“This is where we create the gold bowls that prayers are kept in.” The small group of newcomers moved along behind the winged angel tour guide and nodded as they viewed the large room of worker angels pouring gold into bowl-shaped molds.
The group shuffled along to a massive room that looked like an airplane hangar, open at the far end, with angels coming and going at a rapid rate. “This is our message dispatch room where delivery angels get their assignments to carry personal messages to folks on earth. Lots of serious stuff coming and going in this room.” Indeed, the looks on the faces of these angels were all business, even grim, but the occasional beaming smile crossed the face of a delivery angel when given some obviously joyful news. One can only imagine.
The small group moved down a long hallway, and on to a quieter wing. In a room off to the side sat a group of angels, each with an ipad looking device in their hands. They were chatting merrily with each other. There was no tension, no seeming deadline or urgency. There was even a seeming merriment in the exchanges between them.
“This is the hair counting room.”
“The what?” a confused tour group member immediately interjected.
“Hair counting. You know. . .even the very hairs on your head are numbered? In God’s word?”
The tour guide suggested they take a closer look and the group was allowed to mill about, spreading out in the room to get a sense of what was going on in much greater detail. The device held by each of the angels displayed the names of dozens of people, each name with a corresponding number. Every so often an angel would tap a name, note an increase in hair number, and return to the name to adjust the entry. It seemed a pretty easy assignment. But as the group of newbies moved on a bit, going deeper into the very long room, they noticed that the angels seemed busier, less chatty. And finally at the very end of the room, the angels were downright intense. They were constantly checking the names and adusting the numbers. They clearly had more to deal with, and the demands of their increased work load evident on their furrowed faces.
Finally one of the group spoke up. “What’s happening here? Why are these guys so much busier than those at the start of the room?”
“The folks at the beginning of the room were tracking the hairs of babies.” The smiling guide continued. “That’s pretty easy duty. You add about 100 hairs a day and you’re done. But at the end here, we’re tracking folks in over 50. They’re losing hairs at an alarming rate. And if the person gets a shampoo, you almost have to do a total recount.”
At this moment, an angel taps his ipod and gleefully says, “Yay. We’re up two for a change!”
“Angel Jarrod. . .” Our guide directed his very serious tone at the delighted angel, who now looked up with a sheepish expression. “We’ve talked about this before. What is the rule?”
The angel dropped his winged shoulders, made an adjustment on his ipad, and said, “We don’t count stray chin hairs. It’s just not nice.”
“And what else?”
He dropped his head shamedly and added, “Or nose hairs or ear hairs.”
I’m immensely grateful that God is so invested in us, that He even numbers the hairs on our heads. I’m perhaps more grateful that He keeps that number to Himself.