Legend of The Great Angel Bear (Happy Holidays!)

Inherent in a mother bear lives an instinct to nurture when it comes to young little things. Humans can be cruel, and there was none more heartless than ol' Woody; the father of Missy Mae. He was named for his lean, scraggly stature that looked colder than the black silhouette of a knotty, barren pine tree standing against the twilight air. The Appalachians were dark that winter, and Woody had custody of the child who bore witness to that terrible night her mother died at his hands. I won't repeat such things, as they only breed hate and pain and darken the souls of the most innocent around. But I will say that crook of a man was not very nice to Missy Mae. She tore out one evening in a panic towards the riverbank and followed the water flowing towards the East. Anger running hotter than a coal hearth, he took out after her.

Nearly a year before this eventful night, she'd found an opening in the mountain near Brush Cove. Nobody went out that far, and she was hiding from ol' Woody. She wasn't much of a lass; just a skinny, pale faced eight year old kid with eyes too big for her face and arms that wouldn't hold down a chicken if it were pecking her to death. Her hair was a muddy, reddish hue in the afternoon sun, and she was always dirty from the fertile soil that brought to life so much in an eternally damp forest. By the grace of God, she'd somehow befriended a mother bear after spending so much time sleeping in the den beside two young cubs. Don't ask me how such a miracle happened. The good angels above must have been watching out for her. In any a way, this is where she took to running when Woody came after her.

Woody didn't need a weapon, but he carried one anyway. She was a wisp of a child, and he could take her up in one arm and sling her over his back like a sack of short flour. He eyed and crooned when he came face to face with mama bear. She was bound to protect Missy Mae that night by the law of nature, feeling the child one of her own. Missy, however, watched in horror once again as that mean ol' Woody took out his gun and he and her heroic bear danced the dance of death under white stars. There was a loud crack, the cold settled, and the moon shone like a lantern across the forest floor. Woody would bother her no more, as he gasped his last breath before the gun rolled out of his cold, hard hand. Missy saw a shimmer in the sky, and a single moonbeam cast a glow over mama bear's lifeless body. The commotion had scared off the cubs, and she was alone. With a shudder from the wind, she started to notice the wetness of tears down her cheeks. She didn't want to open her eyes again.

This was December, 1925, on Christmas Eve. And what do you know, but the most extraordinary miracle broke the silence of death. There arose a sound out of the night, drawing close and loud; trumpets thundered through the dark towards Brush Cove. Missy shook from either the chill or the scare, and waited bone still until she saw three figures approach her. They seemed to resemble men, yet they glowed ethereal like under the moon. There was a cloud of stardust, what looked like the wings of a dove fluttering all about, topped off by whispers and the scent of wild myrtle and muscadine. To Missy's surprise, mama bear started to move. The figures then trailed off as mysteriously as they'd come. The saintly bear, having been adorned in wings and smudged in the scent of mountain flora, stood over her in the night.

Ever since then, every Christmas eve, The Great Angel Bear watches over the smallest and most disadvantaged children in the world. Grown men and women cannot witness this phenomena, as it was always meant to be shrouded in secrecy by that higher order of winged beasts. The Great Angel Bear is a stealth traveler, visiting only those young ones who need her, taking away their trials to the place she goes back to rest as the last hours of Christmas come to an end. And one day, memories of her will be erased as these children grow to become men and women. For it is not meant for any adult to remember the face of the saintly bear. So while millions of little ones around the globe have Santa, gifts, and a loving family, don't you find yourself frettin' for those who don't. They have something even stronger. They have the loving arms and protective spirit of The Great Angel Bear, and a chance at a fresh life.