Already An Angel Lyrics - Lacy J Dalton

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It was bitterly cold in Manhattan that January night. My husband, Aaron, my cousin, Betty-Lou and I slogged up and down icy city streets looking for a cozy place for dinner. A howling wind whipped off the Hudson River and snapped at our backs without mercy.

It was nearly seven in the evening, and I’d just finished my eighth interview of the day. There had been no time for breakfast that morning, groggily begun at 4:00 am in preparation for the "Today Show." Lunch had been a tiny bag of pretzels somewhere along the way. Now, one-too-many cups of black coffee rumbled ominously inside me as I reflected on the day’s events.

I wondered how successful I’d been at putting forth the upbeat and positive appearance so necessary for an entertainer. It had not been easy, burdened as I was with the unhappy knowledge that, once again, serious differences with my record label threatened to put an end to my career there.

We trudged along the gray and slushy streets. Restaurants, one after another, turned out their "closed" signs to us -- or were simply too crowded to enter. My companions were worn-out, irritable, and ready to be out of the snarling, stinging wind.

We turned a corner. Suddenly, the freezing wind hit us with gale force taking our breath as it went. I remember thinking I had never been so cold. My thoughts began to turn inward and then to sour. "Why is this always happening to me?" "Haven’t I learned enough to move forward?" "What’s wrong with me?" My brain, of course, quickly responded to these unworthy questions with correspondingly negative answers. Emotions then began to spin and churn and, like some awful whirlpool, began to pull me down into the depths of a first-rate depression.

We were walking past Radio City Music Hall when I saw him. He was propped comfortably with his back against the massive side doors of the building in a dark alcove out of the wind. The first thing I noticed from within my brooding darkness was the startling white of his teeth against the ebony of his skin. He looked up and flashed me a perfectly dazzling smile. Dressed in an olive-drab army field parka, he was warmly swaddled below in an olive-drab sleeping bag of similar issue. He appeared to be about my age and I am somehow certain he was a veteran of the war in Vietnam. Our eyes met again and his smile broadened widely. I could not help but return it in kind. At the same instant, though, I was shot through with shame. I realized that he, alone and smiling in that cold alcove, could be at peace with so little while I, with all the world to be thankful for, was allowing myself to wallow in self-pity and depression. Strangely, at the same moment I felt a deep inner warmth, as if ever-so-gently, the man had rekindled the fires of gratitude in my spirit. There was not a trace of blame in those eyes and my shame quickly evaporated like early morning mist in the light of his beautiful smile.

The entire exchange lasted only a few seconds as my companions and I hurried by the alcove on our way down the street.

Later, when I remarked upon it over a welcome bowl of hot soup at a nearby bistro, neither my husband nor my cousin remembered ever seeing the man at all.

I shall never forget him though, and that amazing, healing smile will remain in my heart as long as I live. I will be forever thankful for his generosity of spirit. The years will find me continuing to pray that his circumstances have changed for the better as have my own.

Perhaps my prayers are not really necessary. Maybe he was already an angel.

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