the gift {a short story}

The majestic wings of the angel flexed in the glittering golden light before the throne.  One would have called them white, but before the purity with which they were beheld, their light was dim.

“Holy, holy, holy is The Lord God Almighty, Who was and is and is to come!” The angel cried with a loud voice, singing with all of his might and fervor.  Into his outstretched hands lifted in honor and worship was placed a vial made of the most perfect diamond.  Within the vial was a deep red liquid, a single drop protected by the thick layer of the most precious stone.  The words were not spoken, they were felt, “A gift to man,” the angels head was bowed as the power rushed through his arms, the words infused into his very being, “breath by the mercy of the precious blood of the Lamb.”

A breath.  The scarlet liquid within the vial held the precious blood, the gift of mercy by a single breath.  This was his mission.
Th angel gripped the vial, ran his fingers over the golden chain and hung it about his neck.  He bowed low before the throne, flexed his wings and set about accomplishing the will of the Father.
As he made his way to earth, he pondered the gift hung about his neck.  So many were delivered all the time, he had never had the privilege of delivering this kind of gift.  He had delivered many gifts, but none so as precious as this.  This was that which kept man alive.  This was the substance that the Father had given to the very first man that made him different from the rest of creation– it was the breath of the Father Himself, it was what made man His most precious creation, man carried His own breath in their lungs.  And He gave each breath as a gift.  The angel had wondered at one time, how the Father was able to give such a gift to that which had broken His law.  It was forbidden for man to associate with the Father, the Father was and is holy.  It was then that the angel was shown the gift; in the form of a vial with a single drop of blood– the blood of the Lamb.  It was the only way.  The precious blood of Jesus, the Lamb of God, was the only way that God the Father could grant breath to the fallen creatures.  They chose to fall, but He chose love– the outflow of His love resulting in the blood of His Son poured out to grant these creatures life, both on earth, and life eternal if they should so choose it.
The angel touched the vial with his finger and felt the warmth.  Love.  It radiated with the love of God.  The angel looked down and saw a soft glow surrounding the vial.  He knew that the closer he came to whom the gift was intended, the more radiant the gift would become.  As he navigated the dirty streets of earth, he glanced at the vial and noticed it glowing brighter.  He saw other angels about, gifting other humans with their next breaths.
He recognized his friend, a vial hung about his neck as well, only his shone so brightly that one could barely see the structure of the vial itself.  “Worthy is the Lamb that was slain!” Declared his friend as he knelt over the figure of a man  in a dirty alley way.  The man was filthy, covered in soot and grime, he had just clumsily slammed a bottle down with his hand and retched.  The angels friend poured the contents of he vial about his neck over the head of the man.  “Receive the gift of your next breath, by the grace and mercy given to you, only by the precious blood of the Lamb of God.” The man inhaled and cursed the Name before falling into a deep sleep.
The angels heart broke.  The gift!  The man has just used this precious gift to curse the name of the One who had given it to him?  The One Whose very blood had been poured out upon his head to grant him such?  The angels sorrow was almost too much to bear, but he knew that he had his own gift to deliver.  He mourned, but moved on.
…………………….
She had been tied to stake, the flames licked higher and higher.  Deny Him. They told her.  Deny Him and we’ll let you go free.  Just say the word and you will live.  She knew that wasn’t living, she couldn’t deny Him.  He was her life.  Her hands tied behind her back they had taunted her.  They had tortured her, beat her, spit on her.  She refused to deny Him.  He was too precious.  She began to sing.  A song of praise lifted from her lips, every breath an exclamation of adoration for Him.  Her Jesus.  Now, the flames had already engulfed her clothes, they licked her face as they consumed her hair.  She felt the skin of her face shriveling in the heat.  Her fingers were scorched to ashes, her body had lost all other feeling.  She continued to sing, but the smoke was overcoming her.  Her lungs were filled with the toxic fumes.  Jesus, one last breath, please! Suddenly, a warmth was poured over her head, a supernatural power enshrouded her being, filling her lungs with this last gift. Her scorched lips had cracked, dripping with blood they cried out, “Father, forgive them– they know not what they do!”
The angel rejoiced as he watched the Father receive the spirit of the girl into the kingdom.  How precious to her was that last breath…

Amy B
Editor
Jesus lover. Obsessive coffee drinker. Chocolate consumer. Plays guitar. Sings too loud. Apple girl. Wordaholic. Bookie. Music junkie. Techy. Unlikely hipster.

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