I'll never be able to fully describe what my first night on Earth felt like. At the time, I wasn't even aware what emotions were or the words that mirrored them. I'd witnessed the passing of millions of souls, I'd welcomed them to another world without ever realizing that I would soon be the one in that same position. From tangible body to a wisp of a spirit, I imagined then that passing into the realm of the afterlife would be relieving for the human race. They cause themselves so much suffering... Being rid of it had to be the ultimate bliss. I'm not sure I think this anymore, and I'm questioning how I've even come to empathize with it. I refer to my first night here because, in hindsight, that moment will stay with me for an eternity. It may be the very moment that changed the rest of my eternity, too.

  Let me tell you about it.

  I had never seen a spirit inside of its vessel before that night, not in such close proximity. I remember the paleness of his skin, first and foremost, and the coolness that surrounded him. It signalled that he was almost ready to pass. (I'm equipped to recognize these things, you see, but it's nothing compared to a human's capacity for sensory detection). Whatever concoction of substances he'd consumed had started to shut down his facilities, and by the time I whispered to him, the human was on the edge of purgatory. The angels at the gates would be waiting for him to deliver the verdict of his life, to hear his gospel, regardless of the fact that his intentions were sinful; he'd killed himself, and for that, he'd chosen to meet Lucifer before his heart had even stopped beating.

  The Saint Peter said, "Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins, and you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit." (Acts 2:38) I knew the human could hear my voice because he answered, a weak whisper of confusion, of worry, of desperation. "Where will I go?" he'd asked, plagued by an emotion I still cannot name. Fear, but different. More. I told him I'd been sent by the Lord, that my purpose was special, that I was there to offer him the last opportunity for his salvation. In exchange for passage to Heaven, for the forgiveness of his soul, I asked for permission to use his body after he'd passed. I told him this was the reason I was appearing to him, and he had very little time to accept. I covered him in my light and my warmth and sent him to seek out Peter at the gates.

  It's the feeling of rain that comes to mind, when I look back on it. It was dreary and wet that night. I stood at the side of the pavement in awe. Millions of years had passed where I had heard of His creations, but I could never expect to know, truly, what it was like to experience them. My precious Father, my God... If passing into the arms of the Lord was a relief of worldly suffering, than transitioning into that was... I cannot say it. I do not know what it is like to be born, but somehow, this word comes to mind. Slowly, and then all at once, I existed.

  The sun and moon have traded their places in the sky 933 times since I descended to Earth and responded to my calling. I have experienced rain and sun, snow and dew. I have wandered the streets, I have healed the broken, I have found the lost, I have consoled the hopeless. I've seen the Devil's eyes flickering on every corner, from behind tinted car windows and behind the eyes that stare back, almost as emotionless as I once was. For being an all knowing servant of the Lord, I've come to wonder how it is that I know so much more now, in comparison. I can say that I have preferences, now. That I like this or dislike that. I've started to need food and water, and sleep, though I go days without any of them. I know what fear is, I am surrounded by it. I'm overwhelmed with it. Somedays I even think I've begun to actually feel it, too.

  Those are the days I don't speak to God. Those are the days He hears my thoughts for His own, and this thing called shame: I feel that, too. Those are the days I visit the Fallen, to remind myself I haven't become that. For all these new questions and the lack of answers, for all my confusion, for all the times I've wondered whether I was helping the right person... My purpose on Earth is pure, the work I'm doing is important. It's worth something, it's useful, people are choosing the righteous path more and more.

  I haven't lost my faith, but they have a saying here about repeating a lie until it becomes the truth. How much longer do I have to pray for these things before I believe like I used to?

  Only God knows.