The Last Angel’s Love
A fable for Mother’s Day.
Back when God created the world, He set the angels to work in the unseen realms. There, from the endless resources of God’s bounty, they fashioned the invisible qualities of faith, joy, and hope.
On the final day God said, “Today you shall form the greatest of all invisible things that will go into My world.”
And God rolled out a great white sheet called love. He set the angels to work on it with golden scissors, to trim it and shape it and fashion it to the needs of the new world.
As the day drew to a close, God returned to inspect the angels work.
“See,” said the first angel, holding up two hands clasped together. ”This is brotherly love between men–goodwill. It will draw mankind together in noble purposes until the end of time.”
“Good,” said God. “You have done well.”
Another angel help up two hearts pierced through with an arrow–the first valentine. “O Father of love, I have fashioned the love between a man and a woman–two hearts that beat and blend together, pierced with an arrow of light from Your throne.”
“Well done,” said God. And the second angel stepped aside.
“Great Father,” said a third angel, “Though my work be humble–yet there is a need.’ He held up the shape of a shepherd’s staff and explained the love between men and their creatures.
Many other angels followed with their carefully snipped pieces–each a different love that would fill the world and set it singing on its course.
Finally the last angels stood before the Lord. His face was troubled. “I snipped with my scissors half the day,’ he faltered. “And I made nothing but what the others had done before. But then, Lord, I found a rare piece among the scraps the others left behind. It was strange indeed–for when I held it in my hands it made me laugh and cry and sing softly. It filled me with longing and made me weary and happy and sad and full of hope and tenderness. It moved me so much that I forgot my scissors and have spent all this time in the wonder of it. I know not what love it is, my Lord, but I bring it to You now.” And the last angel held out a jagged, rumpled, ragged piece of white–all torn and with holes snipped in it by careless scissors.
The angels gasped in shock. But God took it in His hands. He smiled, and a tear ran down His cheek. All the angels stood in silent amazement, their golden scissors forgotten.
Then God said, “This is the love of a mother–and what would my world be without it? It can be torn, it can be worn, and still endure. It can be stretched and stamped, and go on. It can be forgotten, but won’t forget. If all other loves fail, a mother’s love will bring human hearts alive again–and sing them lullabies and tuck them into bed and pray for them when they have children of their own and are far away. This is the mother of all the loves, for all have been taken from her.”
Then God stopped speaking. The love grew bright in His hand and blazed with a light like His own. And he gave it to the angel again and said, “Lead the way into My newborn world. And may the other loves follow each to its place. For it is good. It is very good!”
c2002 Skip Johnson