It wasn't easy to put this story about a boy named Brin into words.

Not that I'm complaining. Angels never complain.

You humans, on the other hand, are so childlike that your constant whining to God often tempts me to roll my eyeballs in disgust. Yet I don't. First, angels don't even have eyeballs to roll. Second, rolling eyeballs is a silent way of complaining, and, for those of you who weren't paying attention, I've just made it clear that angels don't complain.

So, telling you it wasn't easy to write this story is simply an observation. Not a complaint. If you decide that my observation sounds like a complaint, it's your fault, not mine.

Writing isn't easy for many humans either, from what I can tell. But let me stress that it seems infinitely slower and more cumbersome for an angel. (Cumbersome. Kum-burr-sum. If you watch too much television, you may have difficulty with the size of this cumbersome word. Kum-burr-sum. It means bulky, awkward to handle, a big load.)

See, if you were another angel, we would just have a meeting of minds, so to speak. In an instant, you'd know everything I wanted you to know. Neither of us would have to say a single word, let alone write it out.

Not that I'm complaining.

At this point, I expect you are curious about how this meeting of minds works between one angel and another.

Good. Curiosity is one of the nice childlike things about you humans. But don't expect me to give you the answer. Nor am I going to answer exactly why and how I've written down this entire story about Brin. There are many questions that won't get answered for you until you are on the other side of life. Deal with it.

If you continue with me, however, I promise to answer a lot of other questions by the end of this book. You will have to pay attention, though. Otherwise, don't waste your time reading more. There's always television. Or nose picking, which is at least useful and has the same entertainment value. Especially to angels, who may be invisible and watching when you least expect it. (Enough said about that.)

Have I established, then, that it has taken a lot of effort for me to put this story into your words and that you will get answers worth learning? Good. Show your gratitude and stay with me.

Even though I won't promise a happy ending.

What, you say, not fair? Who says it's supposed to be fair? When I'm sent from heaven as a guardian, I sure don't get that promise. I've seen it end happy for the ones I'm sent to guard. I've seen it end sad.

That might sound mean and horrible, but it's not.

Whatever happens to the people I'm watching over-happy or sad-works to the greater good of those who believe in our Father and His love. Think of His work as a beautiful painting. When I'm stuck in a particular place and time on earth to watch over someone, I see only what you see: individual brushstrokes. The little bits and pieces that make up the painting. I trust all of those brushstrokes will make sense when our Father has finished the entire painting, though. You should too. Life will be easier on you that way.

As for a happy or not-so-happy ending for each person under my watch, learn and remember an important concept. Maybe the most important concept. Ready?

You humans are given the freedom to make choices.

Yes. Choices. You are responsible for what you do. Don't blame other people. Especially don't blame me or other angels.

Choices.

Imagine you're in a room with a screwdriver in your hand. You have a choice. Jam it into a nearby electrical outlet? Or not? You may think that's an obviously easy choice. But in guarding different people through centuries of your human history, I've seen a lot of things that, in comparison, make jamming a screwdriver in an electrical outlet look like a smart thing to do.

Take the people of a small mountain village one sunny morning in Italy.

At the time, my assigned charge was a boy named Brin. Probably not a great name, but that's the way it goes.

Brin was a gypsy. Sixteen years old. I'd been watching over him for years by then. Standard stuff, like keeping him from crawling into open fires when older gypsies in the camp forgot to pay attention. Or when he was older, standing between him and wolves when he wandered into the forest. Nothing really exciting enough to pass on to other angels.

I'm not suggesting, though, that his childhood had been easy.

He'd been born before the invention of the telescope. Before steam engines. Before trains or train tracks. Before ouchless bandages, cough syrup, and flu vaccination shots. Yes, even before the invention of the remote control.

This part of Brin's life took place in AD. 1364 (That means Anno Domini. Latin for "the year of our Lord." At least you humans have had enough sense to keep track of time from the birth of Jesus, the Son of our Father.)

Brin lived when wealthy people often wore flea traps under their clothing. That's what I said. Flea traps. Little cages filled with a piece of fat to attract fleas so the fleas would get stuck in the trap and not be all over a person's body.

The 1300s were not pleasant, as you can see. Fleas, lice. No soap, no showers, no toothpaste. But try not to think about that and concentrate on the important parts of the story.

Like how humans in Europe had just spent centuries of short life spans and miserable living conditions because of all the knowledge that had been lost after the fall of the Roman Empire.

Like how the people of that small village that morning in the northern part of Italy were all about to make a choice.

Based on greed.

I was there to watch it all. I was there especially to watch Brin. I knew him well enough by then that I could guess his thoughts just by reading his face.

And let me say that the morning did not turn out the way either of us expected.