I do not understand everything.  And I do not understand anything at all in a perfect manner, and far from it.  And as I get older and see how rich and complex even the most simple things are in their nature and in what they imply, in their role as only a small part of God's creative love for us, I feel less and less sure of being able to adequately express any bit of my understanding whatsoever.

I do not understand angels.  I see dirt and rocks, moss and flowers, insects and fish and babies, and I can sense a growth in presence, power, and promise in that sequence.  I grasp a part of what human life is and is called to be, and I have no question that the Man-God has bridged the upward gap that separates us creatures from rising to and living with his very own Godly life.

I can see where a being somewhat like me might fill a niche in that scheme, a being who is all that I am, and then some, but without a body, a being who is, like God, all at once and not living its existence in creeping moments and incomplete acts.  But I do not understand what an angel really is, much less archangels, dominions, and the others.

I pass into simple and unconstrained faith concerning their existence, and I stand astonished at the beauty of God's love for me, love that is filled with such marvels that not only pass my comprehension but my very imagination.  I live in gratitude that I do not have to understand the Unknowable One, or any of his creatures or acts, in order to believe and love.

I revel in being thus reduced to the simplest child, living in the joy of my Father's love for me, shining in trust, gratitude, and praise.  And so I cherish the angels in all their glory, their simple majesty, the purity of their service, and their delight in seeing always the Father's face.

I celebrate God's love for me, a love that passes now and will always pass my simple and clumsy understanding.