Diary of an Angel

by Michael M. Farnsworth

  “True, true,” interjected Glendor jovially. “Now, enough serious business, let’s watch some instant replays. The book please, my dear.”

  Anawin handed Glendor Angela’s book.

  “Thank you. Now,” he continued, turning the pages deftly, “this ought to brighten your mood.” He placed the opened book on a small table in front of him. As it had done when Lyra first showed me Angela, the book instantly came to life, showing Angela and her family seated around the dinner table. We watched as Justin catapulted a spoonful of potatoes right onto his sister’s forehead. Everyone roared with laughter. We watched it again and again, and even paused it to capture Catherine’s look of shock. I had to admit, the sight was hilarious. But I failed to see how this was something to cheer about. Justin shouldn’t have pelted his sister with potatoes. Was I missing something?

  “Come on, Forenica, laugh.” Urged Glendor, who was practically crying from laughter himself.

  “Why are we laughing at this? Don’t we condemn such behavior?”

  The laughter ceased and Glendor grew quite serious. “First of all, we condemn nothing. It’s not our job.” He paused, looking straight at me with a stern face. But it quickly gave way to the smile he had no doubt struggled to restrain. “Second, we are laughing because we know that Justin is not condemned to hell for his actions. Because of Christ he can become a better, more kind and loving Justin. Mortals make lots of foolish mistakes—and often the same ones over and over again. And, quite frankly, it’s laughable sometimes. But there’s nothing of derision or mockery in our laughter. We laugh because there’s hope. All clear?”

  “I suppose,” I said, not altogether sure.

  Anawin patted my arm encouragingly. “You will understand better in time, dear.”

  I smiled back at her.

  “Let’s see some more,” interjected Glendor. He remove the book from the table, flipped a page, which he eyed with satisfaction, then returned the book to the table.

  This time it showed Kailey attempting to climb the large oak tree. We watched as Angela appeared and stopped her before she fell from the teetering branch.

  Anawin turned to me. “What happened there was very important. Not only did you help Kailey, but, most importantly, Angela listened. She had no—what mortals would call—logical reason to check on Kailey. Some might think she was an overprotective, paranoid mother. But such is not the case. She checked on Kailey because she listened to God’s spirit, through which you spoke to her. Well done, Forenica.”

  “Very well done,” added Glendor. “First rate.” He picked up the book again. “Let’s see one more.”

  The book showed Angela, sitting on her bed, just before she retired for the night. She wasn’t doing anything of particular importance, just sitting. “Forenica, tell us what is happening here.”

  “Uh...well...she’s about to turn out the light and go to sleep,” I said.

  “That’s what a mortal might observe,” said Anawin. “What’s really going on here?”

  I honestly didn’t know what she was getting at. Not remembering anything special about this brief moment of Angela’s day, I confessed, “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Forenica,” Anawin said with increase earnestness, “She’s thinking about her day. About how she got upset with her children. How she lost her temper, more than once. What she thought and felt—with your help—was remorse. Remorse for not being all that she could be. We can use such feelings much to our advantage. Take this as a very positive sign.

  “However, you must do your best to ensure her remorse does not mutate into those abhorrent feelings of self-deprecation. Father never speaks ill of his children. It is one of our adversary’s most destructive exploits: when one of our mortal kindred sorrows, because of sin, he craftily administers to them the poison of self-disparagement.”

  Then with a motherly tenderness, Anawin said, “You’ve done wonderfully! I can’t tell you enough. I’m so glad Angela has you.” She hugged me tightly.

  “Thank you,” I said, feeling a surge of love for this tender-hearted angel. How glad I was to have her for my angel mother.

  “Well, I think that’s plenty for today,” said Glendor. “Now get out there and fight, fight, fight!”

  With that cheerful rally cry, the group departed. I, too, rose and followed after Clairus. But just as I was about to leave, Anawin took my wrist.

  “Clairus, do you mind if I borrow Forenica for a few moments before your descent today?”

  “Not at all,” replied Clairus.

  “Come along then, dear,” she said to me, “I have a few things to discuss with you.”

  With Anawin as my guide, we exited the conservatory through a back door, and came out onto a broad terrace. We cut across the terrace and came to narrow path, which meandered along through a peaceful garden. Anawin was silent as we followed the path, the better to enjoy the song of the birds, the rustle of the wind through the trees, and the babbling streams. At length, the path led us into a thick grove of trees, and despite the pleasurable scene around us, I began to wonder where we were going and why this couldn’t wait till later. I didn’t say anything, though.

  As we penetrated deeper into the heart of the grove, I became aware of an intense light ahead of us. It seemed to be emanating from a clearing in the woods. Yet there seemed to be more to the light than just the sun breaking through. I wanted to run ahead and see what was creating the light, but I stayed with Anawin, keeping our gentle pace. When we finally came to the clearing, a spectacular sight filled our eyes. I had never seen anything quite like it. The floor of the clearing was filled with flowers. Flowers blazing with colorful, swirling flames that danced excitedly in the air. We stood, entranced by the beauty of it.

  “Stunning, isn’t it?” Anawin said softly, as if a loud voice would extinguish the flames.

  “Amazing. But what are they?”

  “Fire flowers. Every flower you see is unique. Each one created by Father for one of His angels.”

  “Fire flowers?”

  “Yes, dear, burning with the flames of faith and virtue.” She paused and looked at the flowers again.

  “Forenica,” she said, “He’s made one for you.”

  “He made me a flower?”

  “Yes, your very own flower.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small cubic box. She opened it and tipped into my palm a tiny seed, scarcely visible.

  “It’s pretty small,” I said.

  “So are you.”

  I glanced around briefly at my surroundings. “So, I’m supposed to plant it somewhere?”

  “Anywhere you like.”

  I turned and cautiously walked along the path, which cut through the clearing. The air felt unexpectedly cool among the flames, not anything like walking amidst a raging fire. I tentatively reached out my hand toward a violet flame.

  “It’s OK, dear, you can touch them,” Anawin said.

  I allowed my hand to fall gently into the flame. It felt as if I’d plunged my hand into a stream of fresh water. The sensation gradually spread up my arm and then through my entire body. After a few a blissful minute or two, I reluctantly removed my hand.

  “How do you feel?” Anawin asked.

  “Invigorated,” was the only word I could think to describe the feeling. Whatever the sensation was, I liked it.

  My thoughts returned to the tiny seed in my hand, and I continued my search for a spot to plant it. The ground was densely covered, but I managed to find a small patch of earth just off the trail. I knelt down next to the spot. The soil gave easily beneath the pressure of my finger. In the thimble-size hole I made, I placed the seed, and then blanketed it with a pinch of earth. This was my first experience gardening in heaven. I stared at the spot for a few moments, perhaps expecting a little flower to spontaneously shoot up out of the ground into a full-grown flower.

  “Do I need to water it?” I asked.

  “No, dear, no water. All it needs is your gr
owth. It’s a reflection of you. As you learn and grow, so will your flower. And one day you will return to this spot to find your flower in full bloom, easily the prettiest in the whole garden. It’s growing as we speak. Look.” She pointed to my little spot on the ground. Before my eyes a tiny green sliver wended its way out of the rich soil.

  “What a special flower it will be. Just like you, Forenica.”

  We stood silently for a moment, looking at my seedling.

  Anawin broke the silence. “Now dear, there is something I must tell you.” I noted a touch of gravity in her voice. “Glaven reported on Jack earlier this morning. Angela is soon to pass through a difficult trial.”

  V

  MORNING SURPRISE

  I pressed Anawin for details, but to no avail. Did Jack have cancer? Was he going to die? Had Jack found another woman? What? Anawin would only tell me that I needed to do what I could to prepare Angela. How was I supposed to do that when I didn’t even know what I was preparing her for?

  “The type of trial is irrelevant,” she had said. “No matter what the trial, developing faith and trust in God is the preparation.”

  And so I was left to wonder and worry until the situation revealed itself to me. Anawin took my arm in hers and we walked back along the path, back to Angel Command, where Clairus waited patiently for our return.

  Angela was lying asleep in her bed, just as we left her the night before. Lina, the night guard greeted us, gave a brief report, then departed.

  Outside, the sun slowly climbed over the horizon. Its pale light shown on the wall above Angela’s bed. Except for the faint chatter of birds somewhere in a nearby tree, she lay in silence. Next to her Jack’s ruffled pillow and disheveled half of the bed lay vacant. Altogether, a rather peaceful scene.

  Suddenly, a loud crash broke the silence. Angela jolted upright in bed, her eyes wide and full of confusion. Soren appeared in an instant with a report.

  “That was Kailey,” he said. “Angela won’t be pleased when she finds out what Kailey’s doing.” With a quick bow, he vanished.

  Angela groaned, rubbing her eyes. She glanced at the clock and groaned again. Angela suspected her four-foot-tall bundle of trouble had something to do with the early wake-up call. She got out of bed, pulled on her robe and sleepily made for the kitchen, preparing to severely reprimand–possibly dismember–her youngest daughter. She fumed down the hall. There was nothing I could do to calm her much before she reached Kailey.

  Angela heard another crash and headed for the kitchen. When she reached the kitchen’s threshold, she froze on the spot. Toppled pots and pans lay on the floor. Broken eggs, oozing yokes, lay scattered about. A pall of flour-dust hung in the air. Milk from an overturned carton dripped onto the counter and floor, collecting in a small puddle around the feet of a bedraggled, electric-egg-beater wielding six year old.

  Kailey smile at her mother with strained innocence.

  Viana stood behind Kailey, and simply grinned and shrugged her shoulders when she saw us. Clairus and I looked at each other, and back at Viana. Viana’s grin broadened. Then all three of us broke into laughter. Our laughter, unfortunately, was short lived; Angela did not find the situation amusing. Having recovered from the initial shock of seeing her devastated kitchen, Angela’s previous feelings of anger returned, in full force.

  “What are you doing!” she demanded of her daughter, who pleaded for mercy with her angelic face.

  “Making breakfast,” Kailey said, slowly, as if she weren’t quite sure. “I’m making pancakes.”

  “Pancakes! What in the world gave you the idea that you could make pancakes by yourself?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Look at this mess! How did you manage to make such a mess?”

  “I can clean it up.”

  “No! You’re not going to touch anything else. You’re going to take off those clothes, wash your hands, face and hair, and go straight to your room. And I don’t want you to come out until I come and get you.”

  Kailey’s shoulders drooped as she turned and walked dejectedly out of the kitchen. With Kailey gone, Angela commenced the sticky job of cleaning up the remains of her daughter’s breakfast experiment. As she cleaned she repeated over and over again “What was she thinking? That child’s going to drive me crazy.” And she contemplated how she would punish her incorrigible daughter: no T.V. for a year, no talking for a month, grounded until age thirty-two, involuntary induction into a convent.

  Before Angela finished erasing the last traces of Kailey’s cooking experiment, the phone rang. Angela did not welcome the sound. Picking up the receiver, she answered curtly, “Hello?” She immediately recognized the voice in the receiver, Mrs. Mapleton. Clairus quickly explained to me that Mrs. Mapleton was the neighborhood busybody and lived across the street. Angela was not pleased to hear from her. Still, she made some attempt to sound polite.

  “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Mapleton.”

  “Fine, Mrs. Mapleton.”

  “No, everything’s fine.” There was a hint of exasperation in her voice.

  “Jack? As far as I know, Jack’s just fine. Why do you ask?” she said. Why don’t you mind you own business? she thought.

  “It is?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Mapleton. But I’m sure there’s a good explanation.”

  She politely ended the conversation and hung up the phone, no longer feeling aggravated by her elderly neighbor’s phone call. According to Mrs. Mapleton, Jack’s truck was sitting in the driveway, just as he left it the previous evening. Jack was supposed to be at work. Angela wondered if he couldn’t get it to start and got a ride from one of his buddies. She doubted it; Jack worked as an auto mechanic.

  “Shouldn’t we find out where Jack is?” I said to Clairus.

  “If you think so,” she replied, unhelpfully.

  “I do. Where’s Soren? He should know what’s going on, right?”

  “Why don’t you give your Communicator a try, instead?”

  “Oh!” I’d almost forgotten about the mysterious crystal stowed in my pocket. I reached in and drew out the stone, giving it a good inspection, as if I expected it to look different on earth.

  “So,” I said, “How does it work?”

  “I don’t know,” she said, shrugging her shoulders.

  “What do you mean you don’t know? Don’t you have one?”

  “Of course I have one.”

  “Well, how does it work?”

  “Very well, thank you.” I looked at her with a feigned expression of annoyance. She just smiled back at me, trying not to laugh. She didn’t succeed, and we both start giggling. Clairus finally filled me in on the secret to the Communicator. “Forenica, I know how my Communicator works because He made it for me. Although, ours look similar, they are not exactly alike. Each is different—like the angel who carries it. Each functions in its own way.”

  “Well then, why don’t we just use yours?”

  “Because I will not always be here. Besides, I’m confident you can figure it out.”

  I stared again at my stone. The idea to shake it like a Magic 8 Ball crossed my mind. “Where’s Jack?” I would ask as I shook it vigorously. The reply back, “Concentrate and ask again.”

  Clairus offered a suggestion to help me. “Why don’t you try using it as you expect it to work? He designed it specifically for you.”

  I thought about that for a moment. How would I expect it to work?

  “Honestly, I would expect at least a power button—to turn it on,” I said.

  “Perhaps it has one.”

  “Where?”

  “Once again, where would you expect the button to be?”

  “Well, right here, I suppose,” I said pointing to a portion of its flat side.

  “Good. Now turn it on already.”

  I gave her a doubtful look, shrugged, then pressed my thumb on the spot. Immediately after releasing my finger my little stone began to glow. Then a gentle voice spoke to me. “Good morning, Fo
renica. How may I assist you this fine day?” I hesitated, giving Clairus a look of surprise, before replying, “Uh, I would like to know the whereabouts of Angela’s husband, Jack.”

  “Certainly, Forenica. According to our Soul Locator System, Jack is presently in the garage.”

  “The garage?”

  “Precisely,” replied the disembodied voice.

  Then an image, like those from Angela’s book appeared above the stone. It showed Jack, hunched over his work bench, fiddling with some piece of mechanical equipment.

  I turned off my Communicator and looked up at Clairus.

  “Well, that was anti-climactic. What next?” I asked.

  “I suggest not worrying about Jack, at present. Rather focus on Angela. I’m sure we’ll find out what’s going on soon enough. It’s best that you prepare her for it.”

  Clairus was right, of course. As things stood, Angela would likely jump all over Jack when she discovered him. Just then, Soren appeared.

  “Where have you been?” I asked, accusingly.

  “Around,” he replied. “I’ve just been with Viana. Kailey is quite upset. There’s something on the table which you should encourage Angela to look at.” He pointed to the table, then vanished again.

  That Soren sure doesn’t like to stick around, I thought. “Get her to look at the table, huh?” I said. “That should be easy enough. It’s the only place not covered with flour.”

  Clairus elbowed me, teasingly.

  Thinking a direct approach might work, I placed my hand on Angela’s arm, and told her to go look at the kitchen table. A bit to my surprise, she actually looked over and noticed the piece of paper. I prodded her a little more to go look at it. Putting down her flour-coated sponge, she went over and picked up the small folded paper. A picture of a heart, drawn with red crayon, adorned the front of the page. Angela opened the folded paper and read in Kailey’s six-year-old scrawl, “Dear Mommy, brekfist for you. Love, Kailey.”

  A sudden pang of guilt struck Angela, as she realized her sweet daughter had only wanted to make her breakfast. She recalled with a pang of guilt her harsh reaction to Kailey’s attempted surprise. How it must have broken Kailey’s heart! Tears formed in her eyes and she sank into a chair.