I collect angels.  Oh, yes, the human kind — but what I meant by collecting angels? The china kind.  Little statuettes, preferably no more than four inches tall.

A few days before my trip to California, I stopped in one of my favorite thrift stores to troll for books and angels.  One called to me from a bottom shelf.  I struggled to lift her.  She’s perfect!  Unblemished!  Who would throw such a lovely little lady in the trash?  I marveled at the delicacy of her features, the little flowers, the curve of her wings.  I paid $1.50 for her and considered myelf blessed to have stumbled on her.

Yesterday as I stretched in my breakfast nook, I spotted my newest angel on the shelf.  I thought again how fortunate I was to  have found her; how odd that anyone should cast aside this sweet china creature.  As I bent and stretched, I found myself smiling at this particular, perfect angel sitting on the shelf among my other angels.

My last stretch ended with my eyes squarely on the newest addition to my angel collection.  And suddenly, I saw what I had not previously noticed about this china cherub.  I understood why someone tossed her into the give-away box.

And she is no less beautiful to me.

It’s the third day of the twenty-seventh month of My Year Without Complaining.  I seem to have turned another corner.  I don’t know what lies in the road ahead, but I step forward with more certainty.  Life continues.