Okay, is it possible to believe in angels but not in god? I'm still not certain. But angels.. I believe them to be the nice part of a human being. The part that, when you look on a person whose suffering, decides to take action and give the person money, clothes, etc. And it's not even the big acts that makes someone seem like an angel to another. It's also the little things. Such as, asking someone if they need help when they look confused or offering to be a friend when that person is new. Or accepting people, if you haven't noticed, i'm really big on accepting people for who they are. And it's just too bad that sometimes I don't do that myself. Are we supposed to have this first impression to make us seem approachable? But then doesn't that conflict w/ the statement to accepting people for who they are no matter if their hair is greasy or their clothes are rumpled. I think the people who do that (accept people w/out the first impression that people want to make) are the true angels. They see what's inside before judging if they judge at all. In my opinion, angels also forgive continuosly, this might not be good for them, but they do so anyways. Angels don't have to be glorified beautiful people w/ wings, they could be your run of the mill dad or a handicapped person or that girl who sits behind you. In an essence, we have parts of us that are angelic and others that are demonic, it just matters which you allow to shine through.
Cherubim:1. A member of the second order of angels, often represented as a winged child. 2. An innocent person, esp. a child.
"He is a cherubim."
"What!?"
"A cherubim."
Flame spurted skywards in indignation at the doubt in the atmosphere. Great wings raised and spread and the children were looked at by a great many eyes. When the wild thing spoke, it was not in vocal words, but directly into their minds.
"I suppose you think I ought to be a golden-haired babyface with no body and two useless little wings?"
Charles Wallace stared at the great creature. "It might be simpler if you were."
Meg pulled her poncho closer about her, for protection in case the cherubim spouted fire in her direction.
"It is a constant amazement to me," the cherubim thought at them, "that so many earthling artists paint cherubim to resemble baby pigs."
A Wind in the Door By Madeleine L'Engle
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