Carol doesn’t know for sure that the man on a street in Damascus was an angel, but she does know that God had his angels all over the medical ministry trip that almost got cancelled.
Carol gazed out the window as the wheels of the van rolled over and over, carrying her closer to Damascus and her only hope of saving a medical service trip that had been months in the planning.
As they neared the city, they passed a long stretch of buildings left in rubble by the war. Carol hardly noticed. Her mind held one thought: the papers. Without them, the medical team arriving from South America in two weeks would not be able to provide care.
The project had come together beautifully. The team would serve a village whose clinic, complete with a pharmacy and dental equipment, had no physicians to serve it except one who came periodically from Damascus. The team had permission from the mayor, but upon reconsidering, he had just informed them that they would need a permit from the Ministry of Public Health.
So Carol and a colleague, Rami*, were making a quick run to the capital. Time was running out. As a cultural insider, Rami was an invaluable help. Carol glanced at him, then closed her eyes. "Lord, please accomplish your purposes. Glorify your name."
When they finally reached Damascus, they found that the location on Google Maps did not match the real one. They called the number listed online again and again. No one answered.
Carol refreshed the directions, but a little circle whirled endlessly on her screen, offering no guidance and no hope. "How are we ever going to find it?" she said, as much to herself as to Rami.
"I guess we'll have to ask someone on the street," he said, scanning the faces of the people passing by.
"Let's pray first," Carol said, confident that he wouldn't mind.
After they prayed, Rami walked up to the nearest pedestrian. "Could you tell us how to get to the Ministry of Public Health?" he asked in his native Arabic.
After the dead-end calls and the useless map, they hardly expected the man's answer.
"Follow me. I work there. I'll take you."
Carol and Rami stared in disbelief, then hurried after him. After hours of travel, wandering, unanswered calls, and indifference to their plight, they could hardly believe what had just happened. Maybe, they hoped, it meant they would accomplish what they had come for.
They stayed close as their guide turned a few corners and led them to a side door of a large building, apparently the employee entrance. Carol began reaching for their papers, expecting the usual series of checkpoints that comes with entering a government building. Instead, the man flashed his badge at the security desk and kept walking, past a receptionist, past a secretary, down one hallway and then another. Carol and Rami exchanged a look but said nothing and kept up.
Rounding a final corner, the man waved toward the doors along the passage. "There. That's where you need to go." Then he turned and was gone before they could ask which door to knock on.
They stood in the hallway, unsure what to do next. Just then, the door closest to them opened, and a man stepped out.
"Hello," they said eagerly. "We need a permit for a visiting medical team…"
"Yes," the official said. "That's my area. I can help you. Come in."
Almost before they could take in what was happening, they had the permit in hand and were on their way out, this time through the main door. They looked around for the man who had brought them straight to the right place, hoping to thank him. He was nowhere to be seen, and no one seemed to know who they were talking about.
"God," Carol whispered, "did you just send an angel to help us?"
Two weeks later, the medical team arrived—doctors and specialists, nurses, a physical therapist, and other volunteers—and Carol was on the road again. As the kilometers ticked by, the bus rang with conversation and laughter.
Then the long stretch of buildings in rubble came into view, and the bus went silent.
"It's one thing to see this kind of devastation on the news," one team member said at last. "But nothing could have prepared me for this, and for all the suffering and loss it represents."
This time, Carol saw every building, and the mountains rising beyond them under a brilliant sky.
The team could only bring basic medicines into the country and were grateful for the clinic's pharmacy. The permit made the rest possible. It allowed the doctors to practice there for humanitarian reasons, so people could receive effective treatment and health education.
What struck the team most was the villagers' hospitality. In spite of their difficult circumstances, they welcomed the team with joy and insisted on feeding their guests. For one volunteer, the days held a special meaning: offering healing in the same region where Jesus once walked and healed people.
By the end, the mayor was delighted, and the door is open for continued medical service. The team plans to return. The need is great.
Carol still wonders about the man who led them through the halls in Damascus. But thinking back over the whole journey—the official who opened his door, the villagers who fed their guests with joy—she suspects he wasn't the only angel along the way.
*Not his real name.