The Journey

Once upon a time, that time being the beginning of World War II, a baby boy was born on the steps of a white hospital in a small town in Kansas. This baby boy – his name was Winston – never knew his father. His father was killed at Pearl Harbor.

Three years after Winston's debut on the planet and his father's exit from it, his mother married another military man. As a part of a military family, the boy traveled from state to state, school to school, and country to country. He grew up lonely. Never in one spot for long, he hesitated to make friends. In fact, he did not know how.

One midsummer evening when the boy was sixteen, he took a walk on a narrow path adjacent to the runway not far from the base housing. He was crying. As he kicked rocks and pebbles to the side of the path, he talked to himself. He talked also to God, whom he considered his best friend. As he walked, the air became strangely chilled and breezy for a midsummer night.

"God, I thought you loved everyone. If you love us so much, how come life is so hard? I've been lonely all my life. I'm fat. I get bad grades in school. Whatever side of the tracks I stand on is the wrong side. And it's not just me that feels the pain. It's all over the place. My family travels a lot, and there's no place that seems much better. I've seen people living in poverty. I've seen people who are prejudiced against other people. I've seen people hurting each other. Millions, many of them innocent, languish in prisons. It's all so unfair!

"If you really do exist, Father, please help me. At least let me know that you're there. Give me a sign. Give the world a sign."

The weather began to change even more rapidly. The moon turned the color of burgundy wine and started to spin slowly, like a precious stone being examined by a jeweler.

"Father, I'm trying to believe. Is this you talking to me? I'm trying to listen."

The wind hummed through the branches, and Winston was sure he heard a deep whispering voice talking to him.

"You are not alone," it said into his ear. "Through your pain, you have been conditioned since birth. You will do great things someday. You have been prepared for your destiny, as your son and his son after him will be." The wind rose in pitch, and the boy grew chilled.

The voice began to fade, and Winston walked home slowly. The loneliness moved in again with the silence. At home, he closed his bedroom door and cried.

In heaven, the Father was summoning an angel to himself. Though he could slice through galaxies at immeasurable speed, this angel took his time. His was a leisurely flight. He paused at a planet to watch the sun rise over its edge and butter its atmosphere with pale yellow. The color reminded him of the gold of heaven, and he continued on his way, musing that some humans no longer believed that heaven's walls were gold embellished with jasper, sapphire, topaz, chalcedony, emerald, aquamarine, amethyst, and a host of other precious gems. He had always suspected that the Father had buried such treasures in the ground on the planets to remind those who looked down of the shimmering clarity of the heavens.

"The heavens," he spoke aloud. "Heavens! I've been summoned, and here I am dilly-dallying," He continued his flight with more haste.

The glow in the distance became the colored sparkling of the heavenly walls, which gave way to the white sheen of the pearls that covered the twelve gates. As the angel swiftly approached, the gates began to tremble and clatter. Startled, the angel stopped and hovered outside.

"Father? Is that you?"

"Do not be afraid."

"But why do you meet me at the gates? Have I offended?"

"No, good servant. Our business demands haste."

"What is it, Most Loving One?"

"It is time for your sending and another's receiving. Two rivers must join and flow together for a time, one heavenly and one of the planets. You are the one."

"And the one I shall visit?"

"He is an inhabitant of one of the planets that still tolerates disharmony."

"Which planet?"

"Go now. Make haste."

"But, Father ..."

"Trust your wings, worrisome one. They will take you where you need to be."

"Father ..."

"Does the river inquire of the sea? It simply flows according to its own nature and thereby arrives. Do likewise. Go now."

So the angel prepared himself. He coated his wings with Borazon lest the journey be long and chafe them. He closed his eyes and let himself be. He turned to the left with a mysterious assurance and began to fly. In his mind's eye, he saw a blue planet girded with white clouds. Still deep in space, he heard the faint clamor of frantic lives on that planet. He veered toward a small star and watched as it grew to fill his vision. Closing in, he glanced to the side, and there it was, the blue planet. Now inside the star's solar system, he paused in an orbiting belt of asteroids and dust. His vision and hearing penetrated the clouds around the planet, and a shocking display of earthly reality assaulted his heavenly mind.

Sifting through the grunts of life from the surface, he heard the angry shouts of nations and the explosions of war. He felt the disharmony, and tears began to run down his cheeks.

He saw rockets being launched into orbit and across imaginary borders on the planet's land masses. He watched as families split apart. He saw murder, theft, and a host of other perverted acts all across the planet. He could see truth scattered among the lies, but most overlooked it. Just as he was about to shake his head and fly on, he heard a familiar voice above the din. It was God's voice. Here and there he was speaking quietly to many people. Some listened. Some spoke aloud of what they heard and were ridiculed or sent to institutions by those who did not believe them.

Others ran from the voice of God. Some ran back to their day-to-day ruts. A few heard only a little of what the Father said and tried to turn it into power to quench their greed and bring them wealth. When they gained nothing, they reached for more. Others ran into the fog of alcohol and drugs where they tried to hide. The angel saw that many chose the wrong path out of fear of the truth.

Exhausted, the angel began to doze off. The meteor against which he had been leaning suddenly rolled out of its orbit, startling him awake, and began to plunge into the earth's atmosphere. The angel hung on for the ride until the meteor burned itself out in the upper atmosphere.

Up close, the planet was the color of milk and honey. The angel began to circle it in a slow flight.

From his position, he could see how many people had trouble balancing their lives. He saw homeless people using the sides of buildings and curbs for urinals. He saw the broken bottles, colored shards so unlike the gems of heaven, marking the slide into despair. He saw these wandering ones begging for nickels and dimes, eating their meager meals under store awnings. Below the gruff shells that they had grown to protect themselves, the angel saw their cuts and bruises and their inner scars.

Needing to rest his mind, the angel flew back into space, leaving behind the clamor of broken lives. He did one somersault after another. He abandoned himself completely, executing dives, flips, and rolls. Refreshed and knowing there was much to accomplish, he soared down to a drifting cloud, paused, and reached up to the glowing aura that was his halo. He passed a finger through its golden light, causing it to pulse and quiver. He called it "adjusting his halo." A quick series of sparks, like stars, raced around his head, and the halo began picking up the signals of the planet's media.

Again he began to fly across the planet. He heard radio announcers speak of robberies, rapes, price increases, murders, child abuse, and wars. Ghostly images of knives and guns and fires and angry arrests floated before him. As he circled the globe, the languages changed, but the stories remained disturbingly similar. As he listened and watched, his sensitive angel hair began to streak with gray, and his brow became wet with perspiration.

"Father!" cried the angel. "I am of the spirit, not of the flesh. What can I do about all of this but listen and cry? I think you have sent me here to ease their way, but I do not know how." He wept heavenly tears. "I am of the spirit, not of the flesh!"

"The spirit is deeper than you know, wet-cheeked one!" replied the heavenly parent from out of the din. "Search your inner depths. Trust your heavenly instincts. You will find your direction there."

"Father, there are so many people crying and in need of help. How can I choose one to visit?"

"The choice has already been made. Flow like the river to the sea. Trust your nature."

The angel adjusted his halo again to work like radar, sensitizing him to shapes and movements as he flew in closer to find the one he was to help. He hovered over hills and mountainsides, through valleys and canyons, cities and towns, roads and trails, beaches and blacktop. He saw so many people content to live the way they were, concerned only for their own personal pleasures and whims.

"So many are crying," he muttered to himself. "I don't know how to help them. I don't know who to help. I'll fly around the earth one more time."

Like bees swarming over honey, the multitudes filled their days with frantic activity. The angel wondered if they might, underneath it all, really be trying to make their worlds better. Still, the sound of crying continued.

The angel glided past the coastline of Europe and felt the cool air of the Atlantic Ocean below him. He swooped left and then right again, unsure why except that it felt natural to do so. Within seconds, he found himself outside a military housing complex in the southeastern United States. His halo crackled and went silent, returning to a soft glow. A window seemed to beckon him, and through it, he saw a boy on his knees.

The Conditioning

Winston lay with his head on his pillow, his face streaked with tears. A bright glow outside his window caught his eye. He sat upright. Very clearly, he saw a face outside his window surrounded by a glowing aura. The image astounded him, though for some reason he was not afraid.

Seeing the astonishment on the boy's face, the angel suddenly realized how foreign he must look. He ducked back away from the window, and with a wave of his hand he transformed himself. The glow of his halo became a ruddy glow on his face. His wings disappeared, and street clothing covered his body.

Then the angel materialized in the boy's room. Winston, mesmerized, watched every move the angel made. The angel walked across the room and took a piece of bubblegum from the top of the dresser. He unwrapped it and popped it into his mouth as he picked up a yo-yo.

"Wow, this gum tastes good. It's been a long time."

"You could have asked."

"I'm sorry," replied the angel, a little taken aback. "I forget about the old concept of ownership. See, where I'm from ..."

"Everybody shares, and everybody's happy, and nobody is selfish, and nobody owns anything," the boy rattled off in a sing-songy, sarcastic voice.

"Exactly."

"Yeah, right. Where did you learn to do 'around the world'? I mean since you probably don't OWN a yo-yo?"

"You're quick. I like that."

"So, where'd you learn?" repeated the boy.

"Oh, around," said the angel with a smile.

"The world?"

"Something like that. I know that you have to trust your instincts and just go for it, let the yo-yo fly," countered the angel as he blew a bubble. As Winston watched fascinated, the bubble grew big enough to block the angel's view and then popped onto his glowing face. Startled, the angel lost concentration and the swinging yo-yo hit him on the head. Winston laughed for the first time in days.

"Why don't you tell me what's the matter?" asked the angel, suddenly serious.

"You have gum on your face."

"Better than egg."

"I like you. You're funny."

"Tell me," insisted the angel.

"I don't know."

"Sure you do. Start with the things that are on your mind right now. That's always a good clue."

"Why should I? Nobody really cares what I'm feeling."

"I do. That's why I'm here. This gum sure loses its flavor fast."

"That's what you get for trying to taste it with your eyebrows. Who are you?"

"I'm here to help you with your conditioning."

The boy looked startled. "How did you know about that?" he asked.

"I heard his voice, too," said the angel, relieved that the tiresome listening had paid off.

"The voice in the wind was real?" inquired the boy tentatively.

"His voice is as real as He is."

"Who?"

"Our Creator. Our Heavenly Father. God."

"Right, and I suppose you're my guardian angel?"

"Yup."

"Nice to meet you. I'm the Boy Wonder, able to leap tall bubblegum-faced lunatics in a single bound!" The boy stood on his bed and lifted his arm as if brandishing a sword. "Able to conquer all he attempts!"

"Your words are more accurate than your thoughts."

"About lunatics?" teased the boy.

"About conquering what you attempt," answered the angel seriously.

"Angels don't wear jeans. Where are your wings?"

"You should listen to your words," the angel continued. "You become what you think."

"Right. Look, I'm your dog! Arf! Rowf! Rowf! Arf! Arf!" Winston began bouncing on the bed with one arm curled under his armpit. "I'm your chimpanzee! Oo-oo-oo. Ah-ah!"

"I hid them."

The boy stopped. "What?"

"The wings. I hid them. Or rather you did. It's not what you expected. Not what you thought. The jeans are."

"What are you saying, that I created you from my thoughts? Can I make you do tricks?"

The angel waved his arm where his halo had been. With a snapping sound, he went sparks and tiny globes spinning about the room.

"Whoa!" exclaimed the boy with open mouth. "How did you know? How did you do that?"

The angel replied softly as the sparks faded, "You create your own angels or your own devils with your thoughts." He stepped toward the dresser. "Mind if I have another piece of gum?"

"You mean I can help myself?"

"It's your gum."

"Not to the gum. I mean, HELP MYSELF."

The boy sat cross-legged on the foot of the bed as the angel came closer.

"Who else?"

"If that's true, then people all over the world can heal their own hurts. People can make things more peaceful and happy."

"You're pretty smart. You are already speaking words of wisdom." A different kind of tear rolled down the angel's cheek as he imagined the wisdom spreading out from this young boy. "So young."

"What?"

"Nothing."

The boy stood and began bouncing on the bed again. "Want to act like an ape?" he asked in innocent invitation.

"There isn't time. You must begin to learn to help yourself.

Faith will help you."

"Faith?" asked the boy, genuinely puzzled.

"Faith," replied the angel. "The thing that created me. Your belief."

"Where do I begin?"

"Examine your own existence. Examine the world around you. Pay attention to what is happening on the planet," the angel instructed.

"I already do that. In a way. But I need help."

"I will help you. But you will have to do all the work."

"What do you mean?"

"You must examine yourself. I cannot do that for you. You must observe the happenings on the planet through your own eyes. Then you must list your findings in order to draw some conclusions."

"That sounds like school. I can't! That's just like in school. Everyone knows I can't! Even my Dad calls me a 'dumb shit', and Mom always asks me why I can't be like the other kids. My French teacher said I'm too dumb to graduate. I can't! I'm fat and dumb, and I have no friends. I can't. I can't. And you must be pretty dumb if you don't know that. Some angel you are!"

"You are listening to voices that are not your own, little wise one who lapses." With those words the angel began to draw letters on the ceiling. "Listen to your own voice. It knows better than the others who you are." The letters on the ceiling spelled "You can" in glowing gold.

Winston had always expected the answers he sought to be given to him. The prospect of having to search and figure things out left him feeling anxious and afraid. Afraid of failure. The responsibility of his quest overwhelmed him, and he began to cry.

"Crying is good, my new young friend," said the angel, as he began to dematerialize and fade.