Reed Jones was a farmer, just North of Atlanta His wife laid sick in bed. Just picture it, can’t ya? A baby in her womb, a storm raging outside The lightning locked them in. The storm poured from the skies. The wind and rain battered their tiny Georgia town. The hales and gales tore power-lines down. The back window had been knocked out by flying debris, And there was no help that either of them could see. Emily- (Reed's Wife) Her complexion was shoddy. Nausea, pain, and cold racked all of her body. She moaned and cried and prayed it was just the flu. But Reed Jones had no clue what to do. He set a candle on the nightstand, And tucked in his ailing wife, And slammed his knees down to the floor, To beg God for her life. “PLEASE! Lord! Please God, save my wife and child!" The wind started blowing, and there came something wild. The wind, it calmed, the rain, it stopped, But what came was a storm indeed. Light crinkled at the edges of the walls, Golden as ripening wheat. And fading in as the room became light- Was a figure about 8 feet tall. His stature not only dwarfed the Jones's, But seemed to stretch their walls. He wore a tan leather duster, With black pants, shirt, and boots beneath. The duster looked dirty and worn, And tassels hung from the sleeves. On top of his head was a black cowboy hat, Obscuring his eyes and nose. A smirk on his lips, surrounded by a goatee, Stood frozen in a wry pose. Before the figure opened that mouth, Reed Jones stared blankly and knew, He was in the presence of an angel, And there WAS nothing he could do. The voice was richer than honey, And brighter than those flecks of gold light. Deeper than the deepest part of the Chattahoochee, And it spoke a prophecy that night. “Reed Jones, good and faithful servant, Your wife will be saved from death’s dark current. Your daughter as well, but she’ll be born with power. All weather before her eyes will cower. And with God’s help, she will withstand great adversity. She will lose everything, but she will learn this homily: If Christ is with us, who can be against us? Your daughter, Reed Jones, will stand for justice!” And just like that, the angel was gone, Before Reed could say a word. He jumped back up to his precious wife, By love and worry he was spurred. But his wife lay there asleep and warm, Her color now rosy red, And her breathing was as calm and relaxed as the baby, That laid within her in that bed. Reed Jones cried with utter relief As the sky above turned red too, Praising God Almighty in Heaven, For there was nothing he could do. A few weeks after that, Emily birthed from brittle bones, A daughter with brown hair, and they named her Cyrus Jones.

Five years later in Alpharetta, The Joneses' home and town, At Canaan Baptist Church, Sunday School had come in from the playground. It was time for the parents to come and pick up, All of their young kids. Reed rolled into pickup Cyrus, And was met with a hug and a kiss. But then her spastic, little girl demeanor, Turned sour in a flash. Her chin jutted out in a frown, And into a complaint, she did splash. "Can you believe it, Daddy?" Five-year-old Cyrus whined, "They said our angel's not in the Bible! But I told them you saw him shine!" Reed sighed and thought about how to explain Why they couldn't just go spreading that tale. But anyway he thought to explain it, Turned out to be a big fat fail. "And Ezekiel's even a book in the Bible!" "Yes, but that one was a prophet. And I told you The Angel didn't tell me his name, Cyrus, you should probably drop it. Just because we call him that- Because I have a feeling that that's his name, Doesn't mean you should go telling everyone about it, They'll think it's just a game. Just because I know what I saw, Doesn't mean it makes sense. And it doesn't matter if other people believe it You don't have to be so intense." Cyrus's tiny mind, Was going a mile a minute. She suddenly reached up and touched her hair, And felt no headband in it. Little Cyrus, full of fright, Screamed and cried and moaned. “Daddy, it’s my favorite headband. We just can’t go home!” “Cyrus, you’ve lost these things before, they always turn up again!” Just then a little head peeked ’round- The Sunday school doorway’s bend. The little boy hunched his back, and his mom behind him said: ”I think Connor has something for you, Cyrus. And he won’t ever take it again.” The little boy inched his way toward the prissy girl. He held out the missing headband. Cyrus took it and twirled. “Yeehaw!” she exclaimed As she spun around. “But why'd you take it, Connor? Tell me! Tell me now!” “You were playing with all the kids- And I just felt left out. I was too scared to talk to you, So I took your headband out.” “All you had to do was ask- If I would be your friend!” Connor asked that very day, And their friendship had no end.