Faith & Family | August 9, 2025  A Southern tale of divine intervention, mysterious visitors, and the miracles we almost miss

2) Sometimes He sends angels wearin’ flannel shirts.

Well now, let me tell you about the time I’m pretty sure God sent me an angel, and wouldn’t you know it, he showed up wearing work boots and carrying a toolbox instead of wings and a harp. Sometimes the Almighty has quite the sense of humor about how He delivers His blessings.

When Dreams Turn to Dust

Back in 1996, I was running a textile printing operation up in Gilmer County, right where the Appalachian Trail begins its journey to Maine. We were cranking out thousands of shirts and carpets every week, and life was good—until it wasn’t. 

Then came the Olympics. Atlanta was getting ready to host the ’96 Summer Games, and folks all over the state, bless their hearts, just knew we were all gonna get rich. Somehow – and to this day, I can’t quite piece together how – my little company got hooked up with the State of Georgia’s Department of Trade, Industry, and Tourism. They came all the way up from Atlanta, inspected our plant, and a week later, we got the call. We were gonna be the Official Tee Shirt company for their “Tourism On Parade” program!

“Sixteen million visitors,” they promised. “Welcome centers across the state. Hundreds of thousands of t-shirts.”

Furthermore, I was already printing 40,000 dozen Olympic jersey panels, so this seemed like destiny calling.

But life, as we all know, has a funny way of throwing curveballs faster than a bull rider gets bucked off. I’ll spare you the gory details, but to put it plain: nobody came. That Olympics program ended up being slower than molasses in January for those welcome centers. Our loss? It wasn’t just a setback; it was devastating. We were reeling.

Now, here’s where the story takes a turn, like a country road you didn’t know was there. Just a few days before those Games began, as we were gearing up for what we thought was going to be the biggest event of our lives, a stranger walked into my factory. I’d never laid eyes on him in our small town before. He introduced himself “Name’s William,” he said simply. “I’m looking for a particular style of shirt that’s hard to find most places.” I found what he was looking for in our catalogs, and he said, “I’ll take a dozen.” After he placed his order for a dozen shirts, we got to talking. Turns out William was a craftsman from Oregon who built violins and other stringed instruments from fallen old-growth trees. More importantly, he was on what he called a “spiritual quest.” He paid me right then and there, and I ordered ’em up. “I’ll be back in a couple of days,” he promised.

When he returned that Wednesday to pick up his shirts, I had a good feeling about him, a warmth I couldn’t explain. So, I invited him to our Wednesday night Church Supper. He agreed, though he gave me a peculiar warning: “I’m usually not well accepted at churches.“

Now, in a small town like ours, strangers stick out like a sore thumb. Nevertheless, there was something different about William. He spoke like he’d swallowed a self-help library, always offering positive quotes with genuine emotion behind them.

Sure enough, at church supper that evening, two different parishioners pulled me aside with the same warning: “Dean, there’s something about that stranger that makes us uncomfortable. You best watch yourself.”

But here’s the thing about divine appointments—sometimes they make other folks nervous because they can sense something powerful is happening, even if they can’t put their finger on what it is.

Despite the warnings, I invited William to the plant the next day. That’s when he handed me a book that would change my perspective on life: He handed me a copy of The Celestine Prophecy like it was the last life preserver on the Titanic. “Read it,” he said. “It’ll make sense when it needs to.” I devoured it quick – all about synchronicities, energy, and meaning in coincidences. 

Now, I ain’t much for New Age hooey, but something in that book hooked me like catfish on a trotline. It talked about “energy,” about folks crossing paths for a reason, about the Almighty stitching our lives together in ways we can’t always see. And wouldn’t you know it? Right when my bank account was drier than a Baptist pew on Monday morning, William’s words kept me afloat.  It resonated deep, especially with my world teetering. He tossed in more gems: The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, Think and Grow Rich. 

Folks around me kept warning, “He’s after somethin’!” But William? He asked for nothin’. “Read this,” he said with conviction. “It’ll help you understand what’s really happening in your life.”

William ended up traveling with me throughout that disastrous seven-day Tourism On Parade program. Meanwhile, AAA was rerouting tourists away from Georgia, warning of inflated prices and impossible traffic. The sixteen million visitors never materialized. In fact, it was probably the slowest week those welcome centers had seen in a decade.

I had roped William into riding shotgun as my planned trips to stock those doomed kiosks statewide became a motivational mission. For seven days, we crisscrossed Georgia, witnessing what turned out to be a major disaster. By day three, we knew we were toast. Yet, through it all, William drilled positivity into me like a coach at halftime. “Life’s mysteries lead to growth,” he’d say. “Seek the light, like Jesus taught – love, forgiveness, turning the other cheek.” We’d talk family, faith, even music – how songs like those in American Graffiti soundtrack our souls. I truly don’t know what I would have done had William not shown up when he did. 

More than 100 families were mislead and were financially wiped out from North Georgia to Columbus to Savannah. Throughout this financial disaster, William stayed by my side, never asking for anything, constantly reinforcing positive thoughts when my world was crumbling. “Every setback’s a setup,” he’d say. “God don’t waste a hurt.” On the last day, William vanished – walked off into the sunset, no strings attached. I never saw him again. Lookin’ back, I reckon he was an angel, sent by God at my lowest. Without him and that book series (yep, I read ’em all), I might’ve crumbled. The Olympics broke us financially, but they built my spirit. It sparked a quest: to be better, closer to God, despite my stumbling. I’ve grown through daily miracles I once ignored – a kind word, a family laugh, the grace that sticks like rice and gravy. I never saw William again.

Looking back now, nearly thirty years later, I believe William was an angel sent by God. I realize that William’s appearance wasn’t about saving my business—it was about saving my faith. The books he gave me, particularly The Celestine Prophecy and The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People, became my lifeline during those dark months that followed.

Most importantly, they opened my eyes to the daily miracles I’d been missing all along. God hadn’t abandoned me during that Olympic disaster; He’d sent me exactly what I needed when I needed it most.

I imagine William as a modern-day wanderer, echoing Jesus’ parables. He shows up in your storm, handing out wisdom like lagniappe. The mystery? It’s God’s way of saying, “Seek Me, and you’ll find treasures in the trials.” My family? We huddled closer through the mess, faith anchored us, just like Jesus promised in Matthew 7:7 – “Ask, and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find.”

You see, folks, I wasn’t always what God wanted me to be—and truth be told, I’m still working on it. But through failures, disappointments, and mysterious strangers who appear at just the right moment, I’ve learned that God’s timing is perfect, even when ours isn’t.

These days, I pay closer attention to the Williams of the world. Those quiet strangers who show up with exactly what you need, speak words of encouragement, and disappear as mysteriously as they arrived. Because sometimes angels come disguised as craftsmen from Oregon, carrying positive messages instead of heavenly proclamations.

The message of Jesus isn’t always delivered from pulpits or through stained glass windows. Sometimes it comes through the kindness of strangers, the gift of a book at the right moment, or the gentle persistence of someone who believes in you when you’ve stopped believing in yourself.

William taught me that God works through ordinary people doing extraordinary things—like driving around Georgia with a discouraged young businessman, sharing wisdom from worn paperbacks, and proving that love shows up in work boots just as easily as it does in church shoes.

In addition to strengthening my faith, that experience taught me to watch for God’s messengers in everyday life. They might be the neighbor who brings soup when you’re sick, the stranger who returns your lost wallet, or the friend who calls exactly when you need to hear a familiar voice.

After all these years, I’m convinced that William was heaven-sent. Not because he performed obvious miracles, but because he showed up precisely when despair threatened to overwhelm hope. He reminded me that even in our darkest valleys, God is still writing our story.

Furthermore, he taught me that being a better person isn’t about perfection—it’s about remaining open to divine appointments, unexpected blessings, and the mysterious ways grace finds us. You see, I haven’t always been what God wanted me to be, or even what I wanted me to be. Goodness knows, I’m still not. But I have grown, spiritually, and closer to God. And I realize now that much of that growth happened in spite of myself, thanks to so many daily miracles that I used to be too blind to even recognize.

So the next time a stranger walks into your life speaking words of encouragement, don’t be too quick to dismiss them. They might just be wearing work boots instead of wings, carrying wisdom instead of harps, and delivering exactly the miracle you didn’t know you needed. Because that’s how God works sometimes—through ordinary angels who show up at textile plants, share life-changing books, and disappear as quietly as they came, leaving behind nothing but transformed hearts and strengthened faith.

Was William an angel? A drifter? A man with a library card and too much time? Don’t know. But I do know this: when you’re desperate enough to listen, God sends the message you need.  

And friends, that’s the most beautiful kind of miracle there is.

So if you’re staring down your own ’96 Olympics, remember:  

1. Watch for the Williams. (They don’t always wear halos. Sometimes they wear flannel and smell like woodshop.)  

2. Read the signs. Even the weird ones.  

3. Hold onto faith like granny’s cast-iron skillet—it’ll outlast every storm.  

Southern Fried Thought for the Day: “God’s business is miracles. Ours is believing they’re possible.”  

Stay blessed, y’all.  

Dean Burnette  

Southern Fried Thoughts: Faith, Humor, Family, and a Dash of Southern Goodness. For more inspiring stories on miracles in everyday life and faith journeys, check our archives. Contact: deaninsavannah@gmail.com.  

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Have you ever encountered a mysterious stranger who changed your life? Share your story in the comments below, and remember—sometimes angels come disguised as the people we least expect.

Citations:

[1] https://southernfriedthoughts.com