I Invite You to Have a Dialogue with an Angel

Ann has a talk with an angel.

Ann: So, what am I seeing here?

Angel: Okay, I’m not going to do the white gown, glowing wings thing. Can you say, “Cliché?”

Ann: Yes, but I’m writing this, so I need a hint.

Angel: How about this. You have a bathroom with three mirrors. One is directly in front of you. The other two are on the walls, facing each other, about five feet apart. They are actually the door fronts of two medicine cabinets. If you cock them open slightly, you see your reflection mirrored back and forth to infinity.

Ann: Okay, but which reflection are you?

Angel: I’m the one way in the back, the one waving at you as you peer closer to look.

Ann: No. I reject that. You’re not me. Too goofy. I’m definitely not trying out for the part. Try another one.

Angel: Okay, how about this. I’m a tree. All trees are angels. We keep watch over you humans.

Ann: Too limiting. What about the desert? What about the Arctic?

Angel: (huffing a bit. Are those eyes flashing fire?) Good point. Yes, let’s make sure we keep this logical. Can’t be arbitrary. Oh no.

Ann (eyebrows raised): Do you get to be crabby? I thought you were supposed to be angelic?

Angel (rubbing his …)

Ann: Hey! Gender already?

 Angel: Oh, I think so. We have sex organs. I think. Let me look. (He stretches out the elastic waistband on his white shorts…)

Ann: Hey! Shorts?

Angel: Think tennis outfit. Tan legs. White T-shirt with clouds and an infinity logo. Curly black hair. No beard.

 Ann: So what did you find when you looked?

Angel: It’s kind of weird. Just a blur down there. I guess sex is not part of our angelic pastimes. I can live with that. But really, this is getting way too personal.

Ann: How do you think I feel? I mean, you can read my mind and see the future, right?

Angel: If you say so, yes. (He puts three fingers across his forehead and closes his eyes. His voice sounds low and dreamy.) I see you growing older. Your hair is thinning. You see the dentist so often you call him by his first name. I see arthritis in your future. Knee, I think. You need a magnifying glass to read a map.

Ann: (rolling eyes) Big revelation. I could have told you all that.

Angel: (chuckling) Now me, on the other hand—I’m in the peak of health. Check out these biceps. Go ahead. Punch me in the stomach. Hard as a rock.

Ann: Any chance we can go back to the tree option?

 Angel: Nope. That’s always the problem with creativity. I’m here now. I’m staying.

 Ann: Hmmm. (She examines her keyboard.) Ever hear of the delete key?

17 responses to “I Invite You to Have a Dialogue with an Angel

  1. Barbara Burris

    People talk about guardian angels as if they were some kind of insurance policy. Having a guardian angel supposedly ensures we can get away with accepting an invitation from a group of people we didn’t know before fifteen minutes ago to bungee jump off a bridge and still be able to walk away from it. I’m not sure angels are capable of saving us from our own bad judgment, but I do believe they exist.

    Ann’s angel seems way too human – much like the one John Travolta played in the movie, Michael. A hairy, rough looking being with unkempt wings or no wings at all, is entirely unappealing. My grandmother described angels in the stereotypical manner – long flowing robes, fluffy white wings. I feel more comfortable thinking of them that way, though I also accept that angels may look just like we do. My reasoning comes from near death experiences people describe where they see relatives waiting for them at the end of the tunnel of light. And we’ve all heard accounts from our own family members who, as they lay dying, spoke to people long since passed who were supposedly standing by at the foot of their beds. In most instances, they seem to have left with that person. However, in some, the crisis passed; they regained their health and spoke quite comfortably of having seen and spoken to their deceased father or brother. The thing is, they never mention any wings, only that the dear family member was there to comfort them.

    Last Thursday, my nephew, Dave, was on his way to visit me for dinner. We’d had some typical spring weather during the day, but things had settled down, all but for some lingering wind. A few miles from my home, Dave saw a large branch break off an old tree alongside the narrow county road he was traveling. As it headed down, it struck a power line, snapping it loose from the pole, sending sparks everywhere. Dave knew he couldn’t stop. He had no choice but to say a fast prayer and keep driving. He heard the wire hit his car and looked instinctively into his rear view mirror. He saw the wire bouncing like a whip across the road, arcing wildly. The cars behind him had stopped safely behind it. He’d emerged relatively unscathed – with the exception of needing a glass of wine as soon as he arrived.

    Now you can say that his guardian angel protected him (though he wishes the angel had also protected his new car which is now scratched from front to back), or you can say he was simply very lucky. Or you can say it just wasn’t his time to go. But something kept him from getting fried, because by all indications, he should’ve been.

    Though the women of my family all spoke of angels, my father never did. Being a very direct person all his life, in his final days my father bypassed angels and spoke directly with God. Lying in his hospice bed in his last seemingly lucid moment, he told my mother that God had told him he’d be going right after Joe. Mother didn’t know anyone named Joe, but when she questioned him, Dad was definite. It wasn’t his turn yet. Joe would be first. When he died a couple of days later, I have to confess we all had the impulse to scan the obituaries for someone named Joe.

    • I’m glad you found this topic inspiring. You’ve created another piece of writing to keep. Thanks for sharing it with us!

    • I’m glad your nephew made it through his harrowing experience . I would vote for the guardian angel first and luck second. I love the story of your father and his certainty he would not go before Joe. It does make you wonder!

  2. Today is Memorial Day. I’ve been to the Abbey and placed flowers in the stands for my parents and two sisters. It’s now afternoon and I’m weeding in my garden. The clouds periodically block the sun, so it’s not too hot. The weather guy says 65 for today’s high. It’s not there yet, but I’m comfortable in my long sleeved shirt and jeans. I pick gardening today because it’s mindless yet rewarding; the results of my work will be apparent and satisfying at the end of the day.

    I become aware of the lovely song of a bird in the tree above me. When I finally spot the bird, it’s a Robin. The bird continues to sing to me for half an hour. I move in slow motion, comforted by the melody, continuing my gardening tasks.

    The Robin seems to want more attention than I’m giving it, so it hops to the top of the trellis with the just-beginning-to-bloom climbing rose, and seemingly increases its volume. I can’t help it. I talk to the bird, thanking it for singing to me on this sad day. I’m missing my parents and my sisters- missing the laughter and the conversations we had. Mom’s passing last November was the last of the four.

    I talk to the Robin, who is still sitting on the trellis and tell it how much I appreciate the serenade. It’s not lost on me that one of my sister’s name was Robin. I talk to Robins a lot. I feel comfortable telling the bird that she would love the young man her son has become and the wonderful wife he now has. How proud she would be that he works with mentally challenged children and helps teach them activities of daily living so they can be part of and contribute to society. It sings a few more happy notes, then leaves.

    Suddenly two doves land in the tree that the Robin just vacated. They begin their haunting co-coo volley. I love the sound; it reminds me of the vacations we spent as a family in Hawaii. Every morning we woke to the sound of the doves welcoming a new day. Today, they also sing to me for longer than usual before they take flight together. It seems as if they have a lot of information to impart with their limited vocabulary.

    I’m smiling by now, because it is a glorious day. I feel in touch with nature and content. I’m sitting on the ground and weeding beneath a group of iris that is stunning with its deep purple and blue shades. A humming bird darts beside me and even though I’m only a foot away, takes it time drinking from the throat of the furthest iris. It finishes its feast and stops before me midair, its wings whirring. I sense it looking into my soul. Then it takes off as fast as it appeared.

    I’ve been visited by four angels today, all with a mission to remind me I’m not alone. And my garden has become a special place of beauty and solace.

    • What a lovely bit of writing, Parrot. I’m so pleased that you not only had a wonderful day outside and conversed with four bird angels, but that you have now written of it, capturing it and saving it for all time. A fine tribute!

    • Barbara Burris

      Parrot, I really enjoyed reading this story. I felt as though I was right there with you, listening to the birds. Thanks for sharing this piece with us.

    • Thank you both for your comments. I read the prompt and thought about it, but didn’t have a response. When I was working in my garden, the birds came to sing to me and I new it was perfect.

    • Parrott, I loved your writing. I have butterflies that visit me since my husband passed away 12 years ago. They’re specifically monarch butterflies…and they usually fly around me to get my attention. I only see one at a time, and have taken up photography to capture them. I have found that photography, as well as writing, is a creative outlet that I love – my passions, I guess you could say. I’m known for “chasing butterflies” with my camera. I have some of my best photos of butterflies and flowers framed and displayed. I can always count on “my butterfly” showing up when I need to see it most. I quietly say, “thank you” and go about my business, with a feeling that I’m not alone. Now I know for sure that I’m not the only one that has angels visit in this manner! Thank you!

      • I’m glad I’m not the only one that talks to birds and butterflies! I’m so glad you have writing and photography as your creative outlet. I love that the butterflies visit you every year and that you have a sense of solace in their presence. And that you capture their beauty on film.

  3. A Dialogue With an Angel
    I hiked along the rough dirt path watching for the yellow trail blazes while simultaneously trying not to trip on the stones, nor to let the encroaching poison ivy hit my legs. I sang “My Baby Love” as I walked so that bears would hear me coming and not be surprised. This was a short, easy hike. I had driven the car to the trailhead, put on my pack with sandwich and water, and headed out. It’s an unusual thing for me to do but I found myself wanting to hike alone today. I was completely comfortable. I had hiked trails here in Skyline Drive in the Shenandoah Mountains many times, including this trail
    I continued stepping carefully as the path meandered around a large greenish grey boulder. I was caught totally by surprise by the appearance of a person sitting on a large rock. I stopped short, eyes wide and mouth open. The man seemed larger than life – literally overall larger than a regular person, yet otherwise totally normal, perfectly proportioned for someone who looked like he must be 7 feet tall. I could not stop looking at his large amber eyes – they were intense, deep, and kind. His hair was shoulder length. He had a large double-edged long sword with a two-handed hilt. Resting next to him sat a huge shield. He wore thick leather guards on his arms, thighs, and shins. Wings cascaded down his back from the top of his shoulders to below his waist. The sturdy feathers were a beautiful gold at the tips lightening to white at the base. The sturdy structure
    He looked up at me. I was not frightened. My mind was processing what I was seeing. Everything he was wearing was old, I mean really old, as in biblically ancient. He was smiling, and did not move as though he knew I might be frightened. He also glowed. Yes, glowed as in emitted some kind of soft light from within himself.
    I knew this person. Where had I seen him? My mind riffled through religious paintings. He was the subject of the painting in the back of the sanctuary of my church.
    “Michael, is that you?” I asked.
    “Yes, it’s me, Pat.”
    Gasping, “You know my name.”
    “As you know mine.”
    “What does it mean that you’re here?” Is something terrible about to happen?
    “No. Be assured that nothing is about to happen right here right now. But,” he paused; you know there are bad things happening in many places all the time.”
    “Yes, sadly, I know there are.”
    “I’m here to rest. Just to sit and clear my mind and think about all the good things here on earth and in heaven above. Just a brief respite before going back into battle.
    “Why do I see you?”
    “Because you believe and I am here. You came today, by yourself, which you don’t usually do. I put the suggestion to you to come here, still under your own free will, of course. I knew that you would be happy if you came, not frightened. You are safe under my protection at this moment, so that we could have a quiet talk. It is nice to chat calmly with a believer. It lifts my spirits”
    “You need your spirits lifted?”
    “Being an angel in battle is sometimes a very difficult struggle. I will admit that having more believers would give us more strength. But, be at peace, we are strong in the struggle against evil.”
    “You’re fading.”
    “It’s time for me to go. You will remember this meeting as will I.”
    “Good bye.” And then he was gone.

    • So believable! It was great that you knew him and that he knew you. He was just there for a rest and to hear a good word from a good person. Very enjoyable story!

    • A beautiful story. may we all meet an angle along our roads in life. but most of all not be afraid just embrace the angel.

  4. Great story! I was caught up in its magic!

  5. “Oh my god where did you come from?” Suddenly an impish little man in a black suit appeared out of nowhere, for a moment I was startled.
    “You called me,” the little man said.
    “I didn’t call anyone, I was just sitting here, thinking,” I said.
    “What were you thinking?” the sly little voice asked with a smirk.
    “Nothing, just thinking, it doesn’t matter.”
    The little imp broke into a big smile, “You were thinking of killing yourself. You lost your job, your home, and your family, because of your drinking.”
    “Jesus! How did you know that?”
    “Well, I’ll give you a clue, you can drop the ‘god’ and ‘Jesus’ references.”
    I shifted way in my seat, wide-eyed, stunned, “This can’t be, I don’t believe in this stuff,” I gasped.
    “Yeah sure, that’s what they all say. I show up in times like these, the hard times,” he said, still smiling.
    “But you’re not what I would expect…”
    “You expected a red suit, horns, and a pitch fork. I hate that stupid cartoon image, it really cramps my style.”
    “So what do you want with me?” I asked.
    “I’m here to help. I show up whenever I see despair and hopelessness. I also do pride, selfishness, hatred, bigotry, anger; I keep pretty busy.”

  6. I can’t help but think this is unfinished. What happened next?

  7. Beats me, I’m just the author, what do I know? We don’t know if the fallen angel will “help” fuel the despair and suicide, or if he will “help” alleviate the pain and suffering. Chances are a good writer,(you know the type,) would have satan offer some tastey morsel of immediate gratification that would appear to lift our protagonist out of despair, but in fact harbors a hidden sinister agenda that forces him to face his flaw and make a courageous decision and overcome it and in the end he is cured of drinkingism, gets the family back, gets a better job, and all is well that ends well. And god and goodness triumph after all. I said “good” writer. As for me, I would have satan toss the guy off a bridge. Haaa.

  8. I like the bridge option. Maybe there are some mermaids down there who will croon to your narrator and soothe his soul. I suspect water would not be the little imps element of choice.

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