God’s Christmas Angel
God knew things were getting serious the day his Chief Angel put in for early
retirement.
One glance took in the matted wing feathers, blood stained gown, a tarnished
dullness around the halo. So he signed a travel form for the Celestial Fields at
once. “You need a rest,” he said with concern. “You’ve had a tough year
dealing with so many wars, famines and earthquakes, not to mention inner city
riots. You've done a good job, but it’s worn you out. Take a holiday and
don’t worry. Things are never so bad we can’t cope.”
Reassured the weary Angel trailed off to rekindle his heavenly ardour.
**********
Kevin, aged six and three quarters, crossed the fingers of both hands behind his
back, closed his eyes tight and held his breath as Miss Mortimer read out the
cast list for the Sunday School nativity play.
For the past two years Kevin had been cast as a shepherd, but Mum had given his
old brown dressing gown to the jumble so he had no suitable shepherding costume
this year. A king wouldn’t be bad, but what he really wanted to be was The
Angel. He knew the words already off by heart, and last week on Blue Peter they
had shown you how to make a wonderful halo from tinsel and a coat hanger.
“... and Kevin will be The Angel.” Kevin was wishing so hard, he almost
missed the magic words when they came. His blue eyes opened wide and his blonde
head shot up as he gazed at Miss Mortimer in delight. How he loved her. She had
dark curly hair and wore big soft jumpers, and some times she brought her guitar
and played it while she sang songs with the children.
As the rehearsal began in a chaos of children’s questions, Kevin made up his
mind that he would be the best Angel St Mary’s Sunday School had ever seen.
**********
By Christmas Eve the little play was rehearsed, the costumes made and the stable
scene set. As Kevin gazed out of the sitting room window after lunch he saw to
his delight that just to make everything perfect it was beginning to snow.
Flakes tumbled thick and fast out of the heavy grey sky. Mum helped him into his
coat and wellingtons so he could go out and explore the silent world of the
front garden.
“Wot you doing?’ a plaintive little voice asked through the curly iron of
the front gate, and Kevin saw his young neighbour Frankie peering in at him.
“I'm making a snowman,” said Kevin. “Do you want to come and help?”
‘You can’t make a snowman, there isn’t enough snow,” Frankie replied and
sniffed loudly through a red, pinched looking little nose. So Kevin abandoned
the melting handfuls of snowflakes he was trying unsuccessfully to gather
together and sauntered over to face Frankie, climbing up so he could swing on
the inside of the iron gate.
“Are you ready for the play tonight?” he asked, but there was no answering
flicker of excitement or enthusiasm from his young companion.
“I don’t want to be in the play,” Frankie whined and the pinched face set
sulkily. “I hate Christmas,” he added suddenly.
Kevin was shocked and paused his sideways swinging on the gate. “But everybody
likes Christmas. It’s the best day of the year. Lots of presents and everybody
in a good mood.”
“Mum says she can’t afford to buy me a Robot Transformer. She said I’m
getting Lego again.”
Kevin began swinging again from side to side. He knew Frankie and his mother
lived alone and they didn’t have much money. He had heard his parents talking
about Frankie’s mum, it was the sort of conversation that stopped suddenly
when he came into the room. “You’ll get a present from Miss Mortimer after
the play,” he said, hoping to cheer his friend up.
“It’s all right for you,” Frankie continued to whine. “You’re the
Angel, I’m only a stupid shepherd and I’ve got to wear a horrible brown
dressing gown Mum got from the jumble sale. I wish I could be the Angel.”
Kevin was beginning to feel uncomfortable inside, and he was thankful to hear
his mother calling him. With a brief “see you later” he raced indoors.
“Mum...”’ he ventured as his mother pulled off his snowy red wellingtons,
“…could Frankie and his Mum come to us for Christmas Day, they’re on their
own and can't afford a Robot Transformer.”
“What are you talking about,” his mother said hurrying back to the warm
confusion of her busy kitchen.
“Can Frankie come to us for Christmas,” Kevin pursued her through the
kitchen door.
“Don’t be silly Kevin. I can’t possibly cope with extra visitors. Nanny
and Grandad are coming, and Aunty Sandra and all her family. Now mind out of my
way I want to get to the oven.”
**********
Kevin arrived early at the church hall. He walked slowly across to his peg,
touched the long white gown and gazed at the coat hanger halo. It had been a lot
more difficult to make than it had looked on Blue Peter, but in the end Mum had
managed to make it stand jauntily above his golden curls. “The best Angel
ever,” he whispered to himself.
“You’re early,” said Miss Mortimer, rushing into the room in a flurry of
carrier bags and snowflakes. “It’s too soon to get changed, you’ll freeze
in that costume.”
“Please Miss Mortimer...” Kevin hesitated, not sure if he had her full
attention. “I don’t want to be The Angel.”
Miss Mortimer looked at the little star of her show in surprise. “Don’t be
silly Kevin,” she said. “All the best actors get stage fright before their
big performance, you’ll be all right when the play begins.”
“I’m not stage frightened,” he said, not even knowing what she meant. “I
think Frankie ought to be the Angel.”
Something in the intensity of the little boy captured Miss Mortimer’s full
attention at last. “Frankie” she asked in puzzled, amazement. Frankie was
the awkward little child with unsightly patches of eczema whom she had managed
to hide in the back row of the shepherds. He had none of Kevin’s natural
charm, nor his golden curls and wide blue eyes. Besides, all Kevin’s family
would be in the audience to see their boy perform. “Why do you think Frankie
ought to be the Angel?” she asked.
“He says he doesn’t like Christmas and they can’t afford a Robot
Transformer and he’s wearing my old dressing gown from the jumble sale...”
the story came pouring out as tears began to roll out of the blue eyes and down
the pink cheeks.
“Kevin, you have to be The Angel,” said Miss Mortimer firmly, determined to
avert a last minute crisis. “You’ve rehearsed it and everyone is relying on
you. Frankie doesn’t know the words or the movements. It’s too late to
change it all now. You get into your costume, there’s a good boy, and I’ll
see what I can do about Frankie. And don’t worry about his Robot
Transformer,” she added in a whisper as another group of children arrived
through the door. “... I think Father Christmas might bring it after all.”
With an authoritative pat on the back Miss Mortimer directed Kevin towards his
costume and hurried away.
The audience applauded enthusiastically as the nativity play drew to a close.
The colourful tableau of children clustered around Mary, Joseph and the Baby
Jesus, while above them, standing on a wooden stool, The Angel held his arms out
in blessing. From this vantage point Kevin saw Miss Mortimer and Frankie's
mother smiling and whispering together. Miss Mortimer was making sure the cheque
from the St Mary's Social Fund had arrived in time for Frankie's mum to do some
last minute shopping, and whispered that the Mortimer family would be delighted
if they could come round and help eat their enormous turkey on Christmas Day. In
the back row Frankie secretly wiped his runny nose on the soft sleeve of the
brown dressing gown as the children sang
“…'til like stars his children crowned
all in white shall wait around”
**********
God smiled quietly to himself as the pure young voices came drifting up through
the dark snowy night. No need to worry, there would never be a shortage of
Angels.