“Monsters will always exist. There’s one inside each of us. But an angel lives there, too. There is no more important agenda than figuring out how to slay one and nurture the other.”
— Jacqueline Novogratz
Fallen Angel
Oh the hubris of youth, the lack of understanding, the carefree mind steeped in innocence—the total cluelessness. There was a time when I thought I was an angel, but let me explain . . .
I remember going to my grandmother’s church when I was a little girl, perhaps age four or five. The church was a small, white frame building set back off a dirt road in the woods with a family cemetery behind it. It had a country congregation and a typical Southern name, including the obligatory Southern tree such as pine or oak. I always enjoyed going there because it was a simpler place in a simpler time, and everyone was so nice.
I tried to be on my best behavior and contrary to some childhood behavior we often see, I did not wiggle or snicker, or busy myself with some toy. Now, you might question that from a four or five year old, except for the fact that I was an only child, used to being around adults, and hearing their conversations. So, when the preacher began to preach, it was like E. F. Hutton – I listened.
I particularly remember someone speaking of angels once. They were described as kind and gentle, and having extraordinary powers. But mostly I remember that they were described as “loving everyone.” I perked up at that, for I felt that was me. At that point in my life, I did love everyone.
I had lots of aunts and uncles on both sides, yielding lots of cousins, and at every family gathering I had a wonderful time. A bit of an introvert to the world at large, I let my hair down and was my true self with my family. With friends in our city, I was a bit more reserved, but I loved them as well. This included merchants, shoppers we came to know, and just the man and woman on the street. I loved them all—wherever I went, it seemed like my parents knew everyone and that was a strong cue to be polite and kind. (We Southern Angels are most particularly schooled in kind and ladylike demeanor.)
Well, I thought on this for a while and decided I must be an angel. I had seen small angels in pictures, thus it was possible for a little person like me to have a place in heaven. So, I tried to portray myself as one of these special entities. I was kind to animals, to friends, family and people in general as I imagined that as the job description for an angel. I felt that by imitating angelic behavior I would ensure that I was on the road to winning my wings or halo, or both.
I purely and simply went around acting as if I were an angel. Those who know me now would fall down laughing at this. You see, age has beaten me down. There clearly is no chance that at 72 I could remotely be mistaken for an angel!
I am not a bad person, not evil or false. I am just plain vanilla, like the next gal. I was the president of the PTA, the president of my neighborhood group for a while, and I worked in a job that helped people. So, I’m okay on the general scale, but still no angel.
And sometimes that makes me sad, because I recall a time once when I believed with all my heart I was good, and kind and loved everyone. That’s a tall order nowadays in this old world of high tech, less family time, world unrest and just general all around cantankerousness. I guess that’s where the innocence served me well. For one brief shining moment I knew a world that was only good and peopled with folks who were exemplary. So, while I do not sport any wings or have a shining halo, I think I shall hark back to that little girl who believed the impossible. Maybe I can capture a scintilla of what the smaller me believed in a bygone time. For you see, belief can be a powerful tool.