How Heaven’s seemingly most insignificant angel was sent to find Earth’s most significant tree...
Mia was her humble name,
Nothing grand like “Gabriel,”
Or truly awesome, brave Michael
Who flung down rebel hosts in shame.
Mia stood before the Throne.
With no golden robe her own,
To birds of paradise, a mole!
All others blazed with bright glory,
Gold crowns and wings, a splendid sight.
Beside them all, she gave dim light,
Like fading sunsets you may see.
Surprising all, God called on her,
To the least He sent command;
So Michael turned to take her hand,
But she replied, “Why me, great sir?”
“You,” said Michael, “you are sought.”
He knew that God made no mistake.
And so he led her, for her sake,
Lest she miss whate’er her lot.
Before the Throne she knelt in awe,
So slight an angel made them gasp.
So small in giant Michael’s clasp,
Like a mouse in lion’s paw!
“Take My ribbon,” said the Lord.
“Tie it round My chosen tree.
It grows by mountains, not the sea,
But it will make a cross-beamed sword.”
Few angels in the heavenly court
Understood what this charge meant.
But Mia took the ribbon lent
And, trembling, flew from Heaven’s port.
You should have seen the ribbon swell,
Trailing round the Universe--
A shining band to bind the Curse
that Satan lifted straight from hell!
Like a steady, faithful bee
Mia bore God’s yellow ribbon
Unmindful of its vast dimension,
She only thought of her duty.
Earth’s sun appeared to her far off
So small, and least among the stars,
And of the nine orbs, nearest Mars,
She flew around one like a moth.
“Is this the place that grows the Tree
That will bear Life for all mankind?”
She marvelled as she went to find
The chosen one beyond the sea.
Mighty Redwoods? Pine trees? No!
Stately palms? Rare sandlewood?
None seemed right, though looking good,
She almost passed the one so low.
“This is it!” she felt assured,
And circled round the tree to gird.
“Wait, you’re wrong!” cried a blackbird,
“Don’t waste good ribbon, take my word!”
Surprised that birds could speak so well,
Mia wondered what he said.
“Talking bird, if you’re God-led,
What makes you pick yon Cedar tall?”
“And why not?” chirped the smart, old bird.
“Anyone can tell it’s best.
‘Tis broad of beam, no rot or pest,
And lasts for ages, I have heard!
“But that stick there, you’ve fixed upon,
Won’t span a flea, much less your Lord.
It’s hardly will produce a board,
Woodsmen left it, thus, unsawn.”
Mia saw that such was so,
To make two boards, was all it could.
Yet on its weak and twisted wood,
God’s Son would die, and Victory know.
“No, you’re wrong!” she said. “I see
God uses wee and lowly things.
He doesn’t need high, mighty kings,
He’s chosen Dogwood as His tree.”***
The blackbird then flew off and left
The smallest angel standing there.
Mia saw a sight most fair--
The Dogwood bloomed, no more bereft!
“It’s Spring!” she cried, “And these are blooms!”
So radiant, they gave her joy.
Who would have thought a tree so coy
Contained such brightness midst Earth’s glooms?
This poorest Dogwood was Christ’s tree,
Despised by woodsmen world wide!
And yet so lovely, none beside,
It bore God’s Bloom for you and me.
Returned to Heaven Mia flew
Quietly to take her place,
Not noticing upon her face
A beauty shone to all in view.
This rare honor hers alone,
The choicest color on her cheek;
Beside it splendid gold proved weak,
For bright shone Love that was God-sown.
It was the Christ Tree’s cheering white
Glowing in the darkest night.
It was the Flower of Guiding Light
When all hope fades for man in sight.
So low to ground it reaches small,
The littlest child could touch Christ’s blood*
And gain God’s grace, a Saving Flood
That sweeps away the sins of all.
Time went on in Heaven’s view,
Then many Mias came to stay.
Who are these? the First did say.
“I see a million, not a few.”
Multitudes, they came and came,
So much so that Heaven filled,
And Mia learned that they were killed--
These little ones that looked the same.
“Tell me, sir,” she asked great Michael,
Who these are who look like me.”
He looked down and said tenderly,
“They’re babes unborn, whose mothers fell.
Their mothers gave in to a lie,
Which said that these were mere tissue,
And not the souls that God full knew
Long before their dying sigh.
Denied by cruelty their life,
They, evenso, are God’s children*
Before they formed at conception--
Alas! to die in hellish strife.”
She saw what cruel lies had done.
Wearing all one single name,
M.I.A., ** M.I.A., ever same,
All poor souls of slain children...
Please pray for this self-destructing country that has lost countless geniuses, musicians, doctors, scientists, humanitarians, inventors, artists, Nobel laureate writers, culinary experts, doctors, scientists, educators, creators of businesses, technologies and cures for disease, sports champions, Olympic athletes, opera stars, Shakespearean actors and actresses, ballet stars, and soldiers and commanding generals.
*”Suffer the little children to come unto Me, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.” --the Lord Jesus.
Yes, Christ said that. So is it far-fetched to suppose that even the slain unborn, our society’s 40 plus million “aborted” children, are also vital to the earthly kingdom if the Lord of Heaven puts such high value upon them?
***The legend of the Dogwood as Christ’s Cross-Tree, with the “flower” representing attributes of His Crucifixion and Substitution for mankind’s sin, to which I have added this account of an “angel” who was judged best suited to choose the Tree of Life, having been denied her own.