Diary of an Angel

by Michael M. Farnsworth

  “I’m sorry,” Catherine said, even softer than before. “I shouldn’t have gone.”

  Angela looked at her daughter. She often forgot that Catherine had not long ago been her little girl, who wore little pink dresses, had tea parties with her dolls, asked for bedtime stories at night, and was completely innocent—unaware of the abounding evils in the world. Angela’s heart melted.

  “Thank you for telling me,” she said in a tender, loving tone. “Did you have a good time?”

  Catherine looked up at her mother for the first time. That was not the kind of question (or reaction) she expected. But as quickly as her face changed to surprise, it faded back into sadness. Her eyes fell back on the book.

  “I wish I hadn’t gone,” she whispered.

  “You wish you hadn’t gone,” Angela repeated.

  Catherine then went into some details about the party, why she wanted to go, the boy she thought she liked, how she felt guilty and unhappy afterward. She kept several details hidden, things she was unprepared to tell her mother. Yet she told Angela enough.

  “I see now why you didn’t want me to call Josie’s parents. I definitely would have said no. Maybe next time we can talk about it openly. I’ll try not to say no outright. It’s hard for me to find that balance between letting you make your own choices and keeping you safe.”

  Angela leaned over and put her arms around Catherine. “It’s not easy being fifteen. Sometimes I forget that.” She squeezed tighter. “I love you, sweetheart.”

  “I love you too, Mom.”

  I couldn’t resist. I wrapped my arms around both of them and kissed them each, my two dearest friends.

  XII

  SILAS ROTWOOD

  After supper, Angela discovered a small note stuck to the bottom of the casserole dish. It read, “Leave the dish and bowl on the door step.” That was it. The note was typed, so there was no hand-writing to give any clue about the author.

  Angela followed the note’s instructions. And sometime during the night or early morning the casserole dish and bowl disappeared from the porch. Angela called Rachel and tried to get her to confess involvement in the scheme. But Rachel denied any. And she acted so completely oblivious that Angela believed she truly didn’t know anything about it.

  Their secret benefactor did not come again that day. Nor did Angela expect the gesture to be repeated. The day after, however, another meal appeared at their doorstep. This time a steaming pot of hardy chowder. The subsequent two days, nothing. On the third day another meal.

  This confusing pattern continued for weeks. Never did the food arrive at the same time of day. And sometimes days passed without any activity. Other times back-to-back meals came. And always Angela found the same note with instructions to leave the pot, dish, or bowl on the porch.

  “I wish we could catch whoever’s doing this,” Jack said after Angela returned from the porch with a pot of spaghetti.

  “I don’t think he—or she—wants to be caught,” Angela replied. “And I think we should allow them to remain anonymous.”

  “But who could it be, Angela? Rachel claims to be innocent. I’ve already talked to Mark, Kyle, Pete, and even Jerry. They all looked at me like I was crazy. Maybe it’s someone from the church?” Jack shook his head at his own suggestion. “Nah, I doubt the pastor even remembers our names; he gave up on us so long ago. Who then?”

  “I don’t know, Jack. Somebody very kind.”

  “It’s not just that, they also have to know about our problems.”

  “Well, everyone you worked with at the shop knows. I imagine the kids’ friends know, and consequently their parents.”

  “Maybe we should stop talking about this. I don’t like the idea of so many people knowing about my failure to provide for my family.”

  “Jack, it’s not your fault.”

  “Do you really believe that?” he replied testily as he turned his back on Angela and walked away.

  Angela sighed and shook her head. So moody. She looked down at the meal in her arms.

  The meals were a great relief to Angela. Not only because her family would actually eat them, but because of the money they saved on groceries.

  Angela had registered with the school district and had begun working as a substitute teacher. She hated it. Her schedule was so unpredictable. She almost never knew in advance what days or at what schools she would work. An unwelcome phone call with instructions would come before the sun rose, waking her from sleep. On those days she rushed to get ready, showering and dressing quickly, cramming a piece of toast in her mouth for breakfast, and trying to wake up Jack, before leaving. Jack then had to drag himself out of bed after working all night and help the kids ready themselves for school. Miraculously, Jack had only failed on one occasion to wake up.

  Despite having an additional source of income, everyone’s spirits were low. Jack was seldom awake or at home with the rest of the family. And when not sleeping or working he showed about as much sign of life as a reanimated corpse. Angela likewise found her new work-life, compounded with home responsibilities, wearisome. She often complained inwardly about how she could use more help from Jack and the children. Catherine refused to eat the free school lunches and loathed riding on the bus. The other two children simply didn’t like the change they readily noted in their parents. Altogether they were a gloomy group—except at supper time, on those days when a meal came.

  Even with their two new incomes, Jack and Angela were unable to meet all of their financial obligations. Namely, their mortgage payment. They still could not pay it. Each time Angela thought about it her stomach felt like it was tying itself in a knot. A sense of impending doom filled her with relentless foreboding. Realizing that they could ignore the problem no longer, they reluctantly determined to seek help from their bank. Perhaps the bank could adjust their payments to something Jack and Angela could afford. With a shred of hope, they took a trip to the bank one afternoon when Angela did not have a substitute teaching job.

  Butterflies fluttered in Angela’s stomach the entire car ride. As they waited in the lobby, the butterflies began to feel more like bees, and by the time the lending officer brought them into his office, she wanted to vomit.

  The appearance and manner of the loan officer did nothing to relieve Angela’s anxiety. Silas Rotwood, read the name on the door. He greeted them with genuine disinterest, then asked them their business at the bank.

  “Well,” Jack began, “we’d like to talk you about our mortgage. We—”

  “Let me guess,” Mr. Rotwood interrupted loudly. “You can’t pay it, can you? I can tell by the look in your eyes. I see this all the time” he added, with more than a hint of disdain in his voice.

  “Well,” attempted Jack again.

  “What did you say your name was?” Mr. Rotwood asked, interrupting again.

  “Uh, Higgins...Jack Higgins”

  Mr. Rotwood turned to his computer and laid his long boney fingers on the keyboard. After a few keystrokes, accompanied by an equal portion of grunts, he said, “at 613 Merry Glen Ln.?”

  “Yes,” Jack responded.

  More keystrokes and grunts. More staring at the computer screen. Then he turned and glared at Jack.

  “You have two outstanding house payments, Mr. Higgins,” he said in a condemnatory manner. “I suppose you lost your job?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “But you found another job, which doesn’t pay as well. And now you’re here to see if we can help you with your payments, maybe lower them to a more affordable amount. Is that it?”

  Jack turned to Angela and then back to the loan officer, and simply nodded his head. Mr. Rotwood leaned forward in his chair, placed his jagged elbows on the table, and brought the tips of his spindly fingers together.

  “Mr. Higgins,” he said with great solemnity, “you are not the first to come into my office with such a story, you see? There is a part of me that feels for you. I wish there were something I could do so that nothing unfortunate
ever happened. But that is out of my power and control. This is a financial institution, Mr. Higgins. Its successful operation does not rely on feelings, but facts—data. Now, I can look at the data and tell you the average number of individuals in your position who have, in a responsible time frame, returned to paying their full mortgage. And the numbers are not in your favor.”

  Mr. Rotwood narrowed his gaze. “I’m afraid the bank is in no position to assist you. You have six weeks to come up-to-date with your mortgage payments. If you fail to make these payments your loan will go into default and we will be forced to initiate the foreclosure process on your property.”

  He stared at them with cold uncaring eyes. Eyes which said, “You are dismissed—get out of my office.” Jack’s temper had been rising throughout Mr. Rotwood’s sardonic speech, and threatened to boil over any moment. Angela was on the brink of sobbing uncontrollably. A flaming sword would have come in handy at that moment. Not to harm Mr. Rotwood (he needed more help than Jack and Angela), but to destroy that wretched demon with his chains shackled tightly around his neck.

  That was it. There was nothing else to be said. Silas Rotwood was not a man to argue with. Dejectedly, Jack and Angela left his office, exited the bank, and returned to Jack’s truck, where Angela let loose her tears.

  * * *

  “So are you saying I’m supposed to be happy about God taking away our home?”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying,” Rachel patiently said to a confused and flustered Angela. “Besides, you haven’t actually lost your house.”

  “It sure feels like we have.”

  Rachel studied Angela’s face. “I’m sure this is extremely difficult. I can’t imagine what this must be like for you.” She paused for a moment, drawing her lips tightly together. “But I know He knows exactly what you are going through. And He knows you can handle it.”

  “Well, I definitely don’t feel like I can handle it. And He doesn’t seem to be helping a whole lot.”

  “I know...I know what it feels like to believe He’s not there, or doesn’t care. It’s frustrating. But I believe those are the times He’s closest and most eager to help.”

  “He’s welcome to help any time He wants. I’m more than ready.”

  “Angela, God doesn’t need to prove Himself to you. You need to prove yourself to Him. At times like these He wants your full trust and confidence. It’s hard, but you need to trust that He will take care of things in His own way and time. If you pray sincerely and do all He tells you, you can be confident things will go as He intends.”

  “Oh, I’ve prayed!” Angela insisted. “Lately not every day, but I’ve been praying.”

  “I’m glad.”

  “Well, they don’t seem to do much good. He still seems bent on taking our house.”

  Rachel frowned at her friend.

  “Perhaps He plans to build you a new home. Something grander than either of us could ever imagine.”

  “At this point, I don’t care about better. I just want to keep what I have.”

  “You won’t keep anything worth having without Him. Let me make a suggestion for your prayers. Don’t give God ultimatums. Don’t say, ‘let me keep my house and I’ll be happy and follow you.’ You might not say those exact words, but I imagine your thoughts are along those lines. Rather, pray for courage and comfort to bare this trial, to accept God’s will. Pray for the strength to trust His tender care. And then pray that if it be His will, that He save your house.”

  Angela sighed heavily, pondering what Rachel had just said. “Alright, I’ll give it a try. After all, I don’t have too many options anymore.”

  Rachel shook her head slowly. “He doesn’t want you to act like a little kid getting a shot: closing your eyes, sticking out your arm, and clenching your teeth until it’s over. He’s not asking you to consign yourself to some terrible fate. But simply to whole-heartedly trust Him. Try to watch for His hand in your life. He’s there, I know He is. But often it’s in the seemingly small things, like your mystery meal provider.”

  Angela nodded her head. “That has been a great blessing. Whoever is doing it we owe a debt of gratitude.”

  “Speaking of food and gratitude,” Rachel said, “We’d like to have you and your family over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

  “Thanksgiving! Oh, no, I completely forgot about it. When is it?”

  Rachel laughed. “It’s next week.”

  Angela gratefully accepted the invitation.

  Angela thought a lot about what Rachel had told her. She tried modifying her prayers to ask for strength to accept God’s will. She looked for signs of His love in her life. These changes proved difficult for her. On those long exhausting days when she had to substitute teach, she struggled to find anything to be grateful for—it required too much effort.

  Angela felt overburdened. The looming deadline for their outstanding mortgage payments, the demands of her new job and of being a mother exacted a heavy toll on her spirit. If it weren’t for our mysterious angel, who makes us meals, and sweet Rachel, she would often think, I don’t see how I could get by. Jack is certainly little help around the house these days. Her thoughts worried me. Ironically, Jack and Angela’s relationship had begun slowly deteriorating ever since Jack started his part-time job. Perhaps I should not have been surprised; they were both tired and careworn: conditions which can undermine patience and kindness.

  It grieved me to see them growing apart again. I suppose it had been too much to hope that their marriage had been irrevocably mended. But they needed to get through this—together. Whatever happened to them, my only goal was that they stayed true to God and to each other. Then they could overcome whatever obstacle came their way. But how to get them there?

  * * *

  “It’s those mortal eyes, I tell you!” exclaimed Glendor, striking his knee with his fist. “They’re always wreaking havoc. They can be as blind as bats and have no clue anything’s wrong.”

  “Maybe we should order her a new pair,” he said after a pause.

  “A new pair of eyes?” I said, giving him a look that only a comment from Glendor deserved.

  “Sure, why not? You pop the old ones out and plunk the new ones in. Instant eye transplant.”

  I looked to Anawin for help. “I don’t see how Angela’s problem has anything to do with her vision. I think she still finds Jack attractive.”

  Glendor chuckled loudly.

  “Maybe we should order a new pair for Forenica too,” he said with a wink.

  Anawin patted my hand. “It’s OK, dear. He never knows when to let up. Though, he’s not entirely joking about Angela’s eyes. But it’s not her physical eyesight that we’re concerned about.”

  “That’s right,” Glendor picked up again. “There’s more to sight than physical perception.”

  “Sure,” I said, “but what can we do about that? Couldn’t we rather relieve some of her stress? Maybe help Jack get a better job?”

  “Forenica, you know that’s not the answer. That would only treat the symptom.”

  “But He does help with those little things,” I insisted. “Like the sunset He painted for Angela, and her visit from Lily, and the sweet soul who’s been cooking them meals.”

  “Quite right, dear,” said Anawin. “But what Angela needs most is help with the root of the problem. What Glendor has suggested—indirectly, I might add—is that Angela notices more of Jack’s faults than his strengths. Resentment is growing where her affection once flourished.”

  “So you think Angela doesn’t love Jack anymore?”

  “Of course not, dear. She does love him, but not yet how she ought to.”

  She paused and turned her gaze to Glendor. At length, she continued, “Glendor and I have poignant personal experience with this topic.”

  I looked at her inquiringly. Surely she couldn’t mean that her marriage with Glendor had ever been in trouble.

  “That’s right, dear. We were not always the happy couple we are now. It t
ook a long time and lots of work to build the relationship we have now. But it was worth it, a hundred times over.”

  “See!” interjected Glendor. “You do love me. I knew it.”

  “Oh, be quiet you goof.”

  Glendor roared with laughter again. “I love you too, dear.”

  “So, what saved your marriage?” I asked Anawin, knowing Glendor would probably crack another joke.

  “Well, the short answer is God saved our marriage. But we had to let Him. And that required difficult changes for both of us. Nearly all mortals think of love as a feeling; if one loves another he knows so by his feeling. But these feelings are not some magical result of the perfect match-up of husband and wife. No, love’s purest form is expressed through actions. One loves another by doing that which demonstrates love.

  “God revealed that truth to me when our marriage was little more than arguments and ill feelings, and I thought I couldn’t go on with it. It was then that I finally went to Him, and pleaded for His help. Little by little, He taught me what I have shared with you. They were hard lessons to learn.”

  “So...I must help Angela to learn them as well?” I asked. Though it was not so much a question as an expression of my resolution. Anawin answered anyway.

  “It is vital you do.”

  She turned to Glaven.

  “And you must do the same for Jack. If you two can get Angela and Jack started on the path toward genuine love, Glendor and I might be able to arrange a little surprise for them—just in time for Christmas.”

  XIII

  THE SNOWMAN

  I suspected both Clairus and Glaven knew what the little surprise was, but neither would admit it. So I was left wondering. All Anawin would tell me was that the gift could help them with their relationship. We had twenty-six days before she wished to reveal the surprise. Twenty-six days till Christmas Eve.

  For those few weeks before Christmas Eve I strove with Angela, focusing my efforts nearly exclusively on encouraging Angela to love Jack. Every time she thought ill of, became angry or annoyed with, was hurt or saddened by Jack, I planted a desire in her heart to love him in spite of it. Sometimes that desire grew and waxed strong inside her. Other times it quickly withered and died.