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Diary of an Angel
by Leonard Day
151 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0019; ISBN 1-55212-355-3; US$19.00, C$23.00, EUR15.00, £10.40
Diary of an Angel is a spiritual dialogue which depicts both the spiritual and the human side of the Master. It makes one feel that they are walking with the angel and are enabled to see the inner feelings of the Master.
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About the Book
I believe that Diary of an Angel is an adventurous look into the life of the Master, through the eyes of his guardian angel. Such an angel is given to every human spirit at the beginning of the earthly journey, and so too one was given to his. The angel records from the beginning to the end of the earthly journey, sharing the laughter, the tears, the emotion of its charge.
From the pages of an angel's hand we see how the divine entwined with the human, in the birth of a tiny child, and an angel followed closely. The child grew and in the strength of spirit and tenderness of love, and the angel saw. Manhood did not alter his love for others, as those lame in spirit, and blinded by fear sought his healing touch, and the angel marveled silently. Then in the heat of anger the fear he was taken aside, and hung in shame before men, and the angel cried. Yet his spirit soared and these words that both men and angels must know the words once written in Diary of an Angel.
About the Author
An art restorer and conservator by profession, Leonard Day is also an award-winning fine artist and writer. Leonard received his B.A. and M.A. in art education and studio arts from Fort Hays State University in Kansas, and is considered an authority on angels, especially in the area of angel encounters with the dying.
His paintings are found in several private collections, and is best known for his pen and ink drawings and watercolors. His drawings have graced the pages of The Angels' Little Diet Book and Angels' A-Z which is devoted to articles and art on the subject.
Besides lecturing throughout the country on angels and their daily interaction in our lives, Leonard is actively involved with his local church and is a certified lay speaker with the church conference. He is also a contributing editor to the monthly journal Direct Pathways and hosts a weekly radio program called "Speaking of Angels". He and his wife reside in High Point, NC.
FROM PAGE 34:
The responsibility of being the oldest son had afforded him the opportunity to work alongside his father Joseph, but now even more was expected of him. Now his hands were expected to produce the quality that Joseph had maintained, yet he felt an urgent call from within, a call that lay outside the walls of the shop. Indeed the work of his hands would provide security, but for him the voices beyond the hillside held the truth of his destiny. Visions of men and angels penetrated his days, while questioning shared his nights. Many times in the dead of night he would hide his face in the pillow, or run to fields in the light of day trying to escape the voices proclaiming him as God's chosen.
As his spirit searched, Joseph's condition worsened, demanding more of his time, yet as his duties increased so did the visions. Then one day he was greeted with the urgent faces of his brothers and sisters. By way of seeking his counsel, they were reminding him of his responsibility to their mother. He was aware of the entwining law of the land, but he listened intently to their point of view and said little. The twilight of Joseph's death was lingering and their voices still echoed in the very woodwork of the shop. His hands reached out for the compassion of the wood, and for a moment he could feel the cleansing of his heart and mind. He closed his eyes and waited to caress the prayer of his heart.
FROM PAGE 146:
The streets are the same yet they seemed unknown to me. These are the streets where he once shared his hope and love for all and now they are lined with faces of those who ridicule him. Upon his bruised shoulders they have placed the burden of a heavy timber, and I again felt his pain as he swayed and fell time and again. The soldiers showed no pity, as they pulled him to his feet while adding lashes to their screams and insults. Again the holy men paraded from a distance, but they cannot hide the darkness of the deed they have wrought. As his angel I pleaded that his burden be transferred to me, but again the heavens remained silent. I wanted to pull him away from the hands that slapped him, and shield him from the angry mob, and then carry him to safety far beyond the city walls. Yet I too have been called to remain a sentry to silence, trusting the voice of my creator who commanded, "Let it be." and so I do.
Now his followers seem to have been swallowed up by a sea of fear, and only the anger reddened faces surrounded him. Overand over I questioned as to where are the men that once stood with him, that ate with him, and those that vowed they would follow him anywhere. He was alone and as the crowd pushed him through the city gate, he fell and I rushed to his side. As I took my place at his side, he looked into my face and our eyes met and for the first time he acknowledged my presence. Within his gaze I saw the true meaning of this moment and his spiritual determination to carry it out. I helped him stand and together we climbed the hill before us. The crowd is forced to remain at the bottom of the hill, as he is led to the very top. There the robe of scarlet is removed and he is pushed to the ground. I covered my eyes as a large hammer drove nails into his hands and into the timber he has carried. Then in one effort he is raised high above the crowd, he looked down upon those who boasted of their own glory and his contempt.
I stood at his feet unable at that moment to gaze into his face, and then I heard his words so clearly pronounced that they washed away the very sadness of heaven, "Father forgive them for they know not what they do."
His cross had been given, and he had accepted, yet the mocking still continued. As I came closer to his cross, I saw another whose spirit was as torn as mine and I allowed it to pass before me. It was that of his mother, making her way through the angry mob, and she is now surrounded by family. Her eyes are swollen and overflowing with tears of both loss and love, yet I do sensed a calm assurance as she stepped closer. Her weeping is quieted as he again said, "Mother behold thy son." She looked at the follower standing by her side and nodded in reply. She then reached out and touched his bleeding feet, and then she fell to the ground in exhaustion and grief. His words to her summoned the darkness, as clouds formed and soon blotted out the sun. I watched as the heavens divided before me confident of the journey that was about to begin.
As the winds increased, I grabbed the base of the cross, sensing his hour had come. The earth trembled beneath me, casting the boastful crowd into a whimpering mound of fear. I rushed to his side and cradled his head in my hands as he again looked toward my face. His eyes were clear and set but not on me but on something just beyond, his father's kingdom. His parched lips quivered, as he said, "Father into thy hands, I commend my spirit." With those words his head lowered and the life within faded, and his body went limp. Then in that moment, I embraced his spirit as an awaiting friend and together we journeyed onward towards the open arms of the Father."
PRAYER Creator of my destiny strengthen me for today. Thank you for the courage to accept the varied pathways of my journey. Heal my wounded heart and take my burdened spirit and lead me always with your guiding loving hands. Walk with me always. AMEN.
