Irish: An Angel's Journey Read online

  Chapter 1

  Heavenly Surprise

  Irish rolled up her Levi jeans to just below her knees. She sighed restfully, lifted her head upwards, and sniffed at the pleasant, new-rain smell as the fragrant dew slightly misted her face. She licked her upper lip while tasting and savoring the sweet moisture. She pushed with a slight hand against her own rainbow colors as if wanting to hold them, caress them, partake of them, and know them. They were intensely vivid colors that adorned and glorified heir-servant angels. They blended together around her, moving in soft, swirling motions that seemed to have a life and nature of their own.

  She saw the brilliance of the Holy City cascading its crystal-jasper light from over five-hundred miles away. The colors of the heavenly wall surrounding the city were mixed together with millions of its gems from deeply embedded (green) jasper adorned with (bright-blue) sapphires, a multitude of (greenish-blue) chalcedony agates, and emeralds setoff with the deep richness of sardonyx and (red-and-white) sardius. They were all laced brightly with (red) chrysolite and the famous (golden) beryl. The deep greens: from the (sea-green) Topaz with (yellow-green) chrysoprase, and (apple-green) jacinth joined with the (blue) amethyst, merging with their dazzling reflections into the pond water beneath her, which comforted and excited her at the same time.

  This was her favorite place of recluse in between Paul and Peter’s gate in the Eastern region of heaven. For some reason, it was seldom visited by angels or other immortals, which made it her perfect sanctuary of solitude and privacy. Maybe it was less traveled because it was several hundred miles from the more popular paths of ancient trees of life growing closely to the crystal rivers that flowed brilliantly around and from the throne of God.

  She always missed this place when on earth—on a mission. Who would she be with next time? What kind of assignment would it be? It had been ten years since her last assignment. She thought warmly of other times; those assignments changed the journey of many families. She stayed with some until they were all buried except the youngest. With some, she became their helpmate, wife, certainly their best friend: of ministers, apostles, and missionaries; until, they too left to be with the Lord. She met them upon returning to heaven, hardly recognizing the imprint of the flesh on their glorified form. They knew her too, but it was different this time. They were free from the restraint of the flesh. They were so filled with the awe of their own new being that they seldom gave her but an occasional, but loving nod, midst the glory that surrounded them.

  Irish dove into the pond thrilled at the feeling of the resplendent water around her. She reached the bottom of the white, crystalline sand, letting her own rainbow, heir-servant colors light up the sand below her, sending back a shower of sparkling, thrilling, kaleidoscope reflections. She turned repeatedly, moving through the myriad of colors, enjoying the heightened pleasure of the bold currents of warmth and an occasional cold spot hidden under the shadow of one of heaven's massive eon trees.

  She tucked her feet and rolled artfully, shooting up towards the afternoon light. It never faded except for a moment at evening when the light was a cool, soothing blend of shades, shadows, and rest-time tones. She climbed up on a wooden raft anchored in the middle of the pond; all elements created from her own imagination. She stretched her hands skyward while arching her back, seeking the warmth of heaven’s light and dropped her hands to her face, moving them down over her body pushing the wetness from her, keenly aware of her own touch and senses. She smelled the sweet mint from the trees of life invading her consciousness; and knew, she’d pick some leaves to munch on later, a special treat. The human immortals sought the fruit more than the healing leaves, but she always counted on the euphoria from the green-pepper thick leaves to lift her even higher—an ecclesiastical rush.

  Suddenly, she became aware of someone watching her. She couldn't tell from a distance who, but their life force wasn’t an immortal, only a subtle ebb of angelic life. She caught herself in an awkward moment of shyness, wearing only her rolled-up jeans without her wings extended to cover her. She turned her bare back from the visitor’s direction, and with a human blush, covered herself with her soft wings, shrouding herself in their warmth.

  Pond water still dripped from her dark gypsy hair. Her dark eyes with their rainbow-colored star-eyes, as humans called them, grew large and dazzling, matching the reflected colors of the water and absorbing all the heavenly hues and tones. She thought her jeans dry, adding to her wardrobe a small, cotton tank top, ending slightly above her waist—she enjoyed human fashion. She was gracefully trim, standing a little over six foot, with long muscled legs and thighs, perfectly displaying her exquisite, angelic beauty—irresistibly made.

  The visitor approached from behind a small grove of trees. A small girl smiled, and Irish noticed she was a new creation. No wonder her presence was only a light accent, pulse, too new to be any other way.

  The little girl was surrounded by a white, creating light, no rainbow colors like Irish. She wasn't completely formed, perfected, yet. Irish could tell that she and God were discovering her own shape, looks, and finally there was a significant moment when the girl settled with what were to be her permanent features. Her long, blonde, braided hair stuck out on both sides of her face, perfectly woven in place with bright, red bows at the end of each braid. She was so small that she looked frighteningly fragile, like she could walk across a piano keyboard without making a sound. Her tiny, miniature features made her look far younger as a human than she was, seven-years old when she was supposed to be ten. Her front teeth were larger than the others, filling her mouth with a bugs-bunny, cute smile. Her eyes were not full up with stars, yet. That would come with time and angelic experience. They were only bright pinpoints in the center of deep blues, and her face was arrayed with scattered freckles lined like an army of melon-colored soldiers.

  She was so disarming and innocent that Irish sighed, remembering when she was that young. During her short youth, she had many questions, mostly about humans, but was created with all the heaven’s wisdom and understanding. The girl sent a short mind-message, which Irish understood instantly, "Grace."

  Irish answered back, "Irish."

  Without saying a word, Irish and Grace knew they were part of a new-earth journey. As Irish looked at Grace, another image appeared from behind her, and Irish's heart jumped in recognition. Immediately, she spread her wings to full length and flew towards him. Grace thought Irish was coming to greet her, but Irish was looking at Aaron. His big grin told her how much he loved her.

  As Irish moved closer to him, she spoke in a mind-whisper, “Have you been watching long?"

  "Long enough," answered Aaron out loud.

  Grace turned to his voice, jumping slightly, surprised by his angel massiveness. She knew he was a "power"; and knew, he was one of the oldest warrior angels. Everyone had heard of Aaron, especially the younger creations. He was known as the "Protector of Children." She knew he had been the guardian angel of King David before taking the position as a commander of the angel legions.

  "I've always said you were the most beautiful of our Lord's heir-servant creations. Absolutely perfect, just perfect."

  Irish reached him just in time to be swallowed in his embrace. He held her close for a moment and whispered to her, "You are so beautiful, Miss Irish, just beautiful," and kissed her lightly on her forehead.

  "Aaron, are you flirting with me?" she purred lovingly and pulled her head back to look him square in his eyes.

  "Irish, sure I’m flirting. I love you above all others. You know that. I’m looking forward to you as my New Jerusalem bride."

  "Yes, I know, but I can’t wait, as humans say," replied Irish, giving him in another big hug. "New Jerusalem! Angels will be born rather than created. How wonderful!"

  "All powers, right?" he smiled immensely, pushing his angel chauvinism at her challengingly.

  "You wish. Try, heir-servants, all girls, by the bushels full," she laughed but was interrupte
d by Grace.

  "What in heaven's name are you two talking about? I’m confused. I’m not created with such knowledge to understand your speech. Did you learn to talk this way from your human wives and husbands?"

  Grace stood with her hands on her small hips, and Irish noticed what Grace was wearing. She had jeans rolled up below her knees and a small tank top to just above her waist.

  Irish laughed to herself, "She’s copying me."

  Aaron chuckled too. "I think you need to work on her fashion styles. Although, the red bows are a nice touch. You know Grace is your newest assignment, don't you?"

  "I got the message only a second ago. No one comes all the way out here unless it's for a reason."

  Grace stood quietly, not knowing exactly what to say as she watched her two heroes holding each other and carrying on an in-depth conversation as if she wasn't even around.

  "By the way, Aaron, where did you come from? I thought you were in Sudan battling against Dar-Raven and his hordes?"

  "I have been for twenty years." He did an exaggerated movement with his hands as if throwing sweat off on his forehead, trying to emphasize how difficult it had been.

  "Has it been that long?" Irish held him close, cherishing every second that they were together.

  "Too long. His army has held Sudan in a terrible grip for a long time. They are savage and merciless foes. I’ve not been given my next assignment yet. I might go back. Call this a break, I guess. I left Caleb, Joseph, and Isaac in charge. They can handle it. Our Lord is concerned about some end-time matters. Have to get some things in place. Isn’t that what this trip of yours is all about? Got any details to share with me?"

  "Actually, I didn't know exactly what it was about until you both appeared. It’s twofold. I’m to take Grace on an earth journey to learn human ways. Afterwards, we are to journey from Los Angeles to Tennessee where Grace will return with our Lord. I'll finish my mission with a family in Sewanee, Tennessee, a writer’s

  family this time. He's going to write something that will influence a certain person to be set free to serve the Lord. This person is very important to our Lord because he has an unborn son who will play an important role in some very grand end-time events. I have to make sure that book gets written and into the right hands. Got any special help for us while we journey? I'm sure we'll need help somewhere along the way."

  "Yes, I’ll give you a hundred young fighters, not yet grown to powers yet, but all for you. Use them at will."

  Aaron swung Irish around spinning her by her hand, watching her twirl gracefully in front of him. He watched her intensely, realizing how much he missed her nearness, drinking in her every movement while her colors soothed and intoxicated him at the same time.

  "Aaron, when are you going to get a hair cut?"

  Irish punched him in his side and pretended to duck from a potential swing. Aaron's hair was thousands of years grown. It was woven into a long roll going down the length of his back. He pulled it up out of the way for battle or traveling. His war leathers were still on from battle: buckskin leather pants stitched on the sides and rising high above his waist. He wore a white, cotton shirt that was almost as heavy as burlap—a wide weave. He wore leather boots, Timberline’s, laced a foot above his ankles, his personal favorite, no sandals for him. He was fair skinned with just a sand tan matching his lightly colored hair, but he was massive. His muscles punched out even from his loose shirt. His squared face set well on a Herculean neck, and his forearms were the size of a football player’s calves. Just behind his head stuck the handle of his historic sword all angels talked so much about. None of the angels could handle so much weight. It was a foot wide and five-foot long. The blade was hewn to a razor-sharpness. He was one foe that all dark angels avoided if they could.

  Aaron smiled at her sarcasm and answered coyly, "I’ll get a hair cut when you stop being so beautiful. Just can't help myself, nor can you."

  Grace frowned and walked up close to them, "I'm so very glad that you seem to know each other so well. However, I don't know either one of you except by reputation. Would either of you try to explain exactly what the plan is, or do I have to find out from someone else? What exactly does this journey mean? What is its purpose? I know that I'm to be acclimated to human ways, but why? What is so important about these humans, anyway? I know about salvation and the children of God, but does this journey mean I'm to be an heir-servant angel like you, Irish?" Grace was very perplexed, but she was also goading Irish into a conversation, tired of being ignored by the Irish-Aaron reunion.

  "I know you understand more about it all than that. We're all born with that knowledge. We are the heir-servants to humans. Protection, deliverance, and provision are what we are all about. Yes, you are to be an heir-servant angel, but you have to understand how to blend in so no one will know who and what you are, unless you want them to. One slip up and years’ worth of work and planning can be wasted. You won't be this small and young for long. In less than a year, you will be a teenager, in another year, as tall as I am. You have a lot to learn and a short time to do it."

  "Irish, I've been sent to escort you both to your first jump-off point. I want to introduce you to your team." He swung his hand around him in an exaggerated, sweeping motion, and a hundred young angels surrounded them. They were beautiful men. Many looked exactly alike. Still, they were of great variety. There were Orientals, dark-skinned Latin’s, blondes with blue eyes, and blacks—all handsome, sparkling with the excitement of their assignment. They all stood over six-and-a-half feet tall, (no fat cells to their name) perfectly proportioned, muscled, but not massive like Aaron, with washboard abs and none over age twenty-five. They carried short swords tucked in the belts of their jeans and wore multicolored t-shirts. Irish noticed some wore loose vests, and they all wore new tennis shoes, sneakers, running shoes: New Balance, Addidas, Nike, and Reebok—more human fashion.

  They all stared intently at Irish, and she commented nervously to Aaron, "Did Caleb have anything to do with this?" Caleb was the most startlingly beautiful, male angel in heaven. He was a special friend of Aaron and Irish. They always joked with him about keeping a lid on his good looks. She suspected from the aggravating good looks of these angels that Caleb might have had a hand in picking them. They looked prettier than a lot of the heir-servants.

  The angels started applauding her, and she bowed slightly to them in thanks. Some whistled, and she heard some wolf calls. She knew that Caleb put them up to it, and she shook her finger at them, tickled at the Caleb joke.

  Grace still didn't understand but shrugged her shoulders saying, "When do we leave? Are all these angels going with us?"

  Aaron answered, "We're to arrive in Los Angeles momentarily. Yes, these angels are with us, but you won't see them unless they're needed, and Irish instructs them to be seen. Not even dark angels will bother you two since both of you are heir-servants, almost, that is. It's like wearing a red-cross symbol on your back. The fine print says you aren’t an heir-servant; yet; but when a new creation accompanies an heir-servant on their first journey, dark angels make a practice of not bothering you. It's the humans who can be the problem."

  Grace understood heir-servants were in a protected status, but she had no idea what a red-cross symbol meant. She nodded knowingly to humor Aaron and took both their hands for the trip.

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