A Turning Point in Her Life at Corner of Main, Alameda : A busy motorist is among those at the intersection who find inspiration in the uplifting demeanor and great big grin of one street-corner angel in orange.

In a little corner of our world--Burbank’s Main Street and Alameda Avenue, to be exact--a curious morning ritual is changing the way people start their busy days.

It began for me months ago, before the summer break. I was minding my own business, driving to work. I’d unloaded the minivan minutes earlier and was three kids lighter, but my mind was weighed down with the workday ahead.

As I passed through the intersection, without warning, the biggest, brightest smile I’d ever seen flashed through my windshield. A crossing guard, dressed in orange a few feet from the curb, was waving at me excitedly, as though she’d suddenly spotted her long-lost friend. Trouble was, I had absolutely no idea who she was. She’d obviously mistaken me for someone else.

A day or two later, it happened again. I was stopped at the light and she was crossing in the walk, smiling and waving directly at me. I sheepishly raised my hand to respond. Then she turned and waved at others in cars and on the sidewalks. And they laughed and waved and smiled back, eating it up. I was on my way to work, and I was smiling, too!

Before long, it seemed, we were best buddies. I’d go out of my way to go through her intersection. .

Yes, her affection was addictive. And I found myself reaching out and greeting people I’d otherwise avoid, amused at my own cheerier disposition. I decided I must tell her how she jump-starts my day.

So I parked my car at the corner gas station and waited. In less than five minutes, she had helped an elderly woman with a walker cross the street. The woman, apparently deaf, signed “I love you,” and she hugged her and signed the message back.

A Brinks security truck blazed through the intersection and she yelled, “My money . . . my money!” laughing and waving. The guy riding shotgun had to wave from behind the bulletproof window.

As she came back across the crosswalk, I talked to her for the first time. “Do you know what you’re doing out here?” I demanded. She laughed. “To make people happy, to make them smile, is worth more than all the money the banks can hold,” she said. “This is not a job; it’s my life here at Main and Alameda.”

I waited with her at the corner and finally learned her name: Bonnie Stefonovich. She’s 40, married, with no children. Originally from New Jersey, she’s lived in California for 13 years and has worked five as a Burbank crossing guard, now helping students of McKinley Elementary School.

“If I can get people to smile, it makes my day,” she said. “Some are going through loss of jobs, depression. Some think I’m crazy. But you have to be crazy out here or they’ll run you down! Besides, you can call me crazy for the Lord. It’s his joy and love I’m giving away.”

This is really an angel, I decided, who saves the world, one corner at a time. Great stuff for a TV pilot! Yet she’s so genuine--animated by something obviously real.

I got further proof: She spends lunch breaks at the convalescent home next to Calvary Bible Church on Main Street, visiting residents and bringing them a message of cheer. “I tell them, ‘Don’t give up on life.’ They all know me by my orange vest.”

She points to construction workers hammering away on the southeast corner, explaining how she often coaxes “spooky” horses (with riders attached) across the street. Because the intersection lies in Burbank’s Rancho area, she hopes to install a “carrot stop” for her equine friends.

A couple of helmeted bike riders slow to a stop in the middle of the street. The light changes and she calls out, “Gentlemen, let ‘em roll!” They push off, smiling and waving.

And I wave goodby and head back to the car, tears stinging my eyes. I want that kind of joy for my life, too, the faith and freedom to love so generously and so creatively.

In her ministry, she stands out in the street and outshines all the traffic signals.

“If you know anyone going through a rough time,” she calls back to me, “send them down here.”