Calling all Angels


Sometimes I can almost see the angels that surround us.  

It has nothing to do with religion.  And I don’t mean cherubic little babies with detachable wings and burgundy-colored  lutes.  I’m talking about the protective energy that keeps us safe in situations where human judgement is curious and impish.  These angels.  The ones who offer us three strikes against ourselves.  

Without a doubt, I feel them.  I always have. And, at times in my life I have played the odds against them, hoping that I would lose my own bet. But, the angels are wiser then us all.  They know, better than any of us, when we need to feel loved and when we need to hurt.  They know when there is still hope for us to find our best selves.  And like supreme chess players, they set us up to capture the king.  The mystery lies in whether or not we catch on to their plan.

Sometimes I ignore my angels.  I lose sight of the big picture that is this life.  I lie to myself and try to believe that if I stay focused and keep walking, moving, crawling, I will find myself.  I forget that each encounter with life is precious and meaningful and perfect.  I refuse to cry when my heart is wounded.  I pretend to know peace when fueled with rage.  I have become skilled at detours and masked confusion.  I give up my queen.  

When I use the word faith in certain company it is met with calm. With other people however, the word incites lightning quick hostility.  Faith is simply belief without proof.  Knowing without needing to be shown.  Its a window into what might be and into what personal truth might look like.  For me it’s the angels.  They have always been around me, whispering, even when I refuse to listen.  


Press Play, angel:


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