“Do I HAVE to do this?”
With her lower lip pouting out, no one noticed the twinkle in her eye as three heads whipped around, shocked into silence at her response.
Lydia poked Ethan, the most serious of the group in the ribs. He moved a half-step, catching her off guard. Off balance, she stumbled.
As natural as gentle waves caressing the beach, Ethan smoothly reached out, hoisted her to a standing position and opened the conversation up.
“She doesn’t understand.”
“No,” replied Hanna, “but there’s nothing we can do about it yet.”
“So who’s going in?”
“Don’t know yet, but look!”
The gray skies were darkening, and a heavy rain fell in sheets, shattering into shards of liquid, hitting rooftops and roads.
Traffic slowed to a crawl. Windshield wipers frantically pushed water from car windows, leaving a precariously short distance available for drivers to safely see.
A lone young woman, worrying over the results of her pregnancy test, frowned.
Exasperated, she hit the steering wheel, squinting out into the rain. “Oh, yeah, why NOT? Perfect. Absolutely perfect.”
Weighing possible scenarios waiting for her at home, she figured the news of her seriously injured or dead body would be better than telling her parents that she was pregnant.
“I can’t keep a baby…I have a life of my own,” she muttered.
Half a mile down the road, a Grandmother, in an act of defiance, snuck the keys her son thought well hidden. Independence and pride were things she was not willing to part with. She too squinted out into the blurry afternoon, concentrating on the road.
A Mother closed the windows of her home and picked up a pair of tennis shoes her daughter left in the living room. The only sound was the rain pummeling down.
With a sigh, she replayed the argument they had the night before.
Opening her daughter’s bedroom door, she dropped the shoes by the unmade bed, and then sat.
Covering her face with her hands, she started to sob.
Crying only helped temporarily.
She needed to pray. Having tried everything else, this couldn’t hurt.
In another home, panic ensued. Grandma, the keys and the car were missing.
Family busied themselves on cell phones; Dad backed out to brave the roads. A small contingency of grandchildren gathered for the weekend huddled in prayer.
Two cars collided. Metal roared, twisted. Windows burst, and rain glossed cold over all.
In the hospital, a room was suddenly crowded with two sets of families.
Hanna smiled, listening.
Ethan frowned, watching the darker unseen visitors glaring down to them from the ceiling. Each creature undulated, snarling, baring teeth and claws, shouldering to shove others aside for the right to get closer.
Lydia, with her ear pressed against God’s heart, stood by the window and listened as words filtered from a third source interpreting hope.
Peter, amazed at how prayer could free them to do His work, kept his eyes glued to another large knot of enemies right outside the window.
While Cassandra, the young woman’s mother quietly shared to all in the room about how she prayed, the Grandchildren shared how they also prayed.
Demons, left with no weapons to use, no temptations to prompt Spiritual deceit, could only snarl from a distance.
The old woman, her breathing slowing, listened.
Struggling to open her heavy eyelids, she felt a hand caress her cheek. Felt the breath of prayers soak into her skin. Silver slits of color gave way to mellow light. Had she voice, words would have been song.
Cool hands, of a Mother.
Four winged creatures nodded at her and she watched, mesmerized as one winked, giving a thumbs up. Another pointed towards the window and shook his head, his wings.
Following his lead, the other three shook theirs, sending feathers large and small flying…
In the corner of the crowded room, a teen sat, eyes closed, praying.
Where each feather lay, where each feather lifted out or up, another Angel walked through solid matter to take its place.
Silently, the room filled with a vision of pure white on white.
Wings spread wide and tall, touching the outer edges of each Angel, locking a chained wall of steel enforced granite. Feathers still continued to dance free, upward still, arching above a contingency of guards.
Surrounding the room as a cocoon of protection, they blocked vision from evil’s touch.
Four Angels, waiting on prayer.
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