When strangers tell us things we want to hear, we want to believe

By David McElroy · April 13, 2019

I’m having a late lunch at a McDonald’s near my house. There aren’t many people in here at this time of the afternoon. I noticed a woman come in and head to the restroom near me. She was talking on her iPhone, so I didn’t pay much attention to her.

As she left the restroom and walked near my table, she asked the person on the phone to hold on. She walked right up to my table and I started wondering whether I knew her and she was coming to talk to me. But she stooped right next to my table — about 18 inches from my feet — and picked up a penny from the floor.

“You have an angel thinking about you,” she said as she extended her hand with the penny.

I smiled and gave a friendly little laugh as I said, “Thank you.”

“I’m serious,” she said. “I felt it as I walked past you and this is confirmation. You need an angel today and she’s thinking about you.”

And with that, she went back to her phone conversation and went to the counter to order.

As far as I know, I’ve never met the woman. She was Hispanic, well-dressed, well-spoken and seemed to be about 45 years old.

I wondered whether there was some superstition about pennies and angels, so I did a quick search and discovered several instances of people writing about such things.

“They say when an angel misses you, they toss a penny down from heaven,” one writer said. “Sadly, not everyone knows how much truth there is in this old adage.”

Another said it’s a sign from an angel that a loved one is thinking about you. Some of the writers were religious. Some claimed it was a psychic or spiritual idea from some other perspective. There seem to be several variations of the superstition.

It sounds just as silly as any other superstition. I don’t toss horseshoes over my shoulder. I step on cracks and walk under ladders. They all seem like silliness or metaphors to me.

But here’s the thing. When this woman told me that, I wanted to believe her. So the interesting thing here isn’t the penny or the woman or any angel or a loved one. The interesting thing is that my heart wanted to believe.

I have a feeling this is how a lot of superstitions spread. People made dubious associations between events — a crow passing overhead, followed by someone’s death, maybe — and then jumped to conclusions about what signs meant. Then they repeated their conclusions — and others believed the things which they wanted to believe or maybe the things which scared them. And the superstitions spread.

Today hasn’t been a good day for me. There’s nothing specific that happened, but I’ve been dealing with acceptance of something I haven’t wanted to accept. It has me down.

So when this woman told me an angel is thinking about me today, I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe someone has me on her mind. (I think of angels as female, for some reason.) I have no rational reason to want to feel this way, but it’s somehow comforting. Just like Fox Mulder in a different context, I want to believe.

As I was finishing this, the woman who found the penny and started this came back to my table. She’s apparently been eating and she’s leaving now.

“God is sending you a miracle,” she said. “You need to save that penny. When your angel tells you why you’re on her mind, that penny will remind you of what happened. Trust me.”

It sounds crazy. It’s just silly superstition. I know that.

But I want to believe.

I’ll keep the penny — just in case.

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When I came home from a late lunch this afternoon, there were six or eight people gathered in the front yard of a house a couple of doors down from me. They were all dressed up, as though they had been to church for Easter and hadn’t yet changed. An older couple just moved into that house and I haven’t met them yet, but it seemed that they were with their son or daughter, maybe a sibling, and a couple of very young children. They were taking pictures and it took me back to my own childhood, visiting my grandparents in fancy Easter clothes and smiling for pictures in their yard. Holidays such as Easter and Christmas remind me in a small way of why I want a family. I wish I’d had a wife and children to be taking pictures with this afternoon. I still hope to experience that. And I hope you enjoyed your Easter Sunday, whether it was filled with a loving family or not.

I came home late Saturday afternoon to find that somebody had cut my grass while I was gone — and I had no idea who to thank. I walked around the neighborhood asking if anybody saw what happened, and I finally figured out it was my neighbor, Pedro. (That’s not his real name, but I’ve told you about him before.) He was cutting his own grass and did mine while he was at it. He even swept my walkway and porch steps. And he didn’t want any payment. He said it was no big deal. When I hear bigots talk about how we don’t need any more Hispanic immigrants and hear idiocy such as the notion that “we’re full,” I find myself thinking how much worse off I’d be without people such as Pedro. I’m grateful for his giving spirit. He’s a great neighbor.

I get a lot of email from people asking for advice. I don’t always have time to respond, but when I do, I like to remind them that the only reason I can offer any advice is that I’ve lived through so many of my own mistakes. In the coming weeks, I’m going to start putting out a series of short videos to answer some of the most common questions that I receive. I already have dozens of questions to choose from, but if you have a question that you think might be applicable to others, be sure to drop me an email. If I end up using some portion of your question, I won’t include personally identifiable details. I don’t know when the first video will go live, but I’ll be in the studio working on them.

Modern culture disturbs me. Sane lives are mocked and insane ideas are celebrated. I just read a story about a woman in England who “married herself” in 2015. A man had chosen another woman over her, so her response was to show everybody that she had no need for a partner — and she had a “wedding” with a dozen bridesmaids and they all danced around in the street as she “married herself,” with some guy dressed like a high-church priest. Nothing says, “I didn’t really need you,” like this sort of bizarre exhibition, huh? The woman then wrote a novel about a woman who married herself. None of this will affect me, of course. We’ve always had iconoclasts. I’m a bit of one myself. But it seems as though modern culture has become one huge freak show — and it seems unhealthy.

There’s a little girl at the table next to me at dinner Thursday evening who makes me happy. She’s a second grader and I heard her telling her grandmother, “I have a thousand books and I’m going to read all of them.” A few minutes later, she asked her grandmother, “What does stupendous mean?” (I’m not sure I would have known that word in the second grade.) At one point, I asked her if she likes to read and her eyes lit up. “I’m going to write my own books,” she said. I don’t know what this little lady’s future is, but it made me happy to talk to such a bright and enthusiastic girl.

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