His voice was high pitched, irritating in a Steve Buscemi kind-of-way. The imp was nervous too; frigidity. He quivered as he spoke.
“What’re you doing here, Michael? He’s just a kid with a crayon. There are 200 million of you guys. Why you?”
The Archangel did not speak, but stood guard over six year-old Bobby Kemp in his grandmother’s bedroom while she prayed in her den.
“So you’re not talking. I understand; you tossed my boss out of Heaven, so why worry about me? I’m just a little harasser; small fish, big pond. I get it. Maybe I’ll just leave you and the kid alone?”
The imp observed the angel’s hand slide to his sword.
“Okay, I take a hint.”
The deformed demon shifted his gaze from the angelic warrior to the boy he had been assigned to harass. He watched Bobby pick up a black crayon, put it back in the box, pull out a red one, and then a green colored one, followed by a blue.
“Come on, kid. Just pick one, already. What’s the difference?”
“One more word and I will smite you,” the Archangel Michael ordered.
“Smite me?” the little demon mocked. “Smite? Who says smite anymore. It’s 2010 big guy. Look around, there’s no King James here.”
The imp’s momentary bravado quickly faded as he felt the angel’s strong grip squeeze his crooked neck.
“I smite. And when I smite; you stay smote … poof … gone … no 2011, little guy. Now silence, the boy has a letter to write. And the color is important.”
The imp fell limp as the angel let loose of his throat. Gasping for whatever imp’s breathe, he cautiously eyed Bobby decide on a purple crayon. The first grader positioned it over his yellow construction paper. He printed slowly and deliberately. Bobby bit his tongue and squint his eyes as the crayon formed each letter.
“Daddy! He’s writing his daddy? The great Archangel Michael is here to make sure the infamous Quinton Calloway Kemp, convicted killer, gets a letter from the kid he left motherless. What’s he going to write, he forgives daddy for strangling his mommy?”
To the imp’s amazement, the Archangel spoke calmly.
“You know he was framed.”
“So,” the surprised demon spit in response. “But as we speak he’s going to kill himself; hang in his cell.”
“Not tonight. And he will not think about it again until the morning before he receives this letter with purple crayon scribbled on yellow construction paper. It is going to cause him to call out my Lord’s name. He will be saved. Soon after, he will be miraculously released from prison because of new evidence. Mr. Kemp will come home and take his son to church. He will share his testimony. Five other little boys whose dads are not at church will hear the testimony and take those words home.”
The imp interrupted. “But why you, the great Archangel Michael, here at Grandma Kemp’s house? Surely there is some great spiritual battle in the Heavens that require your skill or attention? Any one of a million angels could have dispatched me.”
“There is no greater fight in this hour. I am fighting for father's hearts to return to the children and the children's hearts to their fathers.”
“I’m not going to hear a trump call any time soon, am I?”
“That is not for me to know.”
“So who murdered Bobby’s mother?”
“One of the five dads.”
“What will happen?”
“That is up to him, but I know my Lord’s will.”
“You are out of a job.”
“By the way, what did the kid write?”
The angel stepped aside: DADDY I LUV YOU. I PRAYED FOR YOU. I HAVE A NEW FREIND. HIS NAME IS MIKEL. HE HAS THE KOOLEST SWORD. I DONT FEL SAD NOMORE.
LUV BOBBY XXX OOO
“Hey, what’s with the sword? I thought …”
“Bobby, are you ready for some lunch?”
“Yes, Grandmommy, I just finished writing Daddy a letter.”
“Great, I just finished praying. Bring the letter and let’s mail it.”
“Okay. Hey, Grandmommy, did I ever tell you about my friend, Mikel?”
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.