The song “Greatness of Our God” by the Newsboys played over Rodney’s iPod speakers in his room. It was dark outside. Rodney’s parents had gone to bed. He was still up, after a long day that involved a frog-shaped devil and a guardian angel who was trying to cram six years of Sunday school lessons into one evening. Rodney was sitting at his desk reading from his Bible while Barook, the dominion angel assigned by God to keep Rodney alive and well, looked on.

“It says, ‘Put on the whole armor of God that you may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil’.” He looked up. “Do you really think some demons might come here and attack me?”

“I think it’s a distinct possibility. Adoram sent a message to me from heaven.”

“How did he do that?”

“We angels can share our thoughts with each other when we need to.”

“Wait. Whoa. Hold on. You can communicate telepathically? Are you kidding me?”

“I jest not, my mortal friend, coiled in weakness and flesh. I wouldn’t call it ‘telepathically’ but we can send messages to each other across time and space. We communicate with God the same way. We can also traverse time and space very quickly when we need to. It takes a lot of energy, so mostly we use portals to get to heaven and back.”

“What? There’s a portal to heaven that you use? Where is it?”

“I am not at liberty to disclose such sensitive information to humans.”

“Oh, c’mon. You can tell me. I won’t give your secret away.”

“You won’t give the secret away because you won’t have the secret.”

“Huh!” Rodney huffed in frustration. “Fine. What did Adoram say when he sent his message to you?”

“Satan has shown his bare bodkin.”

“Wait! Satan mooned you? Why would he do that?”

“Um, maybe those words are too archaic. I must try harder to right my language. What I mean is, Satan has shown his plan, as plainly as unsheathing his dagger. He is resolved to tempt you mightily, he and his minions.”

“Oh, that’s great! Just great. Just what I need right now.”

“I agree. I devoutly wish we had more time. Your training is nowhere near its completion. You still believe your actions have something to do with your righteousness. You haven’t yet learned to rest in your faith and trust God. I dread their coming.”

“You dread their coming? What about me? I’m freaking out over here!” Rodney got up from his desk and paced back and forth across his room, nearly tripping over the backpack he had dropped in a random spot on the floor Friday afternoon.

“You do look pale—paler than usual. Let us turn back to the truth and comfort of God’s word. Satan is lies. He and his workers shall lead you, if you let them, to wrong thoughts. You must know you are an heir because Jesus rose up and conquered sin and death. You must know, as you face a sea of troubles, what your idol Clint Eastwood spoke of in the movie Unforgiven.” Here Barook added a thick Texan accent to his voice, “It ain’t about derservin’.”

Rodney burst into laughter. “Oh snap! My angel is doing Clint Eastwood!” He pounded the desk with his fist.

Barook continued unfazed, “Remember that you have God’s favor, unmerited by you, unearned by you. Know that we are here, taking up arms for you. Know what you saw, that prayer works.”

“So, if I ask God for your help, you can protect me, right?”

“What does your Bible say about that?”

Rodney read aloud, “‘Stand, therefore, having girded your waist with truth, having put on the breastplate of righteousness, and having shod your feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace.’ So that’s why you have me reading the Bible.” He continued, “’above all taking the shield of faith with which you will be able to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one.’ Oh my gosh! I saw those fiery darts. ‘Put on salvation as your helmet, and take the sword of the spirit which is the word of God.’ I hope that sword cuts deep, because I’m going to need all the help I can get. Maybe I should fast. Didn’t I read somewhere about a demon being cast out by prayer and fasting? It’s gonna be tough, but I think I can do it.”

“As I’ve told you, it’s not your strength, or sweat, or arms that will win this. It’s not your work which frees you from sin’s grasp.”

“Oh, right. I already forgot. It’s God’s strength, and I need to learn to draw on that. But I feel like I should do something. Maybe fasting will help. I mean, it’s better than running a needle through the eye of a camel. I’m pretty sure I read that somewhere. It sounds awful.”

Barook just stared at his pupil and shook his head. “Stand in God’s grace, forgiven. Call on His strength, not yours.”

“I’ll start fasting tomorrow morning,” said Rodney, ignoring Barook. “This isn’t going to be easy. Tomorrow is waffle day.” Rodney switched off his iPod and threw himself onto his bed. “Hey Bazooka, can you hit the light?”

***

The Starbucks at the corner of Ventura Boulevard and Allott Avenue was teeming with people. The line snaked from the counter out the front door. The tables on the patio were filling up fast. Screenwriters, in-between-jobs at the moment, had their laptops open and were clicking away. Inside, three actors discussed an upcoming play they were to perform. Two demons sat chuckling at a communal table nearby.

“And that half-caff soy latte is now a fully caffeinated dairy drink,” said the lord of the darkness eyeing one of the baristas behind the counter.

“You know, your grace, I’ve always wondered why you enjoy these little frustrations so much,” said Tricklane, Satan’s right-hand angel.

“Unhappy people sin more, Tricklane. It’s as simple as that. No matter how good someone’s financial situation or lifestyle or job, these little frustrations can add up and ruin their days, their weeks, their lives. What seems to you inconsequential, is just one more link in a chain of bondage called dissatisfaction. I’m destroying attitudes—creating a feeling of not having enough. See that man in the suit over there? I want to show him how much there is to be ungrateful for before he climbs back into his BMW to continue his morning commute in an infuriating tangle of traffic.”

“But he has to pass that homeless man before he reaches his $80,000 car. Won’t that give him some perspective? Wouldn’t it be better just to wreck his car and disable him?”

“Really, Tricklane? Have I taught you nothing? First of all, there are zero angels in here at the moment. None of these people are Christians. I’m sure some will come in later, but as for this batch of humans, no one is teaching them the concept of gratefulness. And even if they did hear it somewhere, who are the godless going to be grateful to? The universe? You and I both know it doesn’t count if they’re not actually grateful to God, which is why we work so hard to remove his name from everything.”

“Of course, your grossness. I know that.”

“Secondly, everything is relative. Most people have a hard time keeping perspective. They generally don’t compare themselves to the homeless or the jobless or the desperately poor. People tend to compare themselves to their peers and those above them in station. Spill some coffee on that woman’s silk skirt—like so—and it will threaten her status at work.” Just at that moment, a blonde woman in a blue silk skirt was bumped by the BMW-owning man in the suit. Some of her coffee splattered onto her skirt; brown streaks slowly expanded into a sea of blue.

“Oh no!” she cried.

“Now she has to decide whether it’s worse to show up with a ruined skirt or to be late because she went home and changed,” continued Satan.

“But that isn’t sinful, my disgusting lord.”

“Not yet. But tell me, Tricklane, who are the bullies of the world?”

The blonde stormed out past the apologetic suited man who was left holding napkins up in the air.

“Well, people who live in the gutter don’t usually bully,” Tricklane said, more to himself than to Satan. Then, after a few seconds of working out the definition in his head, he came out with, “Bullies are popular men and women in positions of power who want to consolidate and confirm that power. Sometimes they’re in high school and sometimes they’re in the board room.”

“Exactly. But these powerful, popular people—like her and like him,” Satan pointed to the blonde woman and the man in the suit “have to be unhappy to bully. They have to feel frustrated. Grateful people, even powerful ones, don’t torture others. You see?”

"Yes sir, I do. But you have so many powers and principalities who do this work for you. Why bother?”

“Like any good CEO, I like to keep my hand in the business at all levels.” Satan leaned back in his chair, invisible to all around him, and smiled.

“Of course, sir. I understand. What about Rodney? He’s not powerful. Do you like my plan for attacking him?”

“I don’t need it. I’ll use the tool I employ on every Christian: the law. I’ll show him how he doesn’t measure up. He’ll feel guilty. He’ll obsess over not sinning. He’ll sin even more because of it. Rodney is an insecure, untested, unready-for-life teenager who has no grasp on the truth of his own holiness. This is literally going to be a piece of cake.”