"I know you're here..." Twenty-year-old Mitchel Dovall spun around where he stood, staring at the walls and furniture of the living room. "Please talk to me..."
He felt a stirring in his spirit – some unknown sense that told him he was not alone.
"I know the Bible says that i'm not supposed to pray to dead people, but you're not dead. Besides, i'm not even praying – i'm just talkin'." He made a face, visibly disappointed by the lack of response to his plea.
"Are you assigned to me? Have you always watched over me, or do you take shifts with the other angels? I know you're here, so I don't know why you won't show yourself." He sat down on the brown covered couch, impatient. "Did you have to take a vow of silence or something? I don't understand – if God is my father, then why won't he talk to me? I know you won't answer, but will you at least ask him for me? Just pass along that message. I know, you'd want to tell me that he does talk to me in my spirit. And he gave me the Bible. But seriously – how am I supposed to have a relationship with a father who I can't even have a conversation with?"
Mitchel just sat there now, silent. Wondering. Was there really anyone listening, or was he just letting out hot air?
The angel squatted down where he stood, several feet above the ground in the corner of the room. He looked down on the young man before him, the man that he had watched and protected since the day he was born. He winced in inner conflict as the man spoke to him, shying away his gaze when the man seemed to look in his direction. The angel wanted to respond so badly; his muscles were tense from self-restraint.
He wanted to tell Mitchel that God loved him very much, and that he tried to commune with him daily, but sometimes Mitchel's own thoughts and actions silenced his father's voice. He never really understood why the Master chose not to speak audibly, but he respected it. If God saw fit to reserve his voice for heaven, then let it be. As for himself, the angel wished to God that he be aloud to speak. He prayed and asked, but the Lord said "no." The time was not right and he needed to be patient.
The angel tried to be patient. He tried so very hard, but as he looked upon this man that he loved and had cared for all his life, he was nearly ready to give in. God would forgive him for this. He had to tell Mitchel the truth about things, about God...
"Fine." Mitchel stood up, looking around one more time. "If you don't want to talk to me, that's cool. I understand that you must have good reason not to make yourself known, so I won't press you further. I'm sorry if i've been asking you to break orders. Thanks for what you do that I can't even see. For all I know, you've been too busy fighting off demons to talk with me. Anyway, thanks."
The angel turned over the sword in his hand idly. He hadn't needed it in the last few days, but that last battle was still fresh in his mind. "You're welcome, Mitchel – you're welcome."
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