An Angel and Child Story
Jennifer Angelina Petro
“Good morning little one,” said the Angel.
“Morning Angel,” said the child.
“You look like you have a question,” said the Angel.
After a short moment thinking, the child said: “Yes, I do.”
“You’re welcome to share it with me, although I cannot guarantee I have the right answer.”
“You always have the right answer.”
“I try. Now what is your question, dear one?”
“Well,” began the child, “I keep thinking this nasty thought—about some of my friends getting hurt—not that I am the one hurting them or even want them hurt—it’s just that this thought keeps coming out of nowhere of them getting hurt somehow, and I don’t like it.”
“I see,” said the Angel.
“And I feel like I can’t stop that thought from being in my mind, and I don’t want it there. What can I do?”
“Well,” offered the Angel, “You could think a different thought.”
“No, I can’t,” said the child, “It’s just there. I can’t help it.”
“You could try,” said the angel.
“Every time the nasty thought comes, catch it, like a fly in a web, and then tuck it over and away, and then, think a different thought.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just what I said.”
“How do I catch a thought?”
“As soon as you realize it’s in your mind catch it, stop the tape, hold the phone, freeze the frame—whatever you want to call it—just notice there’s the thought in your mind you don’t like.”
“And then think a different one—one you do like.”
“That’s impossible,” said the child sitting down defeated on her bed.
“It takes practice,” said the Angel, “You see, we’re so used to believing we have no say, no control, no intentions for what goes through our heads, that we believe we’re helpless to choose thoughts we like.”
“It feels helpless,” said the child, “That thought goes through my mind a million times a day.”
“Some people are helpless,” said the Angel, “they have illnesses that makes it so they need support from outside to help them order their thoughts.”
“What if I am one of the helpless ones?” asked the child.
“Then we get you help,” said the angel, “For now, try it. After all, a thought is just a picture zooping around your mind’s eye. When a picture comes you don’t like, freeze it right there in its tracks, and then pick a different picture to look at.”
“That sounds hard,” said the child.
“It might be,” said the Angel, “and often difficult things are the most rewarding. And besides, it can also be fun—a new adventure in thinking. Think of it like that—an adventure.”
“So, when I think of my friends getting hurt, I catch that picture—like a fly in a web, and then think of a happy picture? Does it have to be about my friends?”
“That’s a good idea,” said the Angel, “That way you’ll still be thinking about your friends but instead of focusing on a picture of them being hurt you can focus on a picture of them being happy, healthy, surrounded by Light.”
“Will you help me?” asked the child.
“Of course,” said the Angel.
“OK,” said the child, “here goes.”
And as the image of her friends getting hurt raced across the screen of her mind, the child stopped it—froze it right where it was, and then, after taking a deep breath, and asking the Angel’s help, created a different picture—one in which her friends were happy, playing, and dancing.
“I did it!” shouted the child.
“I knew you could,” said the angel.
“Wait,” the child said, sinking down into the bed, “the nasty thought is back. It didn’t work.”
“It did work,” said the Angel, “It’s just you might need to do it several times, or a hundred times to get the chosen thought to stick. After all, you said you’ve been thinking the nasty thought a million times a day. It’s like you’ve created a groove or an easy pathway for it to be there. Now it’s time to create another path. You can do it.”
And so, the child did it again.
“It worked,” said the child.
“And it will work over and over, especially the more you feed your mind happy, loving, healthy, positive images. And,” said the Angel, “this will help too.” Suddenly the Angel drew a golden sword from out of the blue. The sword was long, brilliantly shining like the sun, and gleaming with sharpness and power. She laid the sword across her hands and offered it to the child.
“What?!” The child said, her eyes like saucers, her heart racing, her mind afire with wonder, “A sword?!”
“This will help too,” said the Angel, “use it wisely.”
“But, I’m just a kid. I can’t use a sword like that!”
“I wouldn’t share it with you if I thought you couldn’t use. It is alright. It will fit in your hand, and maybe seem heavy, but it will always swing light as a feather and more powerful than lightening when you need it.”
“Wow,” the child said, standing up to take the mighty sword into her hands. She felt its weight, its power. “Does it have a name?” she asked.
“Yes,” said the Angel, “It does. It is called, Truth. Use it when the lies come.”
“Thank you, Angel,” said the child, raising the sword in front of her, “I think this will help. I think this will help indeed.”