Spending Easter weekend with one of my dearest soul sisters was exactly what was needed. Nourishing meals shared with intention; a slower pace welcomed like the comfort we know in each other’s presence. We walked the beach at night and again at sunrise, barefoot and open. We reverently cleared and blessed my home with sage smoke and whispered prayers. A candlelit Soundbath in the evening in a sacred space locally, with other women, bathed our hearts in harmony. The days unfolded with ease—rich conversation, tender laughter, even our taxes had some attention. It was the kind of sacred ordinary that quietly nourishes deeply.
Easter morning shimmered with a sweet calm. After a healthy breakfast by the pool and my monthly writing circle, it was time for Ursula to leave, just before noon.
As I waved goodbye and turned to step inside, a sharp clunk echoed—a sound that jolted us both. Her car was perched precariously at the edge of my driveway, one rear tire suspended in air, hanging over the rainwater ditch. Time slowed. She sat still, dazed, caught in the surreal pause of shock. There was no reversing, no moving forward. The car was stuck. And we, too, were caught—motionless, unsure, breath held.
She suggested flagging down someone for help. So, I stood at the roadside, hands waving, heart lifted in hope. Car after car passed until, finally, an older, white-haired gentleman in a crisp white shirt and a white car pulled in. He surveyed the scene and said with certainty, “You need a tow truck.” Then, just as quietly, he drove away. It was a holiday – Easter Sunday! The thought of the cost made us both wince. Still, we kept waving down trucks, unsure of what we truly needed, just hoping for a miracle.
Inside me, a plea rose: We need the hand of God to lift the car by its roof and place it gently back in position.
With no obvious solution, we both glanced toward my neighbour’s truck, wondering if maybe he had a winch or something that could help. Ursula ventured next door to ask for help. Then, like a celestial procession, I heard music before I saw them. Two tow trucks arrived, pulling up directly outside. “The man in the white car told us you needed help,” they casually announced.
Relief and apprehension arrived hand in hand. We stayed close, watchful. One driver began backing his truck toward the rear of the car, cables and a forklift arm ready. My instincts rose sharply—“It’s too high!” I shouted, just in time to prevent damage. Some might call it micromanaging, but the feminine knows when to intervene. Hypervigilance is not a flaw—it is a sacred inheritance.
The younger white man seemed out of sync and wasn’t following the clear instructions from the other, which left frustration hanging in the air. And in the blink of an eye, another tire was suddenly suspended in midair.
The tall, dark-skinned man, music drifting softly from his truck, offered comfort with his steady words and kind eyes. He saw our worry, our protectiveness. We stood on the edge of something far greater than a mechanical rescue. As they began to lift and reposition the car, I whispered to Ursula: “This is a perfect moment for us both to practice trusting the masculine.”
Gently, her car settled back onto my driveway after being maneuvered from both the rear and the front. We exhaled in relief audibly.
We inquired, softly, about the cost. The younger white man shrugged: “Ask him—he’s in charge.” And then drove off.
Ursula stood squarely in front of him, bracing herself, and asked, “How much is this going to cost, please, Sir?” He looked at her with full presence. At first, he said nothing. Then, with a gentle smile, he replied, “Happy Easter.”
And with that, the energy shifted. We stood, all three of us, in the middle of the driveway, and suddenly it wasn’t about a car. It was a holy moment. A sacred intersection of surrender and restored faith. We were all present for something divine. A reunion of souls. A quiet knowing. Something larger was here with us.
He spoke. His name was Micheal. (he even mentioned that it is spelled differently.) We heard, Mikael. Like the Archangel. He said he does not normally drive this route. That morning, he was not on the schedule and had wanted to stay in bed. But something called him. Something greater. He acknowledged our anxiety and our lack of trust—not as judgment, but as reflection. “I, too, forget to trust. To trust God. The Great One, sometimes”, he openly shared, “and today I am reminded, right here, now.”
His eyes glistened. His voice held prophecy.
“It is time for men to truly show up,” he proudly declared. “To honour and protect the feminine.”
And we wept. All of us. Tears that washed lifetimes.
“You owe me nothing,” Micheal said. “We were all called to this moment. We all served, and we were all seen.”
Ursula and I, in disbelief and deep gratitude, felt another wave of blessings. No charge! Gratitude poured through us. I felt a sacred nudge to give him something. I reached into my purse I had strapped across me and gave him a small metal mermaid from it—an offering, a token of gratitude. He clasped it in his palm, then stroked the design, and slid it across his palm a few times. His hands knew reverence.
To Ursula, he said, “There is a part of me with you now, and a part of you with me”. More tears, more sacred confirmation. And hugs.
And just like that, our suburban street became a sanctuary. Even though some neighbours were around, and cars passed slowly by, we were in the Church of the Highest—right there, on my driveway. Nothing else mattered.
I whispered to Ursula, “Look at his eyes.” The deeper he spoke, the more cosmic they became—galaxies reflected back. Saint-like, angelic.
I turned to go inside for a call I was scheduled to be on. Once inside, a voice within whispered—bring them water. I returned with long, cold glasses. He raised his and said, “Holy water,” and blessed both of their glasses. They were quenched.
There were countless moments of light, woven with sacredness and the shared love of being human—of choosing to stay awake, right there in the full blaze, well past the midday sun.
His final blessing lingered:
“Walk into a room as the Presence of God. Live in the Palace.”
He glanced at the chairs in the back of Ursula’s car and smiled.
“More chairs for holy people.”
This was not mere roadside assistance. It was a rebirth—a dismantling of illusion, a washing clean of separation, a clearing away of everything that veils Love. This was Love, fully embodied in each of us.
This was Divinity, disguised as an ebony angel in a red tow truck. This was Easter 2025. This was Hallelujah.
I feel deeply humbled. There is a quiet restoration in my faith in humanity, and a soft return to my own humility. Something in me bowed—in awe, in gratitude, in reverence for the unexpected grace of this encounter.
And the quiet question remains:
Can each of us follow that?
Can we, in our own lives, choose to show up with that kind of presence—to live as Love embodied, right where we are?
~ Lulu Trevena
Author’s note: Since Sunday, Ursula and I have revisited this numerous times. (And probably will continue to do so) Some moments I witnessed, others she shared later. With a touch of poetic license, I’ve woven them together. Everything unfolded in just 100 minutes. It makes you wonder what’s possible—in a single, sacred moment!
image from Pinterest
ps. Enjoy this stunning song, which flowed around us on Sunday:
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