The Little Angel Who Couldn't Sing

Written by Betty Matney/edited by Aya Walksfar

Little Angel huddled, shivering and sobbing, in the shadow of a large bank of dirty clouds outside of Heaven’s Gate.  Gusts of cold north wind tugged at his mud-spattered robe and tangled the feathers of his wings, forcing him to burrow deeper into his hiding place.  He knew he should get up and go home, but he couldn’t face his friends.   If it didn’t get any colder, he’d sneak home after dark. 

Suddenly, he stopped crying and raised his head to listen.  Voices drifted across the clouds.  He curled into a tighter ball and lay very still.  He didn’t want any of the angels to find him. 

A deep voice spoke briskly.  “I tell you I heard someone crying.”

There was a mumbled response Little Angel couldn’t hear very well. 

Even closer this time, the deep voice said,  “I know how happy everyone is, but I also know crying when I hear it.” 

Whoever it was they were nearly at his bank of clouds.  He covered his head with his wings and held his breath. 

Big feet shuffled to a stop and the deep voice said,  “What do we have here?” 

He slowly raised his head and peeked over the edge of his wing.  His blue eyes popped wide.  God Himself stood looking down at him.  

Holding his long, gray, wind-tossed hair out of His eyes with one hand, He bent over and held His other hand out to the little angel.  “Come out of there, little one.” 

He lowered his wing and God pulled him out of his hole.  He stood there, robe wrinkled and dirty, gold halo tilted over his right ear, eyes cast down.  God knelt on one knee.  With a finger under Little Angel’s chin, He lifted his face.  “How old are you, little one?” 

He mumbled,  “Seven years old, Sir.” 

“So, on the day when joy is almost tearing this old place apart, why are you down here, alone, and crying?”  Gently, He wiped the tears away with the end of the green sash wrapped around His waist. 

He bit his trembling lower lip to keep from crying again. 

God twisted His head around and looked up at the other adult angel.  “Aren’t all the angels practicing their singing for the performance tonight?” 

The other angel looked flustered.  “Yes, Sir.  They are supposed to be, Sir.” 

God turned His kindly eyes on Little Angel.  “Does that have something to do with why you’re crying?” 

Tears filled his eyes as he nodded.  “I…I can’t…” He sniffled and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his robe.  “I can’t sing!”  Tears spilled down his cheeks.  “The chorus master said I can’t carry a tune.  I should just fly around and hum, but I shouldn’t hum too loud.”  He threw his arm across his face and wailed into his sleeve.  “I don’t want to just hum!  I want to do something important like everyone else!” 

God sighed and pushed to His feet.  He patted Little Angel on the head.  “Of course, you do.” 

He dropped his arm and stared up at God.  God stood there stroking His thick, white beard.  Finally, God smiled.  He reached over and plucked a few pieces of dirty cloud from the little angel’s red curls.  “You go get cleaned up and meet me at the Pearly Gates in an hour.” 

As he took off running, God shouted,  “And straighten up that halo!” 

***   

Little Angel skidded to a halt in front of God, jolting his halo into a tilt over his right ear. 

God reached over and straightened it up.  “You look much better, except you seemed to have missed a few spots on your face.”  God ran a thumb over Little Angel's cheeks. 

He giggled.  “Those are freckles.” 

God smiled.  “Ah, so they are.” 

He fidgeted. 

God chuckled.  “Anxious to find out what you’re doing.  Frankly,”  God’s Voice got very serious.  “I don’t know how we overlooked this task.  It is very important.” 

He lifted his chin and drew his shoulders back. 

“Do you have your sack of stardust?” 

He nodded and lifted the small, red velvet sack hanging from the robe’s tie. 

God leaned over and whispered in his ear. 

His wings drooped.  “The donkey?  That’s a dumb job.” 

God frowned.  “Remember who the donkey is carrying.  But, the donkey is small, so it is important that he have some help with his burden.  Will you help him?” 

Little Angel looked up at God with wide eyes.  “Yes, sir.”  He took off running towards a hole in the clouds that would let him drop to earth quickly.  Just as he was diving through, God yelled,  “And straighten up that halo!” 

***    

Little Angel stood on the side of the road leading to Bethlehem.  Overhead a zillion stars shone, but down here it was dark and cold.  He shivered and pulled his wings around himself. 

From around a curve in the road hooves clip-clopped along the frozen ground.  The small donkey staggered a few  steps before it caught itself.  A woman wrapped in a blue cape rode the small creature while a man with a staff walked beside them.  The man walked slowly, now and then patting the donkey’s short neck.  “What a brave little beast you are.” 

The donkey’s winter coat was long and fuzzy and very black.  Patches of white hair that matched the hair on its belly, filled its long ears.  It was young, not much more than a baby, really.  And so tired that sometimes its nose dragged the ground. 

As the three drew alongside Little Angel, the donkey stopped.  The man rubbed its ears and stood beside it. 

Little Angel walked over and placed a hand on its halter.  The donkey lifted big dark eyes to him and groaned.  “I don’t know how much longer I can go on.”

“I will help you.”  Little Angel took the red sack from his belt and knelt.  He dipped his fingertips inside.  When he took them out, they shone with silvery powder.  He swiftly rubbed all four hooves with the silvery powder.  “Take a few steps and see if that helps.  Bethlehem is just over that hill.” He pointed towards a  small hill in the distance. 

The donkey nodded.  “I’ll try.”  As he stepped forward, he added,  “Your halo’s crooked.” 

He straightened up his halo as the donkey took the first short, slow steps.  The donkey twitched its long ears and gave a joyful bray.  “My feet don’t hurt!”

Little Angel jogged next to the donkey as it trotted along the road, nimbly skirting the frozen puddles.   

Very soon they reached Bethlehem.  Little Angel waited beside the donkey as the man inquired for a room at inn after inn.  Every place was full until, finally, only one inn was left.  The man sagged with fatigue as he walked to the last door. 

The donkey sighed as the man stood talking to the landlord.  “I need something to eat and some water and a place to rest pretty soon. My feet are hurting again.” 

Little Angel hugged the donkey.  “I’m sure this is the place we are to stop.  There’s a stable out back.”    He turned and looked at the woman sitting quietly on the donkey.  Her body was bent with tiredness.  He was really glad she hadn’t had to walk.  He turned and gave the donkey another hug.  “You are so brave,” he whispered. 

The donkey raised his black nose to Little Angel’s ear.  “The woman’s going to have a baby.  I didn’t think she could walk very far, so I had to try to keep walking for her.”  The donkey sighed.  “Did you know about the baby?” 

Little Angel scratched the donkey’s ear.  “Yes, I knew about the baby.” 

When the man returned, he led the donkey to the stable behind the inn.  He helped the woman off and spread his own cloak over her as she lay down on a pile of straw.  After she was settled, he took the donkey into another stall to feed and water the animal before returning to the woman, his wife. 

He sat in the corner of the stall as the donkey ate and then tucked his legs under himself to lay down.  “Don’t sleep too soundly,” Little Angel cautioned.  “The celebration will be starting soon.” 

He had just finished speaking when a baby cried.  Little Angel rushed to the wall and peeked through the space between two boards.  His eyes widened as the man wrapped the baby in a warm blanket and laid it in the manger next to where the woman lay.  The man stood between the manger and the woman, smiling first at one and then at the other.  The woman's face shone with happiness as she gazed at her husband and then at the Infant Boy. 

The donkey stood next to Little angel, staring through the crack.  “She’s had her baby.” 

From far away and above them, singing drifted on the air.  The donkey looked up.  “What’s that?” 

A grin stretched Little Angel's face as he looked up, too.  “That is the angels singing to the shepherds out in the hills.  They are telling them to come to the stable and behold the Child that was born.”       

He dropped his eyes to the donkey.  “I have to leave now.” 

The donkey nodded.  “Thank you.  I don’t know if I could have made it all this way by myself.” 

He gave the donkey a warm hug around its shaggy neck.  “Everyone needs help sometimes.” 

As Little Angel flew upwards, the donkey called,  “Hey!  Your halo is….”

He raised both hands and straightened his halo as he flew into the night.  In the distance he heard the final chorus and, all alone, Little Angel began to hum.  As he flew higher, his humming grew louder until, unable to contain his joy, he burst into song.  In a loud, happy voice, and slightly off-key, he added his own heavenly welcome to the Baby lying in the manger.  

                                                                                      The End

A History of This Story:

Betty Matney was a long time friend, and an elder who lived with my partner and me until her death several years ago.  Like me, Betty was a writer.  A couple of weeks before she died she Gifted all of her writing work to me. 

Betty's work and voice are unique.  This story was inspired by her only child, her son.  Benji was born on Christmas Eve, and a few hours later, he died on Christmas Eve.  

Over time I hope to share Betty's work, under her own name.  I am but the friend who will edit it for her.  I hope you enjoyed this little story that Betty wrote.