The following is a short story and intro to a character as written by Blogger Paddy Picaso, it’s called ” Our Teachers”, and it’s theme is the awareness of divine intervention in a nutshell.
Heaven is busy again. Nelson Mandela is chatting up Whitney,
Elvis is teaching God Most High guitar, St Peter is doing the usual press release,
God is sounding better than Eric Clapton, Elvis is stunned.
You learned that in a minute, he says in that drawl,
St Peter is a slow typist, Steve Jobs is showing him how to use an apple, can I bite laughs Peter, The mood among the gathering is high, the evil front is on the run, it’s total harmony, and the angels are moving easily below, cutting down one by one, the threads of the evil web, in time there will be none.
One last push states God, they are getting it right down there at last, I haven’t laughed this much in years, his joy is as infectious as a cherished child, anyone with a special request he smiles, he’s ready to pour out his graces, a double dose of the miraculous is on, an Irish Monk, a celebrated preacher while on earth, fosterer of the ways of Jesus, is centre stage.
He has his list of prayer requests, there are tears in his eyes, understands the hopes of many are coming through, he remembers some old friends, in particular a small bunch of cheerful nuns, they feed the poor and clothe everyone they can, they have a crisis in funding, and have been praying to Father Nivard, a bottle of Irish whiskey in his hand, he can drink as much as he wants, doesn’t get tipsy anymore, no one ever in Heaven feels unwell.
He looks over at Whitney, a hymn for an old man he wonders; she reads his mind and sings him Christmas carols instead.
There are serious matters for consideration; the spirit pf wisdom is being poured out below. How’s the boy doing down there, God looks at Peter,
I sent then your instructions boss. The Great One Smiles.
The angel stands by the bed, watches the rhythmic breathing, the soul sleeping, is at peace. A silent prayer is spoken by the angelic form, he repeats it, the child is being infused with the dreams of tomorrow, been given the answers to questions that only God Most High could have provided. No one will get the better of this one. Wisdom is being applied. Difficulties are being wiped away. A prayer in the ear, there is no better way to sort out the problem, the new souls are under a barrage, and Solomon mentioned a prayer, which could not be interfered with, absolute simplicity. Each hazard is being removed. A word in a conversation, enough to startle, remind them, the child, all the children are getting wiser, and the beauty of it, it is planned.
The bully online, in the class room, self seeking, they will not be able to deal with it, these wise ones. Once the new soul has concentrated assistance, warnings that are not warnings, but enlightenment,
“sow the strength in them, equip them” so the angel over the bed prays. It’s his personal wish added to the prior prayers.
The child will wake in a few minutes to visit the bathroom.
The covers are moved over, the little legs hit the floor. He wipes his eyes, sleepy, but he needs to do his toilet, the angel made sure the mother gave the child a drink shortly before going down. His bare feet pat the wooden floor, its twenty little steps. He switches on the light, eyes squish again, adjusts. He does not lift the seat, whatever, the angel is laughing. He’ll write it on the blackboard, the teacher that is, clean yourselves. There is a sweet smell in the bathroom, the essence of wellbeing, its fresh sweet and natural. He wipes his eyes, can see the outline, but is not afraid; the instinct of fear has been removed. He smiles, the boy that is. He looks at the outline; I’ve seen you before he says.
He gets into the bed, its an angel, he just knows. Does that mean it’s going to be all good he wonders to himself? Yes, he is instinctively told, as he wraps the duvet around his head. I did by the way, then apologises, how did you know, he giggles to himself. Next time I’ll wash my teeth as well. The angel departs; the visit is imprinted, amen.
Solomon is looking at the arrangement of shirts on the bed, he’s excited, got to chose what to wear, his first assignment, as a supply teacher. He wants to be upbeat, bright colours, never been in a school room before. He’s going to wear blue, that’s his colour, well, it’s all he ever wears, and he didn’t have time for a shop. There is a mirror on the door, full length. He’s never noticed it before, but he’s all concerned about his appearance now. Wants the first impression to hit the spot, he is going to be assisting a female teacher, cute too he is told. The instructions were clear; there was a class in need of comprehensive change. The agency contact was an undercover angel. She’s had angel glitter poured on her, the teacher, her social life is a disaster, time to make an impression. Solomon is more nervous than he was the day he first went to school. He nearly didn’t go something he still remembers. His mother had to sit with him for the first hour.
It’s a bedroom, outside its dark, early morning, an estate in the country, a dog barks, another follows suit, a hand reaches over and switches off the alarm clock. That time already, she takes a deep breath. Her legs appear over the bedside, a woman is standing, she’s alone in the room, unmarried, she’s a school teacher. She has an hour drive to her destination. Thirtyish going on seventy, the work ages her, and on her salary she was never able to afford a place near her work
She pats the floor to the en suite, what a joy it was, there was two of them then, he was a teacher also, till he found out he didn’t love her after they had moved in. he still pays half the mortgage, they will sell the house in a couple of years, at least they still are friends. The shower button is pressed, the nozzle begins to drizzle, she reaches in and tests the heat of it. Passing by the mirror she retches almost from her reflection, she is only pale faced this early in the day, most days she doesn’t even notice. Your roots are showing, she is talking to herself, same time she drops her pyjamas on the floor and steps in. a good five minutes, she forgets the day ahead, she won’t start thinking about the job until she has a coffee first. These five minutes is her time. Once in the class, the stress of minding other people’s children will overcome her, leave nothing for her. Only their progress is what makes the vocation worth it. Working with those who have difficulties means something to her, reminds her that she is not on her own……
Part Two / the completion of the story will be posted tomorrow 🙂
Thank you Paddy for sharing your unique viewpoint and insights. This is GREAT 🙂