Title: Tongues of Men and Angels
Rating: TA for implied?romance.
Summary: Glimpses of grace: the story of one brother and two sisters. Through the grace of God, all things are made new.A series of drabbles. Ish. Gabriel/OC. Ish.
Disclaimer: *obligatory insert*
Chapter XXXV: Psalmist
Therefore I am now going to allure her;
I will lead her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her.
Hosea 15: 14
"Oh," said Bethany. "Oh."
She had climbed the safety railing—made brave, perhaps, by the presence of an archangel beside her. She leaned out as far as she dared over the edge of the canyon, then dropped to her knees in a crouch and curled her fingers at the edge.
"How lovely," she marveled, and her words were hushed and reverent.
Staring out over the fleecy golden sands, the stones, Gabriel said solemnly, "Michael once said that each of Father's creations were lovelier than the last." Bethany smiled faintly, but there was a bittersweet and wistful light in her coppery eyes.
"Was this"—she gestured to the canyon—"toward the end of the list?" She wore the sad, strangely inviting warmth he had grown to know her for, made particularly poignant in the wake of her sister's absence. He had known this moment would be bittersweet for her, and wondered if she imagined she could feel Joy's presence, here in this place.
"No," he said simply. "First there was darkness. Then—holy light and fire and water. And angels."
"I think Genesis skipped that bit," she teased.
Again, he felt the unfamiliar tug at the corner of his mouth, but he ignored her jest. "Then He formed from those elements the stars and suns and moons and planets, the spinning galaxies, the orchestra of a revolving universe. And on them he crafted rivers—mountains—volcanoes and glaciers. Each was more complicated and graceful and wild."
"…Wow," Bethany breathed, and though he thought at first she was mocking him, a quick glance told him otherwise. "It's…different, to hear you tell it. The sound of your voice. It seems more—real. And holy."
"Good," he said, and she laughed. He raised an eyebrow, and she dissolved into giggles at the decidedly human gesture. Her mirth touched him, bubbled over—and it was enough that he gave way to the unfamiliar pull at his lips, which immediately halted her laughter. For the first time since he'd met her, he thought she looked like a girl who had seen an archangel.
He didn't take time to puzzle over her expression, however. The call home was strong and clean and bright. Instead, he said: "Then living things. I remember: the delight He took in each cell—loving, devoted, pleased. It strengthened me to know he had created me with infinitely more ardor and delight."
She let out a faint and happy sigh—the first he had heard since Joy's death. "And then?"
"After the plants came the birds and the fishlike things, each strange and lovely. Fins, feathers, wings, scales—beaks and teeth and eggs and eyes. Life that generates life. Some with long tails, or colors that glowed in the sun, each fierce and wondrous. It was all meant to be a gift for his favored ones."
"Us," she breathed, as though it was unimaginable. He remembered that he had once thought the same thing; now it seemed unfathomable, that he could doubt a human's worth—her worth—her complicated beauty.
"Yes," he said. "But before you, there were land-animals, with fur and legs and muzzles, and warm blood and heavy bones. Everything was laid out in preparation. And then—mankind."
She smiled. "And the rest was history," she said lightly. "It's strange to hear the story from someone who was—actually there."
He looked at her strangely. "That is not the end of the story."
"Well, no," she reasoned. "In the beginning, right? I mean, it's only the start. Of forever."
He frowned. "You misunderstand. Mankind was not the final creation."
She tilted her head, her eyes narrow with confusion, and he huffed his disappointment. "You know this story, Bethany," he chided gently. "What is the final and most glorious creation?"
"The seventh day of rest?" she answered weakly.
"Woman," he said quietly, and she caught her breath at the softness in his voice, like a sky wrapped in thunder. "We are men and angels, Bethany, but—I have learned, since coming here…there is something uniquely godlike about a woman. So much beauty, and grace. If we are reflections of His warrior nature, then you are the embodiment of everything that is generous in His heart."
She was silent, staring into the canyon, one slender hand pressed to her throat as though his words themselves had lodged there. Perhaps they had—he imagined it was one of the longest speeches he'd ever made in her presence.
"I do not want to leave," he said at last, and each word tasted like a stone in his mouth. "Not even for a day. I have learned much about humans from you, and about my Father, and about myself." He hesitated. "I believe I have come to learn to love you, Bethany."
"I've heard it's occasionally a hazard of the job," she said seriously. He saw in her an attempt to exercise lightness in order to protect her sudden vulnerability. "Hang out with us humans long enough and—we kind of grow on you." She paused, then added lightly, "Besides, I am rather charming."
He pursed his lips at her levity, then relaxed—and rasped, "I have become particularly enamored of you."
Something of his heart must have crept into his words: her head snapped around so she could stare at him, sharp-eyed and soft-lipped, but he took to the skies before she could form the question that was waiting on her mouth like a kiss.
Word Count: 910
Completed: June 2nd, 2011
I love this chapter. I hope it strikes a chord with everyone else too. Almost done…we're in the home stretch.
Coming Soon:
XXXVI: St. Peter at the Gates. Reuniting with a brother.
XXXVII: Prodigal. God speaks.
XXXVIII: Joseph, Reuben. Another reunion.
XXXIX: The Stone is Rolled Away. Gabriel comes home.
Epilogue: Seventh Day. A couple enjoys each others' company in a Garden.
****This title is a little more convoluted than most others. I just thought of Gabriel telling the story of Creation here—and how beautifully he would tell it—and it made me think of Kind David, the writer of psalms. [c. Psalms]