New Earth Rising

Chapter 1

Michael Brown awoke to face another day. It was April 21, 2010. The room was bathed in the curtain-filtered light of the early sun. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He turned his head to the right and smiled when he saw Joan, his wife. She was still sleeping peacefully beside him. He admired the softly sculpted features of her adorable face. Her café-au-lait complexion was remarkably pure for a woman of thirty-eight. She had no blemishes or wrinkles anywhere. Michael smiled as he mentally traced the outline of her oval face. Her high, rounded cheekbones, subtle chin and raven black hair gave her the exotic look of beauty that one finds in women from Polynesia. She wasn’t from that part of the world but, throughout her life, many people had been fooled into thinking that she was.

As he watched her sleep, Michael remembered some of the many heartwarming moments that they had shared together, tender moments that had enriched his life forever. He was thankful that he had married her, and his gratitude promptly brought yet another smile to his face. Her unique combination of beauty, wisdom and compassion made her very special and, in that, he felt immensely blessed.

Even as he studied the petite but voluptuous frame that was shrouded by the ruffled blankets, Michael’s mind wandered on. Soon, the smile faded. He thought of how he had not been spending as much time with her during recent months. Many nights, she had waited up for him until one or two in the morning, only to have him arrive at three or four o’clock instead. Sometimes, he would be gone again by seven.

Michael thought about this lost time and felt sad. Still, he knew that he didn’t have much choice. He had been under an enormous amount of pressure at work. He knew that if he did not achieve positive results with the project in the very near future, his contract would be terminated, and he would be out of a job. The thought of pounding the pavement in search of new employment was not one that appealed to him. In fact, it frightened him deeply. Good career opportunities were not as numerous as they once were, especially for mad scientist types like Michael Brown.

Joan began to stir. She seemed to be waking from her sleep. Michael enjoyed watching her body uncoil from its fetal position, but his troubling thoughts continued. It had been almost four years since the prefect had begun. He remembered how he had felt when he had first received the word from Washington that his grant proposal had been accepted. It was one of the happiest days of his life.

At that time, he sincerely believed that his CIVIC ("Comprehensive Inquiry for the Verification of Intergalactic Civilizations") project was worthwhile and valuable to humanity. But, as a result of his lack of success, doubts had been rumbling in his mind. Still, he had tried to maintain a positive attitude about his wok and had repressed his apprehensions for the last 47 months. And, now, only one month was left.

The original proposal had included an option for a two-year renewal. The government had originally agreed to those terms, but things had changed. Michael had been forced to learn the hard way about the lack of long-term reliability of government grants. Over the last 18 months, the nation’s deficit had risen by more than 30 trillion dollars. The once thriving global economy was faltering at a rapid pace. After a long and bitter partisan battle during its last session, Congress had killed the funding on thousands of programs and grants. The CIVIC project was on the list of programs to receive no further support.

Fortunately, Michael’s resourcefulness had enabled him to line up a potential source of independent funding, but in order to secure it he was going to have to present convincing evidence of the program’s merits. If he were not able to persuade the Outer Space Development Consortium (OSDC), he would not be able to get the financing that he needed to continue his research. Michael knew that he would be out of options if he failed to attract the OSDC as a funding partner. Interest in space exploration had declined significantly throughout the 1990s, so very few people were willing to invest.

This train of thought led him to his other source of confusion. Maybe it was a mid-life crisis or something, but he had been feeling more and more frustrated about his career in science. Sometimes, it seemed that nothing could ever be resolved. Each new discovery led to many more new questions, questions that always seemed to put in doubt the theories behind each discovery In science, nothing was ever certain because so much remained unknown. He was always challenged in the search for knowledge, but the mysteries often left him feeling unfulfilled. These pressures weighed on him as he watched his wife move once again.

Thank God, she still believes in me, he thought. He was so grateful that Joan understood the importance of the project. He knew that she truly believed in its potential. He remembered that day last spring when she had said, You’ve got to keep at it, Michael. Just think of how much the world could change for the better if you positively identified life on other planets. Joan believed in CIVIC, and that is why she patiently tolerated him and the weird hours that he kept. Again, the smile slowly returned, reflecting his delight that she was with him.

Joan’s eyes blinked open while he was watching her. She immediately saw the smile and the warm look that was on his face. What? What is it? she asked. Her drowsiness dominated her voice, making it sound an octave or two lower than usual.

"Oh, nothing. I was just thinking about how much I love you, that’s all. Is there anything wrong with that?" His tone was gently teasing.

No, there isn’t, she said, still sounding sleepy. How long have you been awake? I mean, how long have you been watching me like this?

Oh, I don’ know. About five minutes or so, I guess. Michael reached over and lightly ran his fingers through her hair

What time did you get in last night?

About three-thirty.

Well, what time is it now?

Michael turned his head and looked at the clock that sat on the end table on her side of the bed. The big blue digits brightly declared the time. It’s seven thirty-three.

Joan slowly raised herself onto her left elbow. She was afraid that her husband was pushing himself too hard, and she was concerned about it. Michael, did you get enough rest?

"Yeah, sure. I’m fine. I think I’ve gotten used to this routine. That doesn’t mean I like it, though. I would rather be able to spend all that time with you. But, if I don’ get some results real soon, we’ll have other problems to deal with, you know?"

"I know. I just don’ want you to kill yourself in the process. I’d rather face tough times with you, than not have you at all."

I know. Hey, how would you like a nice cool glass of orange juice? I’ll go get it for you if you want some.

Joan nodded her head affirmatively. She watched him get out of the bed. Michael?

Yes?

Are you going to the lab today?

He heard a bit of anxiety in her voice. Actually, he had intended to go to the lab for a couple of hours, even though it was a holiday. But the tone in her voice led him to rethink his decision. He had ignored that particular tone so many times before but, this time, he felt the need to respond by staying at home. No, sweetheart. Today, I belong to you. I really want to spend some time with you and Micky. He leaned over and kissed her.

She looked up at him with a broad smile on her face, showing her pleasure with his response. Michael figured to make her even happier with what he was going to say next. Hey, honey?

Huh?

"It’s Good Friday today, isn’t it? How about if we all go to church today? I was thinking. It’s been a long time since I’ve gone to church with you guys. Since it’s Good Friday, it would be a good time for me to go along with you. If we hurry, we can probably make it to the 8:30 service and avoid the big crowd at noon."

That would be real nice, Michael! Are you sure?

Yeah, I’m sure. I really want to go

Alright, then we’ll go! She was smiling but, inside, she couldn’t help but wonder why he was so anxious to go to church. It had seemed that his enthusiasm for church had been at an all time low in recent times.

Well then, I guess we’d better start getting ready With that, Michael turned and grabbed his robe from the bedpost. He covered himself with the blue terrycloth while stepping into his house shoes at the same time. He tied the belt and smiled at her once again. Then, he left the room. On his way to the kitchen, Michael stopped to open the blinds on each of the windows that he passed. At the window in the spare bedroom, he paused to take a peek at the good-looking morning outside. The sky was blue, and he heard the birds of springtime singing out their melodies of joy to every living thing under the sun.

Chapter 2

The Brown family home sat on the gentle eastern slope of a small hill, just a few miles due west of downtown Chicago The modest ranch style home was primarily constructed of brick, and distinctively accented with cedar siding. As he gazed out the window, he recalled how he and Joan had immediately fallen in love with the place. Both the house and the neighborhood were very nice, but they had not been the primary reasons for their choosing this house. They had been sold on the home because of the view it provided. It was in one of the few subdivisions in the outer Chicagoland area that afforded a good view of the world famous skyline. When the weather was nice, seeing the towering structures that rose majestically to meet the sky was very easy. As he left the spare room and headed toward his son’s bedroom, he felt pleased that Micky had his own panorama available on a daily basis. He was convinced that it would always help his son to think big thoughts.

Michael quietly opened the door to his son’s room, thinking of how infrequently he had awakened him to welcome him to a new day. When he had the door fully open, Michael noticed that Micky was already awake. In fact, he was sitting on the side of his bed, nervously swinging his feet back and forth in front of him.

Good morning, son, Michael said, putting his best smile on display

Hi, daddy Micky’s voice was flat. He was obviously preoccupied with something.

"What’s wrong, Micky? Didn’t you sleep well?"

No. Not really, daddy I had a bad dream!

The bewilderment on Micky’s face told the story. Instinctively, Michael felt the need to console his son. He walked into the room, sat down on the edge of the bed and put his hand on Micky’s shoulder. There was a bit of sorrow deep within his heart when he realized that, during the last four years, his boy had virtually grown up without him. He thought it remarkable that, somehow, Micky had still managed to acquire many of his personality traits.

Michael took a good look at Micky. He was clearly his mother’s son, except that his hair was brown and curly His complexion was slightly darker than Joan’s, but not as dark as Michael’s. He had the nose of a Native American Indian with a slender profile and a prominent bridge. His 52-inch frame was a bit on the wiry side. With his long arms and legs, Micky looked like someone who would be a little clumsy sometimes.

Like his father, Micky was very curious and intelligent. He possessed a wonderful sense of imagination that allowed him to easily explore and accept new ideas. Michael knew that Micky was going to be able to succeed at almost anything he tried. He knew that he had the responsibility to help him grow and, for an instant, he wondered about how badly he had failed in those duties. As he looked into his son’s troubled eyes, Michael began to think that the end of the CIVIC project might be the best thing for the good of his family.

Tell me about your dream, Micky, he said softly.

The boy wasted no time in his response. After all, it was a rare opportunity for him to relate to his father so intimately.

"It was real dark out," he said with a rush as he began his narrative. "The stars were out all over the sky, and the wind was blowing’ kind of hard. It was real cold, too. I think I was waiting, hoping you were coming home soon. I was watching mommy through the kitchen window. I could see her cleaning up the dishes or something. It was like I was in the back yard, but it wasn’t really our backyard. I was playing like I was an astronaut in space, and I was waiting for your ship to come back and dock with mine. Then, these bright lights starred flashing all over the sky. They were so bright, daddy! It hurt my eyes when I looked straight at ‘em. And then, one of the lights went on right above me and, all of a sudden, it got real windy. The wind was real hot, too. After that, I couldn’t see mommy in the window because there wasn’t any window, and the house wasn’t there anymore. The air kept getting hotter. I looked up again, and the stars were all gone. They were hidden behind some red clouds. I wanted to cry but I couldn’t I was too afraid, daddy! I was too afraid to cry because I thought that if I did, my eyes would get all wet, and I wouldn’t be able to find mommy or see you when your ship came home. Then, I woke up."

Micky paused to bury his head into his father’s chest. He was breathing rapidly, as if he had just relived the frightening experience. After a few seconds, he looked up at Michael and said, Daddy, why did I have that bad dream? What does it mean?

Michael put both of his arms around his son. He picked him up and sat him on his lap, quietly reflecting on the dream. He knew that it probably had frightened Micky even more than he had revealed. This was another trait that the boy had taken from his father Michael had always been short on words, and he never told people everything that was on his mind.

After thinking about it for a few minutes, Michael realized that he did not feel comfortable enough to respond directly to Micky’s questions about the dream. He decided that for the time being, it would be best to deal with it later. So he said, "Hey, son. We’re going to go to church in a little while. Why don’t you pray about it when we get there? So, go ahead and get yourself cleaned up and I’ll think about your dream some more. It’s a difficult dream to explain, and daddy doesn’t want to give you the wrong answers. Anyway, just remember that it was only a nightmare. Michael paused a while before finishing what he really wanted to say most. I love you, Micky, and I won’t let anything like that happen to you. So go ahead and get ready. We’ll talk about your dream a little later on, okay?"

"Okay, daddy I’ll try not to think about it, and I’ll tell God about it when we get to church."

Good. That’s the spirit! Now go on and get ready I’ll bring you some orange juice in a few minutes.

Okay! Micky got up and shuffled his feet across the carpet as he headed out across the hall on his way to the bathroom.

Of course, Michael knew what the dream was about. He felt sorry for Micky and all the other children who were living with the fear of nuclear war In fact, it was a subject that had moved to the front of almost everyone’s mind. Because of the suffering economy, national isolationism, and increased acts of terrorism, international tensions had escalated dramatically over the last few years. The daily news reports almost always contained references to a renewed potential of full-scale nuclear war. The threat was now higher that it had been since the early 1980s.

Michael thought about how the sporadic fighting on the African continent had gotten much heavier since summer. It was hard for him to believe that mankind would allow itself to be destroyed by its own hand, but the current trend of events clearly established the possibility of that happening. He shared the same fear that terrorized everyone else, butO as a scientist, he felt that he understood the disastrous consequences of nuclear war better than most people. Michael knew that human nature could complicate even the simplest things, even the things that might avert a war He was afraid that human passions might end up prevailing over more logical solutions. It made him think of the children, and how their simple approaches might solve the problems if only they were allowed to run the world for a while. It was tragic that they had to be burdened by this nonsense. Finally, he decided not to think about it anymore. There wasn’t much that he could do about it, anyway

Michael rose from Micky’s bed and left the room, making his way to the kitchen. He opened the blinds, turned and opened the refrigerator. The cold, moist air rushed out and fell down to chill the skin on his bare legs. He reached for the carton of orange juice, removed it, and let the door swing closed. He put the carton on the counter, opened the cabinet, and took out three juice glasses. A little music would be nice, Michael said aloud. He put the glasses down beside the juice, left the kitchen, and headed into the adjoining family room.

When he arrived in the room, Michael walked directly over to the entertainment console. He bent down and turned on the power. The radio was still tuned to his favorite FM easy listening station. He fumbled around with the volume control until it was set at just the right level. He returned to the kitchen to pour the juice. Imagine, the old John Lennon song, accompanied him on his way

Michael sang along with the song, humming the parts that he still didn’t know. He filled the glasses with the orange, pulpy liquid, longing for the time when Lennon’s vision of peace would come true. He returned the carton to its place on the refrigerator shelf, and he placed one of the glasses on the table in the breakfast nook. Then, he picked up the other two glasses to start his return trip to the bedroom. When he reached Micky’s bathroom, he called out to tell him that he had left some juice for him on the table.

Michael was walking in time with the music, feeling rather happy about spending the day with his family Just as he approached the bedroom door, he was alarmed by the chilling tone that announced an upcoming special news bulletin. What’s this? he asked aloud. Within seconds, he heard a male voice proclaim, A special news bulletin follows in 30 seconds.

He planted himself in the doorway, firmly rooted in place like a hundred year old tree on a mid-western plain. Micky’s dream was still very fresh in his mind. He dreadfully feared the upcoming message, wishing that he knew the whole story before it was told.

A special news bulletin follows in 20 seconds.

The voice was calm and professional. It gave no clues, no hints, and no hope. He looked at Joan, watching her watch him. He wondered why they always made people wait so long before telling the news. He wondered if it was to give people time to turn the radio off. Maybe, he thought, they did it so people could prepare themselves and, hopefully, avoid a heart attack A special news bulletin follows in 10 seconds.

Joan walked forward until she stood right in front of him. She was obviously as on edge as Michael. She reached for one of the juice glasses in his hand. Their silence covered the room like a thick layer of evening fog. It was so heavy and dense that neither of them tried to penetrate it with words. Then, the hush was finally broken by the voice of Lynn Hargrove, the station’s news director.

"We interrupt this broadcast for a special news bulletin. The GLN Wire Service has reported that there has been a military encounter between American and Japanese forces near the eastern coast of central Africa. Casualties are reported to be heavy. GLN reports that, at 3:33 AM., Eastern Standard Time, Japanese forces attacked an American base near Mogadishu, Somalia. At least six thousand American soldiers may have been killed. GLN also reports that, at 4:00 AM., Eastern Standard Time, an American naval fleet launched a retaliatory attack on a Japanese base in western Ethiopia. Apparently, the attack included the deployment of Stealth fighters, Stealth bombers and Tomahawk Cruise missiles. Japanese casualties are estimated to be at ten thousand or more. President Robert Shell has placed all American military personnel on full alert. I repeat; there has been heavy fighting involving American and Japanese forces on the African continent. Thousands of lives may have been lost in the combat. The president of the United States has placed all U.S. forces on military alert Please stay tuned to this station for further reports on the African crisis. We now return you to our regularly scheduled programming."

It was the worst news yet. Michael felt as if he had just gotten off of the scariest roller coaster ride of his life. It was as if his stomach had been filled with a thousand bucking horses, each with no regard for his health and well being. Even though he could feel the sweat rising up through the skin of his palms, he recognized the need to stay calm. He had to, for his family’s sake. Still, he didn’t know what he could say to help take the sharp edge off of the terrible news. How could he comfort them when he felt like he needed to be comforted just as badly?

Michael looked at Joan again. Her face had become sullen and withdrawn. He reached out for her. She quickly slipped into his arms. Her arms folded around his waist when she buried her face into his chest. He held her closely, tightly, and securely. Suddenly, the glass in her hand fell to the floor and she began to weep quietly. The sound of the shattering glass reminded Michael that John Lennon’s vision of peace was still very far from being a reality

Where’s Micky? Her voice was no louder than a broken whisper "He’s in the bathroom, washing up He probably didn’t hear it. Michael was forcing his calmness as he answered her What are we going to tell him?"

We’ll just tell him the truth, honey I know; we’ll tell him that it’s just like a bad dream.

What? What is that supposed to mean? She didn’t seem to have much patience with his answer

He’ll understand what I mean. He had a nightmare about a nuclear war last night. He was upset about it, but I think he’ll be all right after we talk about how stupid people can be sometimes. Trust me, honey I’ll take care of it, okay?

This is going to be the strangest Good Friday ever. First, you decide that you want to go to church for the first time in three years and, now, people are killing each other by the thousands. And, it’s not even mid-morning yet! She wasn’t trying to hide any of her anxiety from him.

"It’ll be alright, Joan. Everything will work out just fine. You’ll see." Michael tried to make his voice sound as reassuring as possible.

Yeah, sure. If you say so.

Good. That’s better He used his right index finger to catch the tear that fell from her left eye.

Michael?

Huh?

"You’d better let me go I’ve got to clean up the orange juice before it stains the carpet."

Yeah, okay I guess you’re right. Let’s go ahead and clean it up before the stain sets in.

Chapter 3

The Browns finished getting ready and made their way to the church. Michael explained the bad news to Micky as they rode. After he was satisfied that his son had accepted the truth, he thought about how the fighting really made a mockery of the beautiful day that surrounded them. Puffy, white clouds swept in a southeasterly direction across the suburban sky. The brilliant sunlight abounded in its glory, making the temperature quite mild for an early spring day Long morning shadows elegantly stretched across the wide city streets. The morning really was beautiful, especially for those who had not yet heard the news from Africa.

A noticeable somberness loomed over many of the arriving worshippers. As they approached the steps to the church, Michael’s eyes drifted to watch a younger woman standing near the large wooden doors of the sanctuary. She was speaking to a much older lady. The elderly woman was feebly holding on to the wrought-iron railing that lined the steps. He knew for sure that they were talking about the casualties the moment that he saw the old woman suddenly clutch her breast in animated grief.

Services began promptly at 8:30 and progressed in its usual fashion with no mention of the battle of Africa until the time to offer petitions arrived. Even then, the only reference to the fighting came by way of a petition for God to welcome the souls of the deceased soldiers into his kingdom. At that point, Michael watched the astonishment spread from face to face as the uninformed became aware. From his observations, he concluded that about fifty percent of the congregation had not known about the terrible news. For a brief moment or two, the sanctuary was filled with hushed sighs and gasps of Oh no! The gasps were soon followed by the sounds of hushed sobs and sniffles. Finally, after about a minute or two, the congregation settled down and the service continued. The gathering was asked to stand while Father

George Crenshaw and the lay readers read The Passion, the re-enactment of the last hours of the life of Jesus Christ. As the readings began, Michael looked down and caught a glimpse of his son’s troubled face. Michael did not know it, but Micky was wondering if Jesus was thinking about the trouble in Africa. He was thinking about the pain and suffering that Jesus endured while He was on the cross. He thought that Christ’s suffering must have been terrible, especially if it had to pay for the sins of all the bad people; people like the ones who killed the soldiers.

Through it all, Micky tried to be a big boy. He tried really hard to hold his emotions back, but he did not succeed. A solitary tear forced its way out of his right eye, and slowly rolled down his cheek. He prayed to Jesus, asking Him to let His suffering be enough to keep other people from dying in the war He hoped that, maybe, Jesus would come back to stop the war before the skies blazed with the bright lights that he had seen in his dream.

Michael saw Micky’s tear. He put his hand on the boy’s shoulder in a reassuring gesture of love. Michael was also filled with sorrow. Even though he projected calmness and strength on the outside, his insides burned with fear, much more than he had ever felt before. He began to pray as the readings progressed. He tried to follow along with the scripture readings, but he found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on what was being said. His mind was too puzzled and blanketed with confusion.

Like Micky, he wondered why people still had to fight and kill each other, long after Jesus had given His life to save them. He fought back the urge to cry. He did not want anyone to see his weakness and confusion but he didn’t know how long he would be able to keep his real feelings hidden. He feared that he was losing control. He could not stop thinking about the prospects of a nuclear war. He was not really afraid for himself; his concern was for his wife and son, and for all the other children that would suffer for the irresponsible acts of others.

Suddenly, things seemed to change. It was as if a shift in his consciousness had occurred. Michael sensed a different level of awareness coming from somewhere within. He felt as if his body was being lifted up, above and away from the pew in which he stood. Michael looked down at his feet to make sure that he was still on the ground. He was. But he still felt like he was rising. He could hear the chorus of voices reading The Passion but it sounded different than it had just seconds before. It now sounded removed, as if he was listening to it on the radio while driving in a traffic jam on the Dan Ryan Expressway.

He had never sensed anything like this before. Normally, it would have unnerved him to feel the way he did, but for some unknown reason, he began to feel more curious than afraid. There was something reassuring; something comfortable about the moment he was experiencing. He wondered if it was because it was happening to him in church, but he soon decided that there was something more to it than that. And suddenly, everything became much more obvious.

With the blinding speed of a lightning bolt, Michael suddenly found himself in vastly different surroundings. His upward movement turned into a rapid acceleration through a long and narrow tube of brightly colored lights. His perceptions of normal time and space were compromised by the new and surreal surroundings that enclosed him. At that moment, all that seemed to matter was his movement through the unfamiliar corridor of neon colored lights.

Automatically, his scientific mind tried to explain the experience, but he quickly determined his effort was senseless. He realized that an entirely different kind of discipline would be required to explain something so phenomenal. It was one of those times when science would have no answers. He could feel exhilarating speed, but the upward motion was no longer noticeable. Directions had become unimportant. Time was unimportant. The journey through the tunnel seemed to define his existence.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the trip ended. He found himself standing alone in a barren chamber of an old structure. It was like an ancient temple. The chamber walls had white marbled columns that stood in a circle. The floor appeared to be made of the same material. The building did not have a roof. Overhead, a large, pulsating ball of brilliant, white light shone from within a magenta sky. Literally millions of gleaming rays were streaming out from it in all directions. It was like he was directly underneath a star, a blue-white super giant (like Orion’s Rigel), to be exact. As bright as this ball of light was, he found it odd that he was able to stare directly into its light without being blinded by its brilliance.

There was an extraordinary noise coming from somewhere near the light, like the sound of rushing wind.

At that moment, a warm feeling swept over him and covered him with more love than he had ever felt before. It was a feeling of eternal familiarity. Soon, the sense of familiarity gave way to a feeling of awe. The awe then yielded to humility. The humility then turned into feelings of intense joy. These changes were not the result of his conscience thinking; they happened instantly and they happened all on their own.

And then, a powerful voice spoke to him in a firm, but tender, whisper He did not hear the voice. He felt it. It said:

"Do not bewilder thyself, Michael. I am here as I always shall be. Fear me not, for as surely as I speak to you now, I promise that your worst fears shall not come to pass. Because I have wished it so, you alone shall know that I have sent my armies to do my good works. Tell no one of this for they must see the truth unfold with their own eyes. Soon, all men shall know the vastness of my power, and you shall be called upon to help them understand. Behold, the time for change arrives, even as you feel the words of my will. Go. Go now to continue my wok, and reap the rewards that I have delivered; for the answers that you have sought in faith will surely come to you and you shall not be left alone, even in the middle of your darkest day Share in this peace that I give to you and prepare thyself for the miracles at hand. Other things will be revealed to you in time, and when you have seen them, you will know that my will has prevailed."

The voice replied to Michael’s thoughts before he could finish phrasing the first question.

"And the answer to one question shall I provide to you now."

Michael was stunned. He hadn’t been prepared for this kind of experience. He wondered which of his many questions he should ask. Again, even before he had settled on how to ask his most pressing question, the voice responded to him.

"I am that which you have forgotten but that which you now know to be true. I am the cause and the effect of all things and of everything in between. I am the power that lies inside of you and the force that binds all things together as one. I am that which creates anew with every thought that I have. All that you know and all that you do not know is born in me. All things live in me even as I live in them. I am the one you have sought for so long and I am the one you have never lost. I am the one who speaks to you constantly yet I am the one you seldom hear I am that which I am, that which has always been and that which will always be. I am you and you are me."

Michael was in awe. Awkwardly, his mind tried to stabilize itself, to accept what is normally unacceptable. Of course, he had heard accounts of born again experiences, but he had never been able to grant them much credence. He was a scientist. Scientists were skeptical by nature. They needed plausible poof and empirical data to substantiate things before they could believe in them. He wondered if anyone would ever be able to believe his story but, then, he remembered that he had been asked to tell no one. How am I supposed to keep something like this a secret? he asked himself. He really wanted to tell someone, especially Joan. He was bothered to think that he was not able to share such an incredible experience with her

He realized that he was standing at a spiritual turning point. It was, perhaps, the most significant event of his life.

The reading of the Passion concluded just as Michael’s consciousness returned to normal. When the congregation sat down, he was still preoccupied and did not follow suit. It was only after Joan had tugged on the back of his jacket that he finally refocused and sat down beside her

Michael watched carefully as Father Jack Crenshaw reverently approached the pulpit to deliver his sermon. Michael’s mind was still reeling as he tried to classify what had just happened to him. Had his anxiety level become so high that his body had released the intoxicating endorphins that fill the bloodstream during high levels of stress and danger? Had he experienced some sort of temporary psychotic trauma similar to that experienced by people who undergo tragic losses? Or, was it really as it appeared, a spiritual event like those shared by people who claimed to have been reborn?

The priest scanned the sanctuary as he slowly adjusted the position of the microphone. He was a short, stout man, but his character and faith gave him a large stature. His trust in God had always been clear to those that knew him and, most of the time, it was demonstrated by his constant, cheerful attitude towards life. However, this time, his face was somber His movements were painfully deliberate. His cheerful attitude was no longer visible.

Father Crenshaw turned his head away from the microphone to clear his throat. Then, he began to speak.

"My brothers and sisters in Christ, today we have read the Passion of our Lord and Savior. You know, each time that I hear it or read it, it forces me to realize how great a sacrifice that it was for Jesus to lay His life down for us. And yes, my friends, it is ironic that, today, we have heard news of how so many young men and women have lost their lives in defense of their countries. Yet I feel compelled to remind you that their sacrifices do not and cannot compare to the greatest sacrifice of all, the Passion that took place nearly two thousand years ago

"I know that it may sound callous but let us never lose sight of the truth. We must remember that our Savior died for us, not for some political ideal. He did not die for the defense of a nation. No, His concerns were much greater than that; they were deeper than some fight over a piece of land that no one can really own. Jesus Christ willingly went to His death to save the entire world and all who live in it. He died to wash away the sins of the world. The sins of war. The sins of greed. The sins of jealousy. The sins of bigotry. The sins of murder He died to save us from all the sins of evil. Without His great sacrifice, we would all be lost forever. His death did not benefit our national security, but it did provide our souls with the key to everlasting life."

Father Crenshaw paused for a brief moment. He was hoping to give his words an opportunity to filter into the consciousness of his congregation. Then, after looking the crowd over again, he continued…

"You know, I don’t suspect that any human being will ever truly comprehend the significance of what Christ did for us. Similarly, I am also certain that none of us has the capacity to understand the tremendous loss of life that has sorrowed us here today However, I do know that there is one who is greater than us, one who has the ability to understand things that we cannot; one who has the ability to do things that we cannot. For whatever reason, He has allowed this war in Africa. Who knows, my friends? Perhaps, He has allowed it because it completes a smaller part of a more grandiose plan, a scenario that is much too large and complex for our small minds to fathom. Only God can say why He has allowed what has been done. At any rate, it is He whom we should consult in these times. He is the one who can show us the way Remember Trust in Him. Trust in the Lord our God. Trust in our Savior, the One who truly gave His life to save us. Together with the Holy Spirit and the Holy Angels, they will show us the way to the salvation and the security that has already been won for us. Believe me when I tell you, they can and will protect us in ways that our president and his militia cannot. Our God cannot be stopped by surface-to-air missiles. He cannot be destroyed by neutron bombs. His is the side of strength. The side of glory. The side of mercy Oh, my brothers and sisters, isn’t that the side that you want to be on when the final days arrive?"

The priest paused again to survey the congregation. He saw the nodding heads and receptive faces laid out before him. He was convinced that he was getting through to them…

"And yet, I say to you now that the final days have not yet arrived. For those of us who have faith and the vision to see beyond the gloomy voices of the media, there is always hope. You see, they report the news as they see it, and as they are instructed to report it. But the news they report is only the news of this world. It is not the good news of Jesus Christ. The news of Jesus Christ tells us that we are blessed with the love of God. It tells us that we have guardian angels. They are angels of power and might. They are also angels of mercy I prefer to listen to the good news of our Lord. I prefer to believe in the protection of His angels. I prefer to envision them sweeping down from Heaven in great numbers to protect us all. Listen, my friends. Listen to the word of God as it appears in the ninety-first Psalm.

‘For he will give his angels chare of you to guard you in all your ways. On their hands they will bear you up lest you dash your foot against a stone.’"

Father Crenshaw stepped away from the microphone again. He raised his right hand and rested it underneath his chin. His face looked happier. His cheerful attitude was returning in time to lift the spirits of those gathered in front of him. It pleased him to see the hope return to some of their faces. He cleared his throat again and stepped back in front of the microphone.

"Have faith, for all of the prophecies have yet to be fulfilled. The end of the world is not yet upon us. Sure, evil is everywhere. Hatred abounds. Sin runs rampant like rabbits through the grass. But fear not my friends, for the lamb has not yet opened the seven seals. Keep your faith, for God has given us hope to endure all things. Through His son, Jesus Christ, we have hope for the afterlife and through His wonderful angels of mercy, we shall have hope for the days ahead. Praise be to God, forever and ever. Amen." The priest stepped away from the podium.

Michael enjoyed the sermon but he was confused by the experience that he had right before the priest had spoken. Once again, he faced the conflict that arose from all his years of scientific training. The training tended to make him doubt what had happened. For a moment, he wondered if he had become paranoid as a result of his grief and the pressures of his failing project. Had he been stricken with a psychosis that had altered his mental state and led him into a mild case of shock? Was the experience merely a hallucination borne from deep within his troubled mind?

Those and other questions wrestled with the peace that he had been given during his visit to the heavenly temple as he tried to find a natural means of accepting his supernatural experience. He soon realized, however, that the only way to accept what had happened was to acknowledge that, for whatever reason, he had been chosen to have an encounter with God. So, he thanked God for talking to him, even though he did not understand why it had happened.

Chapter 4

After they had returned home from Good Friday service, Michael and his family changed their clothes and met in the kitchen to prepare and eat breakfast. He made the pancakes while Joan cut the melon and scrambled some eggs. Micky sat at the table in the nook, quietly writing in his notebook. All the while, Joan tried her best to forget about the fighting in Africa and the potential ramifications it implied. Michael, on the other hand, was internally engaged in a spiritual tug-of-war He kept thinking about his strange experience at church. He continued to feel the peace that he had been given, but he was still confused by what had happened. There was no question that the experience had been real, yet he failed to comprehend it in the way that he was accustomed to understanding things. Cause and effect-that’s what he was used to In this case, however, all he knew for sure was the effect. He was left baffled by the unknown cause. Why had it