Be Not Idle

My guardian angel is Phred, a name I came up with in the fourth grade or so. It was shortly after a babysitter asked me for help with her homework, coming up with words that had a “ph” in them, like “dolphin” and  ”Delphine” (my aunt) and “phunky chicken” (there was a dance, you know…)

I used to pray the old Guardian Angel prayer every day when I was a kid. In the first grade classroom, Sister Agnesita had a print of an angel watching over two children crossing over a rickety bridge.  The angel was female and dressed very prettily. However, I thought of my Phred as male - a nice young fellow who wasn’t ready to clobber me like my brothers.  I also figured Phred was kind of plainly dressed and silent, ready to jump into action. Except when I was taking a bath. Then I thought he waited outside the bathroom door (with the dog) and I’d have to holler for Mom if I got my big toe stuck in the faucet or something.

But for many years (decades) I completely neglected to talk to or even think about Phred.  There was also a New Agey “angel movement”  which seemed to infiltrate even retreats. It marketed guardian angels as subservient beings, at worst a tool for getting one’s desire and at best a Jeeves-like personal assistant, constantly pulling his master out of a scrapes. I felt sort of embarrassed to be talking to him, as if I’d catch some  sort of cosmic cooties.

But I began to rediscover what angels are and how blessed I am to have Phred. And I’ve been thinking a lot about angels, especially since I started making clay sculptures that incorporate Christian symbols. (More on that later.)

And so, for old time’s sake, Phred…

Angel of God,
my guardian dear,
to whom God’s love commits me here,
ever this day,
be at my side
to light and guard,
to rule and guide.

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