In the grand celestial corridors of Heaven, where stars are cataloged in alphabetical order by size and supernovas are labeled with little name tags like "Phil," two angels were trudging their way to another assignment. They had received an all-too-cryptic dispatch from the Great Recorder of Divine Lessons, who sent them out with a nod and a smile that suggested there was more to this particular mission than a casual trip to Earth.
Gabe, an angel whose appreciation for precision bordered on compulsive, double-checked the assignment, triple-checked his notes, and prepared to be vastly underwhelmed. “Sam,” he began, reading over the assignment for the fourth time, “we’re meant to observe something they’re calling ‘human growth through imperfections.’”
Sam, whose celestial dossier described him as “cheerfully unreliable but excellent with mortals,” grinned. “Sounds right up my alley. Humans are brilliant at imperfection! It’s one of their main talents, along with inventing nachos and not remembering where they put things.”
“Yes, but we’re supposed to be assisting them,” Gabe replied, looking concerned. “I mean, that is what we angels generally do, isn’t it? Step in, wave a spiritual wand, and sort things out?”
“Sometimes,” Sam said, chuckling. “But this time, we’re supposed to watch. Trust me, Gabe, they’ll figure it out in their own way. It’s all part of the Divine Design.”
Gabe glanced down at the specifics: they’d be assigned to a modest little living room in suburban Indiana, where two humans—Joe and Meg—were deep in the throes of their daily routine. Little did Joe and Meg know, their relationship was about to pass through what Heaven referred to as “an opportunity for character development.” Earthlings might simply call it “a minor domestic dispute.”
Joe, a sensible man with a fondness for order, and Meg, who lived by the gospel of organized chaos, were embroiled in one of life’s great debates: The Placement of Shoes by the Door.
“Look,” said Joe, holding up Meg’s haphazardly discarded footwear, “I really think we could save a lot of stress if we just lined them up neatly. You know, order by the door?”
Meg, clearly unimpressed by this suggestion, shook her head. “Joe, they’re just shoes. I have bigger things to worry about, like getting the kids to bed and remembering whether I fed the fish.”
The angels exchanged a glance. Gabe was on edge, ready to leap in and offer a celestial nudge, maybe a little dose of patience here, a small injection of humility there. But Sam held him back. “Wait for it.”
Joe sighed, dropping Meg’s shoe with what he hoped was an air of reluctant maturity. “Look, I know it seems small, but it’s not just about the shoes. It’s… it’s about the principle of things.”
Meg, smiling a bit now, took a step closer. “I get it, Joe. And I know you like things orderly.” She gently picked up her shoe and set it next to his, neatly—though slightly out of alignment. “How about this? I’ll try to remember to line them up. But maybe you can let a few things go?”
Joe, with a resigned but affectionate sigh, nodded. “Yeah. Maybe I can.”
And with that, the monumental issue of Shoes by the Door was settled, more or less. Joe and Meg sat down together, tired but somehow a little closer.
Gabe watched with wide eyes. “They just… solved it. By themselves. Sam, I didn’t even do anything!”
Sam smirked. “And isn’t that wonderful?”
“But it’s so… inefficient! We could have just given them a nudge—”
Sam interrupted, “Think of it as Earth’s best-kept secret, Gabe: humans are meant to overcome these things. The little quirks, the irritations—they’re Heavenly Father’s way of helping them practice patience, humility, and kindness. By learning to love each other, flaws and all, they’re becoming a little more like Him.”
It was a stunning revelation. Gabe, staring down at his notes, blinked as if recalibrating his understanding of the universe. “So, the imperfections aren’t just flaws—they’re the whole point?”
Sam clapped him on the back, grinning. “Exactly! It’s like nachos. You don’t need to understand them fully to appreciate how great they are.”
Back in Heaven, when it was time to report, Gabe found himself recounting the “Shoes by the Door” incident with surprising admiration. The Great Recorder, a figure so wise and serene he could sit motionless for centuries, nodded with knowing approval. “This was their chance to practice the love of Christ. The small things add up, and one day they’ll find their love is stronger than any irritation.”
Gabe, a bit humbled but newly enlightened, nodded. “So even though we’re here to help, sometimes it’s best to let them work through these things alone?”
“Indeed,” the Great Recorder said. “That’s how they become something greater. Small acts of love become great strengths. A little tolerance today becomes compassion tomorrow.”
As they left the Recorder’s office, Gabe glanced at Sam, an incredulous smile on his face. “I have to admit, I think I’m starting to see why humans are so endearing. Flawed, yes—but gloriously so.”
Sam nodded sagely. “Gloriously flawed. In fact, I think that’s the title of the next report.”
And as they made their way back to Earth, Gabe reflected on the strange beauty of small acts of patience, and of how even the smallest moments—like a shoe left askew by the door—could teach mortals to be a little more heavenly.
