Once upon a time when Lauren, my daughter, was very young, she looked at me and blurted out: ‘Schminna-Minna Mommy.� This name she gave me arose from somewhere deep in her psyche. It is like she had somehow come across my name and form and given me my true name. And it has stuck.

From then on, that name, or a specialized version of it, became Lauren’s private name for me. Lauren, to this day, calls me Schminna or Schmin, for short. Or Schminnels or Schminnos when the mood strikes. And I call her Schmini-Mini or Schmin or Schmins, meaning little Schminna. The name only works with my daughter and me back and forth. It just doesn’t work for anyone else to use it.

Now, Schminna, in addition to its personal connotation, has a generic meaning. Two-year olds are schminnas, for instance. Schminnas have a certain vulnerability, and everyone can tell a schminna when they see one. There’s a certain dreamlike glaze in their eyes. As an example, schminnas may not look where they are going when they cross the street, but always someone comes along and takes them by the hand, an angel perhaps. It may be that schminnas do not need to look where they are going.

Some people seem to never be schminnas. They are so alert and responsible. My daughter, for instance. She was always smarter and more practical than I, and she was always looking out for me. Once when she was three or four, we were in a store in Sacramento called The White Front, and we got separated. I was looking for her frantically when I spotted her striding up and the down the aisles systematically, looking for me from right to left. From her point of view, she wasn’t the one lost – I was.

I often get emails from my daughter in response to computer questions I ask her, and she begins her answer with “Schmin - you are such a schmin.“

In a Heavenletter a while ago, God says that everyone, no matter how sophisticated-seeming, is vulnerable. I don’t question anything God says. The difference with schminnas, however, is that they are unmistakably vulnerable. They wear their vulnerability out in the open. No one is unaware of their true nature, except the schminnas themselves perhaps.

Perhaps it is this same Schminna-oblivion that brings Heavenlettersâ„¢ all the beautiful volunteers who come to help in such beautiful ways. They somehow pick up on the necessity. They see needs that who-knows-when I would. Clearly, angels on Earth are carrying Heavenletters, and I ride along.

There must be a perfect name for all those who lift Heavenletters higher and higher. I will ask my daughter if she can think of one. Or maybe you can. Meanwhile, the best I can do is call them Heaven Angels and thank God daily for them.