From The Parables of Kryon
by Lee Carroll (1996).
Carlsbad, CA: Hay House, Inc.
Reprinted with permission of Lee Carroll and Hay House.
The human mother was startled indeed when the large male angel appeared in her laundry room. "What are you doing here?"
"You expected me in the kitchen?" asked the angel.
"No, I didn't expect you at all!" the mother answered. "Why are you here?"
"To grant your request," said the angel, as if it were a common thing to appear in a human's home.
"I don't remember any request!" exclaimed the mother. "I hope I asked for something good and that you didn't just overhear me swearing. I say things all the time when I'm mad."
"No, no," replied the angel. "Remember when you were looking into the eyes of your son and murmured, 'If only we could talk to each other'? Well, I'm here to arrange that. Tomorrow night when you go into your son's nursery, I will be there to allow you to speak to him, and he to you. You will have a brief time where he can speak to you with the intellect of an adult and the language of an adult. I'll tell you more when I see you then." And with that, the angel disappeared-slightly to the left of the dryer-and up a vent.
The mother was not frightened. After all, she believed in angels and had been to the local angel shop many times. She had no way of knowing that real angels don't like angel shops. All the popularity had taken the fun out of appearing before people. Some mothers even wanted to know where the angel got its costume-very insulting to a real live angel.
The mother didn't sleep much that night, and when she put her six-month-old infant to bed early in the evening, she looked deep into his eyes and said, "Tomorrow, you and I will actually get to speak to each other!" She was excited indeed. He drooled in response.
She carefully crafted what she would say to him. Where does one begin? How long would she have? Would she be able to communicate the difficult things of life? She started by thinking of all the things she wanted to tell a child just starting out in life-about how a stove is hot, and a pretty fire can hurt-but wait! The angel said the child would speak with an adult's mind. That would change everything! She would need to tell him how to handle girls, and how to treat a broken heart, and how not to trust everyone, and how not to drive too fast. Oh my! There is so much to tell him about being human, she thought.
The next evening, the time for the magic discussion slowly approached. She waited with her infant son at her side in the nursery until the appointed hour, when the angel appeared again.
"Nice to see both of you," the angel quickly said. "Here are the rules of the conversation. Mom, you can only answer. Son, you can only ask three questions. Then it's over." And with that, the angel again disappeared-this time down the furnace grate.
This changes everything, thought the mother in silence while looking at her son. Perhaps I am hallucinating. I'll bet my son simply goes to sleep now. Instead, the infant stood up!
"Mother," said the infant. "it's a magical day indeed that brings us together like this. What a joy to be able to speak to you at this point in my life!"
The mother stood up at attention-with her mouth dropping in amazement. She even drooled a bit.
"Only three questions can I ask," the boy continued from the crib. "I want to know so much!" The boy was thinking about his first question as his mother was taking it all in. This is real, she thought. My son is talking to me as if he were all grown up! What a miracle. What a gift. She could hardly contain herself waiting for her son's first question. Would it be about philosophy or religion? Perhaps he would want to know the best advice to guide him into a good career, or maybe he wanted to know how he should choose the best mate-one who would stick around longer than hers did. The boy looked into his mother's eyes and asked the first question.
"Mother, I have laid outside this house on my back and was amazed at the sky. Why is it blue?"
It was all the mother could do not to shout: "You wasted the first question! Who cares why the sky is blue!" But the mother was so in love with her son that she patiently answered the question according to the rules. She explained how the atmosphere and oxygen molecules refract the light of the sun and turn it blue-at least that's what she believed. It sounded good, anyway. She anxiously waited for the next question. The next one has to be better, she thought. Perhaps he would like to know what he should do with his life in order not to end up homeless or with delinquent friends.
"Mother, my second question is this. Although I have been here only six months, I notice that sometimes it is hot outside, and sometimes it is cold. Why is that?"
The mother was appalled. Another question wasted on dumb stuff! How could this be, she wondered. Her son was innocent and alert. His question was important to him, and she treasured this magic time they could have together. Slowly, she tried to tell him about the Earth and the sun, and how the Earth tilts slightly as it orbits the sun, causing winter and summer, cold and hot. Finally, it was time for the last question. They had been at it for almost thirty minutes, and so little had actually been communicated.
"Mother, I love you!" exclaimed the son. "But how do I know you are really my mother? Do you have some kind of proof?"
What kind of a question was this? Where did that come from? Who else would be his mother? Hadn't she cared for him every day of his life? What a disappointment this session had been. She almost wanted to walk away and go back to the laundry room where this had all started. She thought of how she was going to shove the angel in the dryer the next time she saw him. Her son, his innocent eyes wide open and alert, was waiting for a reply.
She started crying, but held out her hands and said, "Look at my fingers; they are just like yours. My feet and my face look like yours. My expressions of joy and love are just like yours. I am truly your mother. We have the same eyes and mouth-look!" With that, the child was satisfied, and he slowly laid himself down on his mat and went to sleep.
That was it? This miracle of communication had come and gone, and the mother had not had a meaningful conversation with her beautiful son. What happened? What went wrong? She spent a great deal of time thinking about it all, and she mourned the passing of such an event without anything substantive being transferred.
Then the angel appeared again-up through the bathroom drain.
"Go away," the mother said before the angel could say anything. "What a disappointment you turned out to be."
"I gave you the time," the angel said kindly. "I did not design the questions."
"What good was it? Why didn't my son ask anything important? You told me he would have the mind of an adult, but he asked the questions of a child. You have tricked me with your so-called miracle."
"Dear one," the angel replied, "although your son was given the language and the intellect of an adult, he had only the wisdom and experience of the six months he had been on Earth. His questions were therefore the most meaningful ones he could think of, and you answered them all. Even the last one, which was postured in fear, you answered correctly. In addition, you transmitted your love to him while you were together, and you were not impatient with him. He did his best and was honest. What more could you ask?"
The mother sat down. She hadn't thought of that. Her son had mustered up the best questions he could come up with. How could he know what to ask if he didn't have the wisdom she had? And if he had somehow been given that wisdom, he would not have had to ask anything! Without any more communication, the angel left for the final time-this time out the window.
The mother returned to the crib and spent a long time looking at her precious son. "You did your best, my son," she said in a quiet voice. "It was good that we had time for a talk."