If you have to stand in ankle-deep water, make sure you're wearing your daughter's Coach boots. (Shhh, don't tell Bitchy.)

I stood in the basement, ankle deep in water that was filled with dead millipedes feeling a bit shell-shocked as I looked around at the task that lay ahead of me.

I’m living in a beautiful, old stone house whose basement is comprised of three rooms with concrete floors and walls made of stone.  It currently houses some of the larger pieces of furniture I’d inherited from my parents- and boxes and tubs filled with various items the kids had collected over the years.

The floors were now covered in water; the boxes were reeking after being water logged for who knows how long and mildew was beginning to cover the huge maple dining room set.  Frankly, I had no idea where to begin; no idea whatsoever.

I opened the door to the garage, and pushed open the old wooden garage doors that led to the driveway.  I looked up and saw my good friend Trixie.  I had cancelled our pool date that morning and let her know I was in a bit of a crisis.  And, because she basically kicks ass, she flew across town to aid this damsel in distress.

I looked at her with quivering lips and my head shaking in despair.  She took charge.

She quickly assessed the (disgusting) situation, we threw on our boots and gloves and began to empty out the basement one water-logged item at a time.  I followed her lead, thankful that someone with a clear head was helping me help myself.

After a few trips out to the driveway, I glanced up the hill and saw two young, strapping fellas making their way from my (hot) neighbor’s house down to me.  I threw my head back and thanked the LORD.

I recognized them immediately, as I had met them just two nights before at a rocking party at that very home.  We bonded over several shots of, um, punch, and a cigar or two. 

They worked with my neighbor, Jack, who had assessed what was wrong and fixed my broken water heater just the night before.  Jack knew the disgusting mess I was dealing with and sent his guys to help.  I couldn’t believe it.   

They quickly got to work, laughing and lightening the mood.   The clean up was not an easy task, but they managed to get the water out of the basement, get the drains working and helped with the heavy furniture.

We were soon joined by another amazing friend of mine named Dixie.   She just happened to stop by with some refreshing (ahem) lemonade and offered to help with my stinky mess. 

At the end of the afternoon as I sat on my front porch sipping lemonade and laughing with Dixie, I realized how lucky I was.  While I have quite a knack for stumbling into crazy disasters, I am also reminded that angels wrap me in their arms and lift me up every single time.

And while those angels are cleverly disguised as young handsome guys, friends from my youth and new friends- they are angels.   

Without a doubt, they are beautiful, lovely, incredible angels.