The Question Still Remains
Not more than twelve seasons,
She was a large cherub-like child
Named Gabrielle. Curly blond cute
And not yet clearly talking, she was
An odd but effective messenger.
For she took her job seriously,
This angel of insight, and
One afternoon, in her innocent
Confusion about being here on
Earth, she listened to the Voice
And delivered the instruction to me.
I wasn’t paying attention to her.
Words were not exchanged.
But uninvited, Gabrielle came near.
Up she reached, put her hand to my cheek,
Then simply imparted, in her
Dainty childish voice, “Don’t worry.”
I didn’t get her garbled words.
Her mother laughed and clarified.
I was gently taken back.
Why did Gabrielle say that?
How did she know my heart?
Of course I could not but take it in.
One small voice, empty of comprehension,
Yet full of authority, cut the age-old fear.
Now, the question rests with me,
As with all humanity,
When the angel Gabriel speaks,
Will I bend to hear?
Audio of Even With Gabriel's Ingenuity...
Now here is where it might get confusing. In those days, I had much to concern me. Worry was common. But how did she know? My premise in this poem is that the Angel Gabriel, that great messenger of God, spoke through my little niece Gabrielle. Likely? Probably not. Possible? Maybe. Interesting? Surely. Apparently throughout history the angel Gabriel has shown up in the oddest places. Theoretically we wouldn't recognize him. But we might hear him. However when the message comes, the question is, would we listen? skp