Diary of an Angel by Michael M. Farnsworth

than the one I had already seen. It was easily as thick as several college calculus books. Lyra motioned for me to follow her into one of the side rooms.
    Inside the room, she set the voluminous book on the circular table. I noticed that this book, unlike the other, did not appear to be bound in leather, but rather some material unknown to me. At first glance it seemed a simple white. But as it moved, colors like starlight glimmered and glistened across its surface.
    Lyra set her hand on top of the book. “This book is not at your disposal. Not yet. You will understand why when the time comes. For now, however, I’ve been granted permission to show you the minutest glimpse from Angela’s pre-mortality, and only because it pertains to your work as her guardian angel. I can only show this to you once. Are you ready?”
    “I think so,” I said, my mind trying to conceive what she could possibly want to show me. “Do I need to do anything to prepare?”
    “I think you’re as prepared as you’re going to be.”
    Then Lyra removed the book from the table and nimbly turned the pages until she found the one she sought. For a moment, she stared at the page before reverentially returning it to the table. The book glowed with life, showing a beautiful woman, dressed in white, hurrying through a grassy meadow. From her sun-kissed hair alone I could have identified her as Angela. She was racing along excitedly, happier than I could ever hope for her to be on earth. She wasn’t running just to run, though. There was purpose and intensity in her every motion. Her eyes filled to overflowing with excitement.
    Into a crystal passageway, enclosed on all sides, she raced. The passageway spanned a great chasm, meeting on the other side an immense crystal building, constructed on the face of and within a sheer cliff. Water streamed down all around the rock face and through the building itself. A lush growth of trees and flowers spewed from the cracks and crevices of that stony surface, swathing the building in a green comforter.
    Angela continued over the bridge and straight into the heart of the edifice. Her feet echoed melodiously through the corridor as she went along. The passageway led to a great hall, into which light poured, sparkling off every edge and surface, producing a shower of tiny rainbows. Huddled groups of white-clad souls occupied the hall. Some lounging on sofas along the periphery, others standing in conversation with friends.
    Angela, only slightly slowing her rapid pace, weaved her way towards the center of the room, where she went directly towards a group standing next to the fountain. Two individuals with their backs facing her turned to see who was coming up behind them in such a hurry. I gasped when I saw the face of the woman closest to Angela. Though she looked slightly older than her current teenage form—yet somehow younger—it was unmistakably Catherine, Angela’s fifteen-year-old daughter.
    I looked over at Lyra, in hopes of an explanation. “Keep watching,” was all she said. I returned my astonished gaze to the book.
    Catherine beamed when she saw Angela, and the two embraced. Angela pulled away and looked straight into her eyes. “It came,” she said. Catherine’s eyes widened and she let out a little squeal of delight.
    “Where is she?” Catherine asked excitedly.
    “Where else?”
    Catherine smiled and took Angela’s hand as the two raced off together up the stairs on the far end of the hall, down more corridors, and finally back out into the open.
    I was beyond confused. Could this possibly be the same Angela and Catherine who were mother and daughter? Could this be the same Catherine who would hardly talk to her mother? It seemed unbelievable. But there they were, running together, hand-in-hand, obviously the best of friends. And what were they up to?
    At length, they came to a wooded dell, where a small pond lay like a mirror on the forest floor. On the opposite end of the pond, under a