face. The proprietor glanced at my list, saying he would mark whatever was of interest to him. I chatted with the man in the orange t-shirt as the owner puttered behind the counter, stacked high with musical minutiae, and learned he was there to ascertain the value of a collection of 52 Elvis albums he'd received from his daughter, who was gifted with them during her stint as an EMT in New Orleans, where she'd gone to help after the devastation of Hurricane Katrina.
The stranger was pleasant, and I shared with him the purpose of my visit. "I'm taking my kids on their first ever family vacation. We're going to Colorado day after tomorrow, and whatever I get for my album collection will be our 'fun money' to spend. I only have gas money so far, but I know ...” I started to say “I know God doesn't want us to go all that way and not have any fun money”...but I simply said "Whatever I get from these albums will be what we have to play with." Why didn't I mention God? I'm not sure, but for some reason I hesitated. Perhaps I didn't want to sound "religious" or "preachy". Whatever the reason, I stopped short.
When he learned where we were headed, he told me that he had lived in Colorado years before, in the very area we planned to visit. I asked for his recommendation on sight-seeing locations and possible activities the children would enjoy. "You have to visit the Flying W Ranch," he insisted, and went on to describe a tasty dinner and "western show", stating it was one of his favorite memories of Colorado. I wrote the information on the back of a business card I gleaned from the crowded counter top, and dropped it in my pocket.
The shop owner eventually poked his head out and said he was ready to give the gentleman a value on his Elvis collection and they both disappeared around the end of the counter. Once their business was concluded, the man in the orange t-shirt left the shop after we both agreed "It was nice meeting you"...although I realized we never actually exchanged names.
The next few minutes did not go as I'd envisioned. The shop owner looked at my list and said there was really only one album he was even remotely interested in seeing. Wow, only one? Out of all my treasures??? I left the shop to retrieve the album from the back seat of my car, where my tub full of would-be treasures waited. Maybe this one LP would be my golden ticket... As it turned out, he didn't even want that one. I tried to convince him otherwise but he graciously informed me that he simply wasn't interested in what I had. "I'm sorry," he said. Well, so was I, because the bottom line was that I walked out of the shop with my collection intact, and not a penny richer than when I walked in. As I left I thanked him for his time, said I hoped his shop prospered and left, saying "God bless you."
Once outside I wondered what I was going to do. That album collection was the last thing I had to leverage to raise cash for our trip. Should I cancel our vacation? I couldn't do that to my children, not after talking about it, praying about it and saving for it for 3 and a half months. I'd received some money in the mail that morning, but it was only a fraction of what I'd originally planned to have on hand for our trip. I didn't know what would happen next, but I didn't feel that I should give up.
I walked to my car, shaking my head in disbelief and muttering "I can't believe he didn't want any of my stuff! Well, God, I guess you'll just have to get me the money I need some other way." As I closed the back door of my car after replacing the lone album, I looked up to see the man in the orange t-shirt approaching. I thought it odd, since he'd left several minutes before and should have been long gone by now. What was he doing still here, I wondered. I didn't have to wonder long.
"You know, sometimes God has us in the right place at the right time for the right reason" he said as he walked up, his hand extended. I looked down and saw he held a $20 bill. "Take this and have a good time with your kids". I started to reach out, then hesitated. I remembered how I stopped short of saying I knew God didn't want us to go to Colorado without any “fun money”. I felt confused, unsure how to respond, and said the first thing that popped into my head. "He didn't want a single one of my albums!" He chuckled at the disbelief in my voice, saying "I know, he didn't want any of mine, either! But here, I want you to take this and have fun on your vacation anyway."
He still held the money in his outstretched hand, and didn't look as though he had any intention of changing his mind. I accepted his offering, reached up and gave him a hug saying, "Thank you for this. You're going to make me cry." He started back toward his car, which I noticed was quite a nice, expensive looking car...not at all what you'd expect someone who looked like him to be driving. "It's okay" he assured me. "Just take it and have a good time". I managed another befuddled "Thank you" before he disappeared.
I got behind the wheel of my own car, shut the door and looked down at the bill he'd pressed into my palm. It was then I realized that it wasn't a $20, it was FIVE $20 bills! This total stranger, whose name I did not know and with with whom I'd only shared a few brief minutes in a crowded used record store, talking about Elvis and Colorado, had given me $100. I did cry at that point, realizing that until that moment I wasn't 100% convinced I was doing the right thing by pressing forward. I recalled how on the drive to the record shop I'd asked God for a "billboard" to let me know if He wanted us to make this trip. You see, a “billboard” is something I've asked God for in the past when I've been unsure about important decisions, figuring I might not hear a "still, small voice", but a billboard would be hard to miss. "I guess I just got my billboard, didn't I?" I said aloud, laughing through my tears.
The next day we were blessed with $200 more, exceeding our original goal by $20, and went on our family trip as planned. We visited friends, toured a college, did some sightseeing and enjoyed the western show at the Flying W Ranch. As it turned out, that particular event was the highlight of the trip. Like I said, I don't know if he was a bonafide spirit being or just a nice guy in a faded orange t-shirt, but the stranger with the Elvis album collection was definitely in the right place at the right time for the right reason, and to me, he'll always be an angel.
