The Ones in White
(A)nd they shall walk
with me in white:
for they are worthy.
— Revelation 3:4
It was autumn, many years ago: achingly
bright sunshine, spectacular colors, deliciously warm and cool on the same day
-- a hot-fudge sundae without the calories.
Our house had a grand, old American
elm out front. Our yard was shaded . . . and so was my heart. I had been
depressed after the death of my father, wallowing in grief, moping around the
house, stuck in a sad, colorless emotional state.
That day, a tree trimmer came to the
door to have me sign his worksheet. He was dressed in white from head to toe, illuminated
by a blinding beam of sunlight that poked through the giant elm.
I saw his face, and must've gasped.
He looked exactly like Dad in a 1945 photo, taken during his stint as a teenage
ensign in the Merchant Marines at the end of WWII.
Same wide-set eyes! Same square jaw!
Same happy grin!
I must have gaped. He smiled
tolerantly, and pushed his clipboard toward me. Don't get out much, eh?
Those gleaming white clothes! That
reddish hair! That familiar face. . . .
Somehow, I signed. He thanked me,
and scooted to his truck.
Like a goof, I ran down the
driveway, waving gaily, hoping to catch one more glimpse of him, figuring he'd
just - you know - POOF! once he got around the corner.
Dad?
'Zat YOU?!?
Are you . . . ALIVE?!?
Am I nuts? But the resemblance was
so strong. And those white clothes glowed beyond anything in a laundry ad.
It was supernaturally thrilling. My depression
and pain fell away just like the tree limbs they'd thinned, released by the joy
of seeing that face.
Thanks, God. I needed that! It was a
pivotal moment, a bridge to the rest of my life.
I've since had several experiences
in which people dressed in white have done something uncommonly good for me,
and I'm left with the certainty that they acted on orders from above. Once, a friend
showed up on my doorstep right when I was furious, and leaving the house to go
tell somebody off. She physically blocked my exit. I never had that argument;
good thing, too - it turned out I was in the wrong! As I think back, I smile:
she was in her tennis whites that day.
Doctors, nurses, ministers,
pharmacists, brides . . . we all associate good things, helpful things,
peaceful things, healing things, with people in white.
But the other day, I heard a story
that seals it. It involves a beautiful young woman we know, who was involved in
a car accident that took the lives of two friends.
In the rescue squad, minutes after
the crash, she started talking about the three construction workers, all
dressed in white, who came upon the accident scene first.
No one else ever saw them.
But she was specific:
One cradled her, and the other two
stood over the other two teens.
The one who settled her down and took
her in his arms spoke to her in a language that she thought was Spanish, but
she was unable to pick out any words. That was odd, since she'd had Spanish in
school for years.
Though no one else saw the three men
in white, to her, they grow more vivid by the day.
Well, of course.
She was at a crossroads, in more
ways than one.
She needed comfort, compassion, and
the knowledge that she was worthy of both.
She needed to know that there's more
than what we can see and hear - that because of a certain Someone, people who
believe in Him are never alone, never suffer long, and never really die.
No, that wasn't my dad that day. But
I know where he is, and I think he's wearing white.
And no, those three construction
workers couldn't be found. But that doesn't mean they weren't there.
The ones who not only see the light,
but live in it, wear white for one simple reason . . . because they're on the
Savior's team, and He has declared white as the uniform of joy. †