The Rapture: In The Twinkling Of An Eye (26 page)

Irene was gripped by the invasion of friends and counselors into Joni’s young life, gradually drawing her out of her wish to die and away from her penchant for withdrawing from reality in her mind. There had been no miracle turnaround but a gradual turning to full dependence upon God. Joni’s life never got easier, and never did she get to the place where she would have chosen her disabilities over wholeness. But she did come to the point where she gave herself wholly to her Savior and dedicated herself to others.

Despite life in a chair, Joni became a student of God’s Word, her life story became a best-selling book and a movie, she sang and recorded—despite needing help with her breathing for the sustained high notes—learned to continue to draw and paint beautifully with a pen or brush held in her teeth, and became an exceptional speaker. She eventually founded Joni and Friends, an organization aimed at accelerating Christian ministry in the disabled community.

Joni’s works were tested in the fire, and Jesus bestowed upon her the Crown of Life. And with her embrace and “well done” came a surprise. Jesus restored to her one of the joys of her youth, producing a white stallion for her to ride.

Cameron Williams had roused when the old woman directly in front of him called out to the pilot. The pilot had shushed her, causing her to peek back at Buck. He dragged his fingers through his longish hair and forced a groggy smile. “Trouble, ma’am?”

“It’s my Harold,” she said.

Buck had helped the old man put his herringbone wool jacket and felt hat in the overhead bin when they boarded. Harold was a short, dapper gentleman in penny loafers, brown slacks, and a tan sweater vest over a shirt and tie. He was balding, and Buck assumed he would want the hat again later when the air-conditioning kicked in.

“Does he need something?”

“He’s gone!”

“I’m sorry?”

“He’s disappeared!”

“Well, I’m sure he slipped off to the washroom while you were sleeping.”

“Would you mind checking for me? And take a blanket.”

“Ma’am?”

“I’m afraid he’s gone off naked. He’s a religious person, and he’ll be terribly embarrassed.”

Buck suppressed a smile when he noticed the woman’s pained expression. He climbed over the sleeping executive on the aisle, who had far exceeded his limit of free drinks, and leaned in to take a blanket from the old woman. Indeed, Harold’s clothes were in a neat pile on his seat, his glasses and hearing aid on top. The pant legs still hung over the edge and led to his shoes and socks. Bizarre, Buck thought. Why so fastidious? He remembered a friend in high school who had a form of epilepsy that occasionally caused him to black out when he seemed perfectly conscious. He might remove his shoes and socks in public or come out of a washroom with his clothes open.

“Does your husband have a history of epilepsy?”

“No.”

“Sleepwalking?”

“No.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Raymie Steele had sat through sermons in which Pastor Billings had tried to prepare the congregation for the types of things they would experience in eternity. He had to confess, however, that to his twelve-year-old ears and brain, it had all sounded a little abstract and ethereal. But to be here, to live it, now it all made sense. Of course, he had a new mind, an adult mind, but it was the wonderful assault on his senses that made everything come together.

If Raymie had a regret it was that he had made heroes of athletes, TV and movie actors. Personalities. People famous for being famous. Raymie had had no idea how many heroes of the faith there were and that there had been a treasure trove of reading material he could have enjoyed, had he only known.

Admittedly, most of the people he was now being exposed to had not been famous or had anything written about them while on Earth. Many were homemakers who had invested their lives in their families and loved ones and had contributed time and effort and sometimes money to widows and orphans and others of society’s castoffs. Clearly, not one of them had gone unnoticed by God. Each of the downtrodden they had served, Jesus said, actually represented Him. He made clear that every time someone fed or clothed or in any way helped even “the least of these,” he or she was doing it as unto Jesus.

Pastor Billings had often said that the biggest mistake a Christian—especially those who loved the idea of the return of Christ—could make was to give up on the world as they knew it. “Just because you may be rescued someday before the Tribulation hits doesn’t mean it’s time to sell all you own and sit on a mountaintop waiting for a chariot to haul you away. If you truly believe Jesus is coming and that He could be coming soon, you ought to be about His work. And that’s more about widows and orphans than it is about setting dates, figuring out who the Antichrist might be, waiting for pie in the sky by and by.”

When the works of unknown saints were tried in the fire, the flame seemed to burst forth—not because there was waste that ignited like hay and stubble, but rather because the gold and silver and gems were shimmering, iridescent in the heat. It seemed the greatest rewards and loudest applause and cheering were reserved for “the last” who were among the first to be judged and praised.

It was still a delight to hear and see the stories of the heroes, and Jesus praised them for their service. But Raymie thought that perhaps because these had already been given much of their due while they were alive, here they came last.

One such, whose fame long outlived him on Earth, Was a man named Dwight Lyman Moody. How Raymie would have loved to read about him before and how he looked forward to chatting with him. The very idea that he would never run out of time and would be able to interact with everyone here was comprehensible only to his glorified mind.

Moody had been one of history’s most dynamic pioneering servants of Christ. Having died before the dawn of the twentieth century and having thus predated the automobile, still he had traveled more than one million miles, spoken to more than 100 million people, and been responsible—on a human level—for having seen perhaps millions coming to saving faith in Jesus Christ. Many considered him the greatest evangelist since the apostle Paul and the forerunner of such preaching giants as Billy Sunday and Billy Graham.

Both Abraham Lincoln and Ulysses S. Grant had attended his revival services. More than 125,000 attended in one day when he preached at the Chicago World’s Exhibition in 1893.

Moody became so famous that he began to travel and preach internationally, and some said he was as well-known as the president of the United States. For a time his birthplace, Northfield, Massachusetts, was actually considered the most famous city in the world.

D. L. Moody’s works radiated from the heat, and he was awarded the crowns of Glory, for feeding the flock, Righteousness, for “loving His appearing,” and Rejoicing, the soul-winner’s crown.

The first-class lavs were unoccupied, but as Buck headed for the stairs, he found several other passengers in the aisle. “Excuse me,” he said, “I’m looking for someone.”

“Who isn’t?” a woman said.

Buck pushed his way past several people and found lines to the washrooms in business and economy. The pilot brushed past him without a word, and Buck was soon met by a flight attendant.

“Sir, I need you to return to your seat and fasten your belt.”

“I’m looking for—”

“Everybody is looking for someone,” she said.

When it was Irene’s turn to have her works tested by fire, it was as if she reverted to her earthly self and emotions. Scared, nervous, on the edge of embarrassment. But just when she was about to wonder if this had all been for real and demand to know why there would be discomfort in God’s house, He spoke directly to her heart.

“Your son will be with you,” God said. “And I am with you always, now and forever. Remember, it is only from one to whom much is given that much is required. You have been Mine for only a short time, and while there will be some waste in the fire, you also redeemed much of the time you served Me.”

With that and with Raymie at her side, Irene moved through the long line, watching, listening, experiencing with others their testing and rewards, and having their stories projected onto her soul. What would others think of hers? She had always believed she was a nobody, a boring Midwestern girl who had met the love of her life at college and then seen him drift from her when she became a follower of Christ. That was no story. It was simply a history.

As she approached the altar, however, Irene was overcome with praise for Jesus and a renewed feeling of unworthiness to even be in His presence. Though she was aware that Raymie was right there, he was largely irrelevant at this moment. She prostrated herself and heard the whoosh of the fire as every moment of her life from the time Jackie had led her to Christ seemed to spill from her and into the flame.

Her own life flashed before her as it was beamed to everyone else, and she saw it in a new light, almost as if for the first time. Irene was seeing herself through the eyes of God. She had never before seen herself as sweet and precious and an object of desire. But the army brat who cavorted in rapid-fire scenes, the little girl Irene had always thought was conniving and selfish—because she had been told that over and over—had another side to her personality. Lost. She was lost for sure back then but didn’t even know it. And how could she have?

Irene saw the young version of herself as a wandering, needy, longing, searching person who only grew and matured into more of the same. She was reminded of conversations she’d had in elementary and junior high school with other girls who wanted only to talk about boys. And yet young Irene was already asking questions about life and truth and the big picture.

Irene had not even remembered those days, let alone wondered what it was she had really been after. But now it was so clear. She was seeking God. Seeking love. Seeking belonging. Purpose. A sense of family. Boyfriends had not brought that. Moving had only exacerbated her problems. It was as if she’d had no choice but to fall for the handsome jock and would-be pilot who had fallen for her.

But what she was really looking for in a man she could find only in God. She had given the marriage and the kids everything she had, but she was still empty, still searching, still facing a void in her life nothing else could fill.

Her eyes downcast yet her body feeling the warmth of the fire, Irene cringed at the wood, hay, and stubble of wasted hours as they burned to ashes. She hadn’t known; that was all. Her sin had been dealt with, but how she wished she could have back every day she had spent as a child of God. What she would do with every minute now!

Her time reading, studying, working out, learning, discussing important matters, thinking and caring and praying about people—these were clearly lauded. And all that time was not necessarily Christian or even religious. Wasted were the times she devoted to herself alone and not for rest and recuperation or recharging her batteries. Rather it was the trivia that had filled much of her life that she now bitterly regretted.

And yet what was this? Not much flame had been spent consuming her wasted time. She lifted her face to see a rainbow of colors emitted from the flame. There, before Irene’s eyes, came scenes of a woman she barely recognized praying, reading her Bible, studying, volunteering at a food bank, sending clothes to charity, teaching Sunday school, attending church, going to Bible studies, praying to receive Christ, being discipled by Jackie, and finally, leading Raymie to Jesus.

The flame disappeared, and in its place lay the ash from the wasted days and gold and silver and precious stones from her good works. She knew they had contributed nothing to her salvation but were rather spawned by her gratitude for the gift she had received. But now Jesus stood before His throne, arms outstretched, beckoning her once again.

As the masses stood cheering and clapping, Irene felt loved and affirmed and whole.

Jesus gathered her into His arms and said, “Well done, good and faithful servant. Yours are the Crown of Righteousness for loving My appearing and the Crown of Rejoicing for having won your own son’s soul for My Kingdom.”

Buck was steered back toward the stairs by a flight attendant with “Hattie” on her nameplate. She slipped past him and took the steps two at a time.

Halfway up himself, Buck turned and surveyed the scene. It was the middle of the night, for heaven’s sake, and as the cabin lights came on, he shuddered. All over the plane, people were holding up clothes and gasping or shrieking that someone was missing.

Buck felt the same terror he had endured awaiting his death in Israel a little more than a year before. What was he going to tell Harold’s wife? “You’re not the only one”? “Lots of people left their clothes in their seats”?

As he hurried back to his seat, he searched his memory banks for anything he had ever read, seen, or heard of any technology that could remove people from their clothes and make them disappear from a decidedly secure environment. Whoever did this, were they on the plane? Would they make demands? Would another wave of disappearances be next? Would he become a victim? Where would he find himself?

Raymie’s time before the judgment and the throne was brief, befitting his short time as a believer. But he found it nonetheless fascinating and thrilling to be welcomed to eternity by Jesus Himself. And he had to agree with his mother that seeing a replay of his own life from God’s point of view would change forever how he saw the person he had once been.

How fun it was to see Jeremy and his parents, Jackie and her husband, and especially Pastor Billings get their rewards. The pastor was especially lauded for his foresight in leaving behind a recording to be discovered by those left, explaining what had happened and telling them how they could still come to Christ.

Fear seemed to pervade the cabin as Buck climbed over his sleeping seatmate again. He stood and leaned over the back of the chair ahead of him. “Apparently many people are missing,” he told the old woman.