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If you walk long enough barefoot, your feet develop calluses strong enough to tread even hot coals. If you spend enough cold nights outdoors under the clear starry sky then the comforts of a bed are no longer a necessity for a good night’s sleep. And if you spend long enough foraging in the wilderness, feeding on oats and honey, then you will learn to be grateful for each meal the Lord provides.
Johnny made like a prophet, sowing seeds wherever he went—spreading the good word, and taming and caring for each beast he found. A frontier Francis of Assisi, an American John the Baptist, with a pot on his head and a sack of seeds slung around his shoulder. But as much as he loved the companionship of each new critter he encountered, he found himself longing for company that would return his conversation.
Ol’ Johnny made an awful habit of speaking to himself as he tended to the nursery, talking to fill the air about each seed he bedded, the weather, and each furred creature curiously watching him make a stew over the fire. Johnny said grace out loud before meals, and before bed, he read his Bible passages into the dark forest.
If you stumbled across Johnny and asked if he was lonely, he’d laugh you off. Of course he wasn’t he had the whole wilderness out here. But deep in his heart, there was an ache that peeking on the settlers didn’t fulfill.
It came to be one particularly humid summer day that Johnny was resting under a mighty oak, enjoying the relief for a moment. There were apples to pick, but under the beating sun, the labor was tremendous. As he pet a rabbit that lay beside him, he felt a small thud as a man sat down next to him.
"Hot day, ain’t it?" the figure said.
Johnny turned to look, expecting a trapper, or perhaps another settler on the move out west. But there, with a coonskin cap and a bushy mustache, sat the man who had sent him out on this pilgrimage.
"You!" Johnny exclaimed loudly, startling the hare.
"Me!" The angel gave a belly laugh, smacking the ground.
"What are you doing out here?"
The angel grinned. "Guardian angels are always supposed to be with you."
Johnny didn’t reply. The angel was right, of course; that is what they were supposed to do, and Johnny felt foolish for asking.
"So, hot isn’t it?" the angel restated.
"Yeah, just taking a break until the sun goes down," Johnny nodded.
Leaning back against the tree, he felt the wind blow through his hair as the shade comforted him. The heavenly visitor reached over to a wicker basket that sat by them, plucking out a ruby-red apple. Johnny watched as the man pulled out a pocket knife and carefully peeled it, the skin cut so close that none of the flesh stuck to it. As the man concentrated on slicing it into pieces, his mustache bristled, until he finished, smiling at the evenly divided fruit. Johnny couldn’t help but be impressed by the delicate feat.
Offering Johnny a slice, he said, "You’re making a difference, you know. In a hundred years, these trees will still be here, producing fruit."
Johnny took the slice. It was bitter, but he didn’t mind. "I’m not the only one planting trees," he said humbly, bowing his head.
"Yes, but no one has planted nearly as many as you. While it’s true that every person has a mission and plays their own part in shaping this world, what you’re doing is impressive."
Johnny felt a small hint of pride in his chest. "I suppose." He quietly smiled to himself. "So you mean it when you say you’re always with me?" Johnny asked carefully.
The angel nodded. "I hear every word of prayer and every snippet of conversation with the animals and trees." The angel pushed the coonskin cap up on his head to get a better view of the man.
"Can I see you more, then?" Johnny asked. "I’ve felt awfully lonely out here alone." Suddenly realizing his mistake, he tripped over his words. "Well, if you’re always here I’m not alone, I mean..." Johnny’s tongue tied.
The angel swallowed an apple slice and laughed, almost choking on the fruit. "No need to correct yourself, son. You’ll see more of me yet." And then, when Johnny blinked, he was gone, leaving the man alone beneath the tree.
-
The angel was true to his word, though; as Johnny traveled west, the heavenly visitor was always there. As he crossed treacherous rivers, the man would advise him on where to step to avoid slipping. The angel would guide him to bushes with edible berries, and each evening, instead of reading his Bible verses into an empty wilderness, Johnny would read them to the man who shared his campfire, watching his face flicker in and out of darkness as the fire crackled.
Tonight was one of those tranquil evenings. Johnny reverently read the Gospel as the angel sharpened a stick, listening to the good news. Johnny closed the book as he finished the chapter, leaving just the hissing and pops of the embers to fill the air.
Johnny looked over at the rugged angel. With his messy red hair and plain clothes, he didn’t look like the depictions of angels Johnny had seen in churches. There were no white wings, no halo, and no pristine clothes. If Johnny didn’t know better, he wouldn’t have assumed the man to be religious at all. And mentally, that’s how Johnny tried to justify the feeling creeping within him, disgusting, sinful feelings that kept pricking at his heart and filled him with pain as he said his evening devotionals.
The angel closed his knife and looked over to Johnny. "You’re unusually somber tonight," he observed.
Johnny didn’t look up, his finger tracing over the cross on the black, leather-bound Bible. "Just thinking," he said softly, unable to bring himself to look at the other man.
It was a terrible thing to realize he was so sinful that he was corrupting and perverting this holy figure in his midst. This being, which was sent by God to guide him, Johnny was viewing through a corrupted, mortal lens.
"Thinking about what?" the angel asked, pulling Johnny from his thoughts.
"Temptation," Johnny answered, not untruthfully. "You know, sometimes I think about the fact that I am planting apples. The fruit of the tree of knowledge of good and evil is often depicted as an apple. A symbol of disobedience, of human selfishness, man was told he could eat from any tree except one, and yet humans wanted the one thing they couldn’t have.” Johnny shivered as he spoke looking at the angelic companion. “Man is given so few instructions by God, and yet we can’t seem to follow the ten He gave us." Johnny sighed, slumping his shoulders.
The angel didn’t betray any expression. "I doubt anyone would consider the trees you’re planting to be a sin, Johnny." He grabbed a stick to prod at the fire. "What is this really about?"
Johnny didn’t answer; he just stared at the logs as they burned. Finally, with a raspy, whispering voice, Johnny began his confession.
"The Lord has sent me a messenger to guide me, and I am coveting him. I’m taking a blessing and making it profane." The man seemed to shrivel in on himself as he let the words leave his lips. "I feel unclean, unworthy to even read from His sacred text. I’m sorry, sorry that I’ve defiled this great gift I’ve been given," Johnny concluded.
He could feel the angel move closer to him, sitting on the ground right next to him. Johnny braced himself, preparing to be struck down, or for the angel to vanish and leave him once again alone. Instead, the angel wrapped his arm around Johnny’s small shoulders, his larger frame pulling him in for a tight, comforting hug.
"Each angel is personally selected for what you need most," the angel whispered. "If you had need of a warrior, you would have been given one with a sword. If you needed one with wisdom, I would have come with a book. You needed companionship. Do not feel guilty for being lonely and craving another’s company." The angel softly leaned his head against Johnny.
"Do you misunderstand me?" Johnny choked out, shuddering in his arms. "It has warped. It is not merely companionship I crave."
The angel didn’t pull away. "I didn’t misunderstand you. Do you think our Creator would have sent me without knowing it could cause these feelings?"
"I shouldn’t be coveting you like this."
"I will not fulfill desires of the flesh, but what you are feeling isn’t wrong." The angel gave his shoulder one last squeeze and pulled away, though he didn’t get up.
"How is it not wrong?" Johnny leaned back until he was flat on the ground, looking up at the heavens. He imagined each and every star judging him. Was this really God’s will, or was he being tested?
"Because you’re human. You’re lonely, and you aren’t an unfeeling machine designed to be autonomous and alone. If the Lord wanted you to be incapable of feeling this way, then He would have made it so." The angel spoke confidently.
They lay in the darkness, the sounds of crickets and owls surrounding them. The storm in Johnny’s heart did not entirely still, but he looked to the side and saw his companion similarly gazing up at the sky unbothered by the confession and it made Johnny feel slightly less guilty.
“Have you ever felt this way?” Johnny asked carefully, afraid of the answer.
The angel didn’t immediately reply, if Johnny didn’t know better he’d assume the man was worried about saying the wrong thing. After what felt like eternity the man spoke. “Angels don’t feel desires of the flesh the way men do. We don’t get cold, we don’t get hungry, and we don’t feel the ache of longing. In that way, no. I have never felt exactly the way you do.”
It stung, Johnny should have expected the answer but it still burned. “I’m sorry for asking.”
The angel removed his coonskin cap to serve as a makeshift pillow; “However,” the angel went on. “We are designed to be devoted to you, to guide your feet and lead you down the path of righteousness.” The angel grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “It’s not eros, but it is a type of love.”
Johnny’s hand felt warm. “Thank you,” he said solemnly, squeezing back trying not to let the weakness of his voice show.
"Go to sleep, Johnny," the angel said softly, his voice hazy in the evening. "The sun rises early, and there’s a valley a few miles west that’s practically begging for a nursery."
Johnny nodded, obediently he pulled his ragged blanket over his shoulders, using his sack of apple seeds as a pillow. He kept his eyes fixed on the stars visible through the branches until his eyelids grew heavy and he drifted into a dreamless, peaceful sleep.