In the day
of my trouble
I will call
Angel Sylvestor is falling. One of his
wings is missing. And, he is falling, very slowly and gently, through the Lower Layers of Heaven toward Earth.
Just moments before, Sylvestor had been
flying Home, with his angel buddy Brutus-Belivarius; both of them were coming back after a Prayer-Basket Pickup Assignment on Earth. They were headed toward a Rest-Cloud, just to get their bearings before making the rest of their trip Up, when without warning they were attacked by two ferious Demons of the
Second-Lesser-Quadrant-Layer over Earth. Darth-Demon and his much smaller demonite buddy, R2D2, ambushed little Sylvestor:
Darth and R2D2 jumped up and down on poor Sylvestor: pulling on his little halo and wings, and spitting bright green paint-like mucus all over his head so that he couldn't see. Darth, the much bigger of the two demons, managing to keep Brutus away from coming to Sylvestor's aid by breathing hot,
blinding dust-devil winds at Brutus' face: blinding him temporarily, also.
Poor Sylvestor, therefore, suddenly found
himself falling helplessly back toward Earth:
frantically wiping away the bright green
paint from his eyes, and trying to right himself on his remaining wing.
Angels need both of their wings in order
to fly correctly: just as an airplane, or bird.
Without both wings the aero-dynamics just don't work properly. There's no pain involved though; angel wings are similar to
human fingernail tips; if one breaks off or is torn it just takes awhile for it to grow back.
Sylvestor is crying and hiccuping, though: he has lost his Mail-Buddy, he is all sticky with mucus-green paint, and, what is worst, has dropped his Prayer-Basket: the one which he was bringing back to the Throne Room. The basket had been full of Prayer-Papers, all from the Middle-Southern Quadrant of the Western Region of the Land to the West. During the Demonic ambush and scuffle, Sylvestor's basket, which had been sitting atop his backpack, had upended: sending all the Prayer-Papers floating down, down, down.......entering Earth's atmosphere and the First Layer of space: the part just above where the airplanes flew, and two parts above where the birds flew.
"Where ARE YOU......Brutus?"
Sylvestor cried; he was floating now at a much faster pace and would be entering Earth's atmosphere very soon, indeed.
WHERE ARE YOU, BUDDY?"
I'M IN TROUBLE....AND NEED HELP!
Sylvestor always traveled, outside of the
Heavenly Realms, with a buddy. In fact,
the only time he was ever alone was when
he was back Home, lying on his dorm-cloud: watching Casper, The Flintstones, and The Jetsons cartoons on his little dorm-
dvd player, and munching on potato-chips dipped in vanilla ice cream and Hersheys chocolate syrup. He'd lie there, with one
plump arm underneath his haloe'd, curly head, and dangling his little bare feet over the edge of his puffy soft cloud: laughing
happily at the cartoons, and shaking more chocolate syrup over his vanilla ice cream. Soon one of his buddies, Brutus or Briggand or perhaps Gabriella, would fly over and ask
Sylvestor if he wanted to go on a day-trip to the Heavenly Zoo Park, or take a little canoe-trip down the Heavenly Platte River.
He and his buddies always had fun.
He wished he was with them, right now.
Sylvestor rubbed a small, paint-covered fist at the corner of his left big brown eye, began crying again.
Suddenly a big, booming voice called from
It was Angel Beano.
Angel Beano to the rescue.
Beano was a big, tall, awkward-sort-of,
really good-natured angel who had good
common-sense, and just liked to joke around
a lot. Beano had bright red, long frizzy hair that stood out in all directions; his big square face was full of red freckles, and even his flappy pale wings were spotted with red freckles. Beano was a Floater-Angel; he went wherever The Lord sent him. He was a kind of fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants angel who was a jack-of-all-trades. Beano wasn't a warrior like Michael, and he couldn't sing like Angel Salvatoriellio; he
didn't know much about delivering messages to Earth like Gabriel, and he wasn't much of a Throne Room Guard, like Angel Guardino, but he was just the right angel to have around when you were in a pitch.
What'cha doin'.....way out HERE,
Sylvestor just burst out into tears:
sobbing, and sobbing: limp-flying on his
one good wing, and trying to rub the
green-splotched paint out of his eyes.
"Am I glad to see........YOU!"
"YOU wouldn't believe....what HAPPENED!"
Bean had already flown over to the injured
angel, and set him up on his speckled winged-
"Don't you WORRY none, about all that
NOW! Let's just get ya...... HOME!"
Sylvestor was still sobbing and hiccuping:
clinging onto Beano's big, huge, freckled
wings. Sylvestor really didn't like flying, and he really didn't like heights, at all.
Below them was the infinite expanse of
clouds and mist covering the Earth's atmostpheric layer. The 2nd layer of
dark, star-studded outer space lay above
them. Above space was the thin layer of
the 42nd Quadrant: where the Lesser Demons and Demonites lurked behind
almost invisible Black Holes, and floating rings of ice........like sand bars in the deep oceans.
Sylvestor squinted his eyes closed really
shut so that he couldn't look down...
and he couldn't look up, either. But he
wasn't scared anymore. He was with good
ole' Angel Beano. All of a sudden he banged a small, frenzied fist against Beano's bright, fuzzy halo.
Angel Beano just kept flying firmly and
calmly; his voice was level and unhurried,
"Don't worry none. We'll get it back.
What'd ya HAVE it.....when you left
Sylvestor started hiccuping again.
And......we gotta find BRUTUS!
HE'S in trouble.....TOO!"
"Don't you WORRY, none! I saw
two of Archangel Michael's WARRIORS
on the way DOWN... here! They were
headed toward the 42nd QUADRANT... by the Iced-Ring Region of the Lessors!"
Sylvestor shivered at the name of that
wretched, dark place.
"Beano, I bet that Darth and R2D2 kept
FIGHTIN' with Brutus.....after I FELL!"
"Not to WORRY!"
Beano flew with steady, firm strokes like
a good, long-distance swimmer; he spoke
with a strong, booming voice.
"Warriors..... BATTALIO and DRAGNET....
are with fightin' them, as we SPEAK! None
to worry about THAT! That's for SURE!
Brutus is in good HANDS, now!"
Sylvestor relaxed his small-fisted grip, a little, on Beano's sturdy shoulders. Angel Battalio was three-thousand feet tall (in Earth height), and Angel Dragnet had strange-looking wings whose span-tips were two-edged swords. These two warriors were NOT the sort a demon would want to meet in a dark alley, THAT was for sure.
Then Sylvestor cried out.
Beano! MY Prayer......BASKET!
I bet it's fell down to EARTH!
What'll I DO?"
"None to WORRY!"
Beano pulled a jumbo-size Snickers Bar
out of his right gown-pocket and held it
up over his right wing.
You need your STRENGTH!
Don't worry about THAT, now!"
Beano had to shout because they were
nearing the Thirty-First Quadrant, where the air space was slightly dense. The denser the air, the easier it was for demons
to breathe: just as fire ants became
more active as the air temperature rose
in the heat of a Texas summer. Black Holes
in outer space teemed with millions of skittering, crawling little demonites: like
big healthy cockroaches in a dark, dank basement. The heavier the gravity, the more populated the demonites became.
And....they could sniff out an injured angel.
Beano had been given strict orders to
head back Home: with no wayward stops.
"Don't WORRY about your basket
right now, Sylvestor! The LORD will
take care of THAT, once we get Home!
Just CLOSE your eyes, NOW....and
take a little nap, OKAY? We'll be Home
in a real JIFFY!"
Sylvestor was already getting sleepy;
his eyelids, still slightly dotted with bright
green demon-mucus, were already beginning
to close. In a few Earth seconds, he began
to doze off.
And Beano flew on: climbing higher and
higher, away from the lonely stretches
of darkness that bordered the Upper Forties Quadrant. Beano hummed
to himself, and even whistled a little tune.
Soon they'd be Home.
Unbeknownst to the Angels Beano and Sylvestor, something strange was happening far below on planet Earth.
Sylvestor's Prayer-Basket had indeed
fallen: tumbling over and over, in the air
currents, and spilling hundreds of little
Prayer-Papers over the lower half of the North American Continent.
Of course, the paper in Heaven isn't
the same as paper on Earth.
The paper in Heaven is made of pure
spun-gold. Every prayer, whispered
from the human heart, is written by
their guardian angel, by a quill pen onto
a pad of paper.
Paper of gold, that is.
It was certainly quite a rain shower,
It was like.....pennies
poor in spirit;