Irish: An Angel's Journey

by David Pollitt

  Chapter 2

  The Journey Begins

  Minutes later, Aaron, Irish, and Grace were standing in front of the Sunday night worship service at the Tabernacle Baptist Church in downtown Los Angeles. They stood on the steps preparing to go in as it started its service. Aaron was dressed in khaki Duck pants and another loose-fitting, blue, denim shirt. He had replaced his high-laced boots with low-cut Dockers. Grace replaced her rolled-up jeans with a simple yellow dress adorned with white, embroidered flowers and yellow bows on her braids. Irish wore a soft-cotton sundress that ended at her feet and flowed with her as she walked. It exposed her slender neckline, allowing wisps of dark hair to wrap around her face, barely touching her shoulders.

  They knew a church bus was leaving for Camp Praise hundreds of miles away after this evening's church service, and Grace and Irish wanted a ride. They wanted to be around Christians as much as possible before launching into the secular world. The task was to convince these believers to let them come along.

  Grace and Irish walked through the church doors first. The preacher was making some announcements; and when he saw them, he stuttered. He noticed the awesome beauty of Irish but even more striking was how out of place these two were in this black church, especially in this part of Los Angeles. This was not a place for two white women by themselves. The preacher was very unsettled by their presence; and although he didn't have a prejudiced bone in his body; these weren’t the best visitors, right now.

  Aaron delayed his entrance on purpose. As he waited on the church steps, a ‘64 GTO, with bullet holes peppered over it, pulled up to the front curb. Aaron smiled knowingly about this trouble as five kids piled out to take advantage of this lone white guy. As Aaron stood up, his smile changed to a cold-flint stare with edges of his stars eyes pushing out around his contacts. Aaron stood on the third step above them as they arranged themselves near and around him, never saying a word between them; they had done this before.

  He spoke curtly, "You young men have something you want to say or are you here for church?"

  He took a wide-braced stance and readied himself with one hand fingering the high handle of his sword, which appeared behind his neck. The width of his blade caught reflections from the evening sunset, and he pulled it up from its sheath by only a foot, but just enough to send an instant message.

  "This guy's packing a blade, a big blade!" they thought together and looked nervously at one another. As they watched him stand and square off, their attitudes were transformed by his size and the size of his sword. They could tell it was at least a foot wide. They went from being brave adversaries to harmless, all in a matter of seconds. Slowly, without a word, they moved back into the car, and without rushing away, drove at a crawl while they kept their eyes locked on him until out of sight. They never discussed it again. They just wanted to forget, but they wouldn't.

  The girls sat quietly in the back of the church while the rest of the congregation slowly became aware of them. There were sixty fashionably dressed brethren, including many women with colorful hats, even for a Sunday evening. The men were dressed with double-breasted suits or blazers with vests, in spite of how warm it was. The kids were packed for the Christian camp with their baggage leaning against the back-church walls. The men noticing them whispered and thumbed Irish's direction. Their women noticed them eyeing Irish, and after a backward glance, understood why. After several announcements, Pastor Hightower turned the podium over to his assistant pastor and walked back towards the girls. As he approached, he felt God's presence rising powerfully within him. He felt that God was somehow involved with these two.

  He reached their pew as the collection was taking place, bent towards Irish, and whispered, "Ma'am, are you sure you're in the right place?"

  He held his breath and barely noticed two pin-light spots of light in Grace’s eyes as Irish reached out to touch his hand. He gasped in surprise as a great sense of peace flooded over him.

  "What's happening? Who are these two?" he thought to himself.

  Irish answered him, "We're sure. This is where we need to be. We are journeying. Will you help us in our journey?" Irish saw the surprised look on his face as her singsong, Celtic voice rang in a soothing melody through the church.

  "I...we...don't know you." He felt awkward saying it, but he felt the pressure of his congregation’s eyes staring at his back. He felt compelled to reach out and gently pat Irish's hand. He wanted to be close to her. He knew she was special but didn't understand why.

  Irish motioned him to come closer, "Please, can I tell you a secret?"

  The pastor leaned even closer, and the church mumbled among each other. It was unclear what was happening. A heavy black woman with a Bible in her hand stormed from the front pew towards them.

  Before the pastor could hear the secret, the lady reached them, speaking loudly, "Preacher, you aren't running off our guests, are you?" She grinned, and there was an acknowledging wink from Irish. Almost upon impulse, Grace scooted out of the pew and hugged the lady. Instantly, the lady smiled as she felt a rush of the Spirit of God move in her heart.

  She raised her hands and shouted, "Glory! Glory! Glory! Praise the Lord! Pastor, we have special people hear tonight. Glory!" She knew these guests were sent from God; and as she shouted, others chimed in, not still certain what she knew, but trusting in her Holy Ghost instincts.

  Irish continued to pull the pastor closer as if she would kiss him; but instead, she lowered her sunglasses just a peek, and her rainbow-colored star-eyes shot out in all directions. They pushed at him so hard that he fell back into the pew aisle. Irish quickly slid the glasses back in place and smiled, then reached down to help him up.

  "Do you understand, pastor?" asked Irish as she quickly hugged him and returned to her pew while holding a finger up to her mouth as to say, "Not a word."

  He understood. How could he not? It reached down into his inner man so greatly that he could hardly breathe. He turned to hug Sister Gloria, and it all spilled out, "Sister Gloria, they’re angels! Oh no! I wasn't supposed to tell!"

  Irish shook her head, and Grace laughed at his embarrassment. Irish took Grace's hand and pulled her near. "Remember this. There is no such thing as a secret with humans. Even our Lord couldn't keep those He healed quiet; even though, he instructed them not say a word. Got it?"

  Grace nodded, taking a mental note saying, "Got it, but I still think it's funny."

  The men in the church were still not sure what was going on. To them, they were only a couple of harmless white girls. However, they changed their minds quickly enough as Aaron walked in.

  A shock wave rolled through the crowd. "Who is this? Is this an invasion?"

  Some thought Aaron was a professional wrestler from TV, and they were trying to remember which one.

  Aaron approached the girls and sat down between them. The pastor cautiously came back and asked, "Is he on the same journey as you?"

  "No," Irish replied. "He's our escort to Los Angeles. Aaron will be leaving after the service. Won't you, Aaron?" Irish looped her hand through his arm and moved close to him, laying her head against his huge shoulder. The pastor turned and decided to pay attention to his congregation. Some were still shouting in prayer and praise with Sister Gloria.

  Several older men came directly to the back and handed Aaron a pencil and paper. They knew he had to be famous, but they just didn't know for sure. "Can we have your autograph? Mister...?"

  "Aaron," he replied and smiled broadly at the human infatuation.

  Aaron took their pencils and signed, "Aaron, angel power of the Most High God and commander of the angel legions." He folded each paper around their pencils and stuck each into their shirt pockets. They thanked him and rushed back to the pew to see if they recognized his name. As they unfolded their paper, one man turned instantly around to look at Aaron again, then he turned staring wide-eyed at his friend.

  "Do you think?" he asked his friend.

  "Man, I ho
pe so. I'd hate to think someone that big was from the other side."

  They immediately passed the note through the congregation. The church rumbled with excitement and started singing "Victory in Jesus." A glory march started; and after circling the church several times, they met at the altar, still praising God.

  The pastor came back to them again and asked, "Aaron, I really believe you all are who you say you are. Since I do, can you speak to us?" He left the question open to any volunteers.

  Aaron got up, towering over the pastor while placing his hand on his shoulder saying, "Of course."

  The congregation seated themselves, and the preacher escorted all three to the front. Grace was fascinated by the activity: the praise, the worship, the singing.

  She whispered to Irish, "This is like heaven. Is this the way all humans act in church?"

  Irish bowed a sad nod and said, "The ones who enjoy the Lord the most. Most haven't figured it out yet. You see what they're missing? That's why we have to teach them so much when they get to heaven. They have to learn all over again. You'll be teaching some of those classes yourself, soon."

  Aaron stood up; and with a deep baritone voice, he shouted, "Praise to our Lord and King!"

  The church shouted back the same, some never stopping. Some still hadn't figured out what this big white man was doing in their church. They had missed the note and hadn't gotten anyone calmed down enough to tell them.

  "I've brought two of heaven's best to start a journey. They'd like to start it with you first, if you're willing."

  There were still doubters, and Aaron needed to have all of their attention. As he took his contacts off, his star-eyes brilliantly pierced the evening shades, overpowering even the tall ceiling lights. His wings shot out, wrapping his frame in a white-feathered coat as he pulled out his sword, sticking it into the front altar flooring. Irish joined him, and her rainbow colors broke out in all directions with her multi-colored aura matching her rainbow eyes. Grace got the message, and her own wings came out but were too large and touched the floor around her—she needed to grow into them some.

  For a minute, there was complete silence and fear with thoughts such as, "Are these angels the angels of wrath?" There was repentance and contrition going on in fast order.

  Aaron comforted them, "We're here on a journey. We're not here to act in any ways contrary to the love of God. Don't be afraid. We're here because we want our new angel, Grace, to learn about humans before she is sent on an assignment to help Christian families as an heir-servant angel." There was a sigh of relief.

  "We're always around. We're always near to help you in time of need. Don't ever think we aren't. I'm a 'power' created of God for battle against dark angels, evil forces, and demons. Irish is an heir-servant angel who lives and ministers to Christian ministers, missionaries, and those who serve God in full-time service. I must leave, but please, accept the opportunity to be with these two on your short trip on their very long journey."

  Aaron turned to Grace, picked her up, and squeezed her affectionately. He turned to Irish and held her to him lovingly. The congregation noticed the sparks between them, and the women of the church aaawed and ooowed. Aaron nodded to the pastor, shook his hand, and disappeared.

  The church was again silent. The preacher broke the silence and asked, "What can we do for you?"

  Others chimed in and yelled, "Whatever you want! Whatever you need!"

  Grace and Irish pulled their wings into themselves and said, "How about a ride?"

  The preacher said, "Is that all?"

  "Believe me, it's just enough," answered Irish and Grace in unison.

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