A green hill slopes down to the church entrance. Steven is hit by a smell; grilled hotdogs at a little outdoor food concession table. A dog with mustard is just what he needed. He devours it in the dozen or so yards to the wide entry way where three sets of double doors stand invitingly open. Steven feels a sense of triumph at actually getting to the conference, his smile beams. God really made it happen, and now he is here.

Several lines for the check in tables stretch into the breezeway. Since the line seems frozen, Steven decides to sit and rest a bit. He plops down on the floor Indian style. Ah, much better. He has followed the Holy Spirit’s trail here and now it’s time to relax. Could anyone else feel this good about being here? Or feel comfortable and uninhibited enough to just take a seat on the floor? Steven looks around, still grinning. Surely someone has to notice his radiance, it must emanate from him like a glow. He pities those who don’t look happy. God has brought us all here. How could anyone be less than thrilled? Finally the line starts to move so Steven rises. He locks eyes with a young guy. “You from around here?” Steven asks.

“Yeah, about twenty minutes.”

“Well I’m here from Tucson, and I didn’t even know about the conference two days ago.”

“Wow, really.”

The two chat until Steven reaches the front of the line.

A young brunette smiles up at Steven from the registration table.

“Hi “ says Steven “ glad to see someone else who looks happy. I expected people around here to be more pumped up.”

The girl hands him a form “Just fill this out. It is exciting isn’t it?”

Grabbing the clipboard with paper and pen, Steven considers stooping and writing at the table like all the others before him, but that doesn’t seem very comfortable. He moves one step to the right and spins down into Indian style sitting position. Always second guessing his address, he pulls out his wallet to verify with his driver’s license. A few lines and minutes later he hops up and returns the forms to the girl who seems surprised at Steven’s unorthodox manner.

“That will be $150” she says.

Steven digs out two crisp hundred dollar bills and hands them over. The girl converts them into two twenties and a ten from her grey metal cash box and hands Steven a lanyard with his name and the company’s logo: Voice of the Prophets. “They will start letting people enter the auditorium in about 20 minutes.”

“Thanks.” Steven says as his throat goes dry. Still, without glasses, Steven squints around looking for a water fountain.  He is pulled forward by the smell of pancakes and eggs. He’s not hungry, but the smell guides him around a wall and into the cafeteria. He smiles as he squeezes past each table. When he arrives at the genesis of the smell, (a counter where food orders are taken) he notices a drink case.

“One bottled water please.” He says handing over the ten he still finds in his hand. He puts the rest of the change in his wallet and starts guzzling the water.

“Thanks I was really thirsty” he says turning away. God provides again. He had only been looking for a sip from a water fountain and here he was quickly downing a bottled water which wasn’t even at a jacked up price: only fifty cents. God is almost providing for him faster than he can have a desire, from rides to food and drinks, what next? As he rounds the turn, Steven tosses the empty bottle into a recycling bin. Once again, God exceeds his own thoughts; As soon as he’d wanted to throw the bottle away, here was a recycling bin. Steven is saturated with the feeling that he is fully walking the exact right steps that God has planned for him to take. Life is perfect.

Steven’s eye is drawn to a desk he didn’t notice before. A small white rectangle catches his eye and pulls him toward it. There is a blonde woman, older than Steven behind a table, but what his attention is drawn to is the sign above two wire mesh baskets. The sign reads “Do you have a word from the Lord?” There are rectangular slips of paper one third size of an 8 ½ by 11 sheet of paper. The forms have lines for writing and a heading of “Word from God”. Yes, this is one reason why Steven is here, to share his revelation. God led him to the exactly the right spot. He grabs a slip and a pen then begins furiously writing: “On Monday a great evil world leader was captured or killed, possibly Osama Bin Laden. At that time he was being indwelt by Satan, who was captured before he could jump into another host. Angels were waiting to bind him. We are now entering a seventh millennium, of peace and rest for the earth.” Steven finishes writing on the back side of the paper. During all this time, he notices that only one other person dropped a folded slip into the wire basket. He gazes into the wire basket where there is only one lonely slip. Something feels wrong.

“Where are the others?” Steven asks the woman.

“What do you mean?” she replies, coming closer.

“Well, this is a prophesy conference. And these are the prophesy slips.” Steven looks around at all the milling people. “God led me right to the table to record my word from God. So, where are the others? Why isn’t there a line over here?”

“Well, that’s generally not how it works. The slips will be passed out during the conference, each person will get one and have a chance to fill it out” the woman explains.

“Oh.” says Steven, a bit disappointed. He looks down at the form again, something doesn’t seem complete. He rereads the slip and makes a few corrections. Flipping it to the back, he draws three lines under his paragraph. He signs the top, prints his name on the second, and after asking “what’s the date?” writes it on the third. That’s better, but wait. How will they be able to get in touch with him when the news comes out and his prophesy is validated?  He adds his contact info, filling the back of the paper. “Now is it right?” He silently asks God. Not yet. It needs to be more official, like a legal document. He flips the card stock slip over and draws two more lines at the top corners of the form and labels them: witness. “Excuse me mame, can I get your signature here?”

The lady turns, “What are you doing there?”

“This form seems kind of sloppy. If someone really thinks they’ve heard a message from God, wouldn’t you want them to sign it and give you contact info? Also it will be a much better witness to the outside world if it’s more official, else wise how will they know it wasn’t written after the prophesy happens. Mine is very time sensitive. I was just wondering if you’d help me out by just witnessing it.”

“Hm. I hadn’t thought about it that way. Sure.” He slides it over and she signs and dates it. “Would you like to talk to pastor Tim about those issues? He’s over this department.”  Happy to help the organization improve, Steven nods his ascent. She continues “I’m sure he’d love to talk to you when he gets a moment. “There’s a chair right there across the aisle that you can rest in.”  The woman smiles and steps away to the phone. Content to be here and already able to contribute, he spins and walks across to a blue cloth covered stackable chair. A pudgy man with a small booth stands near with a name tag reading Jerry.

The two chat for a bit. Steven explains his complaint about the prophesy slips, how he feels a bit indignant at the sloppy treatment for these messages from God. “If they do it at a point during the service, how do you know who really heard something from God and who just wrote whatever popped into their head?” Steven inquires.

“Well after they are taken up. The prophets take the slips out later and pray over them. They ask God to reveal which are true prophesy.”

Steven feels appalled. He has a vision of the “prophets” flipping through the slips trying to find interesting material for their next best seller. Instead of mentioning this he raises one brow, crinkles his nose, which places a skeptic smile on his face, and  counters “Well, that’s interesting.”

Steven notices a box on the wall, behind the prophesy basket, he stands to take a closer look. It’s a wooden box with a slit hole cut in the top and a small padlock. A label above reads “suggestions”. Steven is sickened. This group is treating prophesy slips more lightly than this church takes its suggestion slips!  He feels protective of his own slip. His document. He wants it protected, safe until it comes to pass, until the news breaks on TV that we got Osama bin Laden. It would be better off stuffed in the suggestion box. Then when the camera crews come to the church to interview Steven, it could be unlocked and pulled out to camera flashes. How could he have known it first, even before the military. Yes, the real witness wasn’t for the church, but for the secular world. If Steven was right about this then they might be willing to listen to other revelations God was giving him. The key was to appeal to what would impress the secular world and its media.

Standing once again in front of the prophesy slips and almost empty mesh baskets, Steven calls the lady again, “Hey, don’t you think it’s kind of odd that the suggestion box here has..” but before he can make his point,  two large men walk purposely through the crowd toward him.

“Excuse me sir” interrupts the slightly less imposing, as they flank him.” “Would you mind coming with me?”

Steven’s intuition is sending up red and green flares; something wrong is going down. Goon A and B fill his field of vision, way up in his personal space. Trying to ignore them, Steven continues speaking to the woman, “see the box has a lock on it, but these wire baskets are open and see though”

“This way sir” Goon A commands as they begin to body block him, as if playing basket ball, away from the table. Steven tries to hold his ground, “Excuse me, I’m talking to the lady here. Can I finish?” he grunts, exceedingly annoyed.

“Sir, this will only take a minute” says the other as they grab his arms. Steven lets off a few more ‘can I finishes’. He thinks of Saturday Night Live’s Dana Carvey’s impersonation of Presidential candidate Ross Paroe doing the same line. It would be funny if he wasn’t being bodily dragged away against his will. Confused, agitated, and scared Steven bellows, “I just don’t understand why you won’t take God’s messages seriously at a prophesy conference!”

Doors bang closed behind the three men. The goons grips relax as they push him farther inside the darkened room and stand guarding the way back into the hallway. Steven awkwardly looks back and forth between the two enforcers. He can tell at once that these are not men of God. Could the enemy have men under cover here? These men seem hollow like they have no soul or will of their own. What do they want with him? Steven worries what they will do to him; surely there are rules about what the forces of darkness can do inside a church. Steven says a quick prayer for protection.

The low rumble of muffled voices is the first thing to come into Steven’s consciousness. It’s hard to catch the individual words, but a few jump out: God, Jesus. Unmistakable also is the sound of good natured laughter. Steven strains, wanting to get closer and hear the conversation. Everything is dark, as though he is submerged in a pond looking up into the night sky. He can feel his body, face up and rigid, rising. Numbness holds his arms at his sides and his legs straight. The men must be meeting near the water bank, rugged campers swapping fireside stories. Unable to hasten his ascent, Steven’s lungs burn for air as he nears the surface.  His tight lips still an inch under, he can bear the urge no longer and gasps.

Heart pounding, Steven’s body thrashes. He finds himself laying atop a still made hotel bed. As his panting slows he realizes that he can still hear the men talking just outside the thin walls. At least that part wasn’t a dream. Steven feels that he was irresistibly drawn out of sleep to meet these men. To that aim, he rises fully dressed. Glancing down, his cloths look none the worse for being slept in, at least not on the front.

Steven pops out his door just in time to see the men disappearing into the next room. The caboose of this train is a large brown haired man. As the door eases shut behind him, the talk becomes muffled once again. Disappointed, Steven fixedly stares at the closed door. Seeing the wood grain, brass room number and small round peep hole, Steven wonders if he had acted too slowly and scrambled into the hallway too late. He can’t shake the notion that he was supposed to talk with these guys.

Naturally shy, Steven makes a totally out of character move. Not willing to let the opportunity pass, he takes and holds a shallow breath, reaches forward and wraps on the door twice. His stomach cartwheels in terror considering what he’ll say, while simultaneously feeling elation. Conversation inside dies down as Steven waits for a long moment. The door opens inward revealing a room mirror image to his, with several thirty-something guys in casual attire sitting around staring out at him.

“Hi, can I help you?” asks the large man holding the door.

“Ah, Well.” Steven fumbles, “I heard you guys Talking out in the hall. It sounded like you guys are Christians.”

The man’s face brightens “Yeah man, are you here for the conference too?”  The other men turn and resume their conversation as Steven nods his ascent. “Well we were just trying to decide whether we were going to walk to the conference or drive.”

“I had planned on walking.” Steven says.

A guy sitting on the near bed staring at his laptop calls “looks like it’s farther than I realized, plus you have to cross the highway.”

Another man sitting cross legged on the far bed replies “Dude, let’s just drive.”

The door holder and spokesman for the group inquires “So, do you need a ride? My names Dave by the way”

The man offers a big warm hand that Steven shakes while giving his own name. What a pleasant surprise. God is looking out for him once again providing transportation via Christian brothers. “That would be great if you have room.”

“No problem bro, just meet us back here at 3:30”

“O.K. sure.”  Steven says. He had forgotten that the first day of the conference was an evening session. “Hey, what time is it now anyhow?”

Checking his cell phone, Dave replies ”Just after 11:00.”

“Thanks, I’ll see you at 3:30.” Steven says as he backs away and heads toward his own room. Midday light filters in through the curtains. Entering the bathroom, Steven is startled by his reflection. The face that looks back from the mirror doesn’t look anywhere as good as he feels. Dark bags weigh down his eyes, several cowlicks wave, and scruffy stubble contribute to his hang dog look. Steven stares deeply, taking in his appearance. In a word: shabby. He leans in closer to see the blurry features come into focus. He gazes into bright blue eyes, absorbed by the intricate details in the irises. Then stepping back and standing near motionless, Steven takes in the whole blank expressionless face. Slowly, the image in the glass begins to shift: angles of facial planes become sharper, the expression looking back becomes more severe and penetrating. Blazing eyes radiate with the stern authority of an arc-angel. The total effect of this mirror makeover gives Steven a sense of vertigo and apprehension.

A deep voice resonates in Steven’s head. “Do not neglect the image you show the world. When you go out you are representing God; people will see Him through you. You are God’s face to them, so you should try to look as appealing as possible. Be pleasant to be around: style your hair, shave, freshen your breath, be clean, smell good” ,a warm smile spreads across the face  in the mirror. A sense of joy, peace, and acceptance radiates out from it. This time the lips move with the voice, “and don’t forget to smile.”

As the grin slowly fades the reflection is again Steven’s familiar reflection. What just happened? Was my mind playing tricks on me he wonders. Perhaps my brain tried to fill in details to the out of focus image. Or maybe, just maybe, some outside entity just made contact. Steven shakes his head as if he can clear the etch-a-sketch of his mind.

It’s hard to tell if you are hearing the voice of God or just your own mind conversing with itself. Sometimes when Steven thinks that he might be hearing a word from God come into his mind, he consciously takes over and makes the voice in his head say something silly. “Don’t worry I will provide for you.” Becomes “Don’t worry I will provide for you and eat a cheeseburger, blah, blah, this is just me talking to myself.”  Surely if the message was from on high Steven couldn’t hijack it. This time however he was too engrossed to do his litmus test.

Digging in his bag for grooming supplies, he comes up short. Yet more evidence of his sloppy packing job .Steven remembers a gas station a few blocks away and decides to walk there to get some supplies. Giving his pants pockets a two handed double pat, he finds them empty. He looks to the dresser then catches a glint from the nightstand. The important item, his wallet, is in a pile with his keys, glasses and Bible. Steven dawns the glasses, then lifts the small leather bound, running his fingers lovingly over the cover. Remembering his recent commission to read through the entire Bible, he flips it open with the thin brown ribbon marking his place. The old man had called it “going back to college.” Cringing at his own notes and underlining written in ballpoint, Steven remembers the veteran’s admonitions. Dismissing the guilt, the student clears his mind and reads the account of Cain and Able, ending with the birth of Enoch, when men once again began to call upon the name of the Lord.

Satisfied with his session and ready to resume his errand Steven springs up and heads out. On his way, the mirror behind the dresser catches his eye. Something seems wrong and different from his last mirror meditation; It’s the glasses. They suddenly seem like foreign intruders on his face. Perhaps it’s better not to have sharp focus, nearsightedness cuts down on distractions. Maybe he should only wear his glasses when absolutely necessary, like driving. Steven already often draws and paints with his glasses off. It helps him not get too bogged down in details and to see the gestalt. But he almost never goes outdoors without them. “You’re eyes are this way for a reason” a little voice in his head chimes. Willing to test the theory he whips the glasses off and tosses them down on the far bed. Steven walks back to the mirror until his face is in focus. He’s now close enough to fog the mirror with his breath. There is still something here, some insight to be had. By letting his eyes focus past his reflection, the image doubles. There are now two heads, with 4 eyes. Steven remembers hours staring at books of Magic eye graphics, where the picture pops out into 3D when you look at it the right way. Using similar skills he adjusts his focus and angles his head so that the two middle eyes merge into one composite eye. Now there are only three eyes.  The two on the outsides are faint, but the center one is vivid. Staring at the third eye, Steven leans closer and closer to the mirror. Without his glasses, close things seem bigger and more detailed. Face an inch from its reflection, He studies the red blood vessels and the intricate pattern in his iris that runs around his pupil. The composite image pulsates as his eyes fight for dominance. Sometimes he sees the details from the right eye, then it switches to the details of the left. He’s never noticed a particular wedge or grey in his iris. Edging even closer to the glass, it becomes difficult to hold the third eye in focus. His attention is drawn back to the bright red vessels surrounding the beautiful iris; very distracting. “Grab something for that red eye while you’re out” he thinks. Spell broken Steven heads out, this time making it all the way out the door.

He strolls down the hall in blurry confidence. On the way down in the elevator, he thinks about God. If the saying is true that we think about God in terms of ourselves, then would our best understanding of what God looks like be our own reflection? Steven had usually thought about God as a blinding light or an old wizened man. However, the form that we are most familiar with is our own; we see it almost every day. The elevator doors open onto the lobby and Steven strolls out into the morning sunshine.

He skirts a glass windowed building on the way to the gas station and thinks about all the reflective surfaces in the modern world. Could God be trying to reach out to remind us that there is another dimension out there? Reflections hint at another world behind the looking glass. There is certainly a lot of glass around, more than at any other time in history. Is God trying to prepare us for something?

The door of the UniMart opens with a jingle. The convenience store’s shelves are stacked with blurry items that run together into long blobs. Steven feels a little silly having to lean in and squint to browse the items, so he tries another tactic. Standing at the back of an aisle, he tries to take in the whole of all the items and let the right ones jump out and catch his attention. His first few attempts fail miserably; the feminine products he first spots are not what he needs at all. At least he does know that he’s in the right general area of personal hygiene and not by candy, food or automotive supplies.  Soon he locates the razors and shaving cream, but can’t find any hair products: mousse, hairspray, or gel. From the corner of his left eye a dot of red flashes. He turns and bends down to examine. It’s a symbol of an eye. His mind flashes back to the third eye in the mirror. The logo on the package of Clear Eyes holds him captivated for a second. Are there certain signs and symbols positioned for us to find all around us? That’s how reality is in a video game, everything is there planned out for you to discover. Could God have left clues just for him, and how would his life change if he discovered the art of finding those hints?

“For dry watery eyes, use clear eyes” states a dry slightly nasal voice in Steven’s head. The voice belongs to the teacher in one of his favorite old movies, Ferris Beuler’s Day Off. He hears the same voice intone “ Beuler.. Beuler…” taking attendance. That actor, Ben Stein, was just in a new controversial intelligent design movie, “Expelled: No Intelligence Allowed.” Steven wonders if Mr. Stein is part of an inner group of people in the know about God’s plans. What a funny thought, and that would make these eye drops part of it? Like using them could help open your eyes to the hidden spiritual things. Steven laughs to himself, but his eyes do feel awfully dry. Finally feeling contented that he has enough supplies to put himself in order Steven steps toward the counter. A dry swallow reminds him of his thirst, for which he grabs big bottled water. If the desert has taught him anything it’s that you have to stay hydrated. After paying Steven remembers the cash in his wallet and feels bad for reflexively throwing down the debit card. He really wants to keep his costs down and try to just live off the money from the sale of his painting. After all God had provided that money at just the right time for this trip.

On the way back to the hotel Steven again passes by his reflection in windows as he walks, reminding him that there must be other planes of reality that are close at hand. He smiles at the warping reflection as he hurries past. Back up in the bathroom of his room, Steven riffles though his plastic UniMart bag. He pops the bottle of eye drops out of its carding and eagerly squeezes a few drops in each eye. A tear overflows and rolls down his cheek.

Steven grabs a quick shower.  Concerned with being clean enough, Steven runs through a checklist: feet, arm pits, hair, shave. Something doesn’t feel right, so he hits some of those areas again. Finally satisfied he steps out and reevaluates himself in the mirror. Dots of blood show where he has nicked himself with the cheap razor. Steven’s hair is hard to control without mousse. “I have everything I need right here” he thinks. Spraying a little shaving cream into his palm, he uses it like mousse. The cuts on his face sting, so he applies a little Clear Eyes to them. He also rubs a little on the dark circles under his eyes. At last he looks into the mirror and is satisfied. The man looking back is presentable, young, healthy, if a little blurry. Steven places his palm on the mirror and fog radiates from his warm touch. The rising heat makes an animated fire in the fog above his hand. So close. Steven feels intimately close with God. As if touching his own reflection was touching God’s hand. A noise in the hall pulls Steven’s attention, Ah yes: the conference. Dressing quickly with an economy of motion Steven is soon out into the hall where the neighbor guys are talking.

“Hey, there you are. We were just about to knock on your door. Are you ready to head over to the conference?” asks the large friendly neighbor. Was it Dave?

Steven smiles, God had reminded him at the perfect time to meet the schedule. He looks down: Bible check, pats his pockets, wallet check, room key check. “Yep, I’m ready. Thanks again for the ride. God’s really been taking care of me on this trip.” Steven confides as the group of men walk to the elevator. As they pass though the lobby he wonders if Mark is on duty yet. He glances toward the concierge desk but doesn’t see him.

The men pack into a small silver four door sedan and in no time the driver is pulling into the church’s parking lot.

”You can get out here if you like,” calls the driver, ‘I’m going to go park the car.”

“Thanks” says Steven, taking him up on valet service. The other friends decide to stay with the driver. Steven waves.

“We’ll see ya in there” the spokesman of the group calls.

Against Medical Advice is written from the son’s ( Cory Friedman’s) first person perspective. a good choice for the story since it revolves around him and his medical conditions. Wildly popular and successful author James Patterson co writes with an old friend Hal Friedman (about whose family the story is based).

The journey through awful circumstances and near unbearable turmoil is made possible only by  the unquenchable hope of Cory’s parents and his own tenacity. struggle along with him through medical and psychological problems. along the way you will visit many interesting places and situations.

I laughed, I cried, I loved it. Thank you Friedman’s for sharing your story. Thanks James for helping make the story so compelling and tangible. I hope to imbue our tale with the same kind of grit and reality.

Ok, so assuming that there are some crop circles that aren’t made by pranksters or bored farmers, who or what is making them?

Vote now!

You can read more about this topic near the end of chapter 15 of Flight to Insanity click here

Hi,

i have been posting chapters as 4 posts… which takes a while. this time since it was a shorter chapter and i just didn’t feel like going through the trouble of breaking it up, i just posted it as one post. My thought had been that by breaking it up into 4 chunks that i could publish the peices on diferent days and get more trafic.. that hasn’t really seemed to help. so i thought i’d make a little pole and find out what you think. i’m thinking of just posting each chapter the way i did Ch 15, all in one post.

The stinging cold slowly penetrates through Steven’s light clothing. In his haste, he hadn’t considered the temperature difference between Tucson, Arizona and Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. He stands, wobbling from fatigue, with the telescopic handle of his blue rolling luggage in one hand, his sketchbook and Bible in the other. How many more hours until dawn? Shivering, Steven debates whether or not to go into the hotel. Perhaps this is a test to see if he can endure the cold for a few hours until morning; mind over matter. Then the sun would come up and give its warmth.

An insistent wind blows across the parking lot of the Comfort Inn, battering down Steven’s indecision. The warm lobby lights beckon him to enter and promise electric warmth, but he still hesitates. Minutes stretch out interminably. The blonde and brown hairs of his arms and even his legs stand out stiffly. His smoky breath curls up into the night. Finally it’s too much to bear; his body is too weak and tired. It must have some relief. Steven grabs the cold metal door handle. He decides that he can at least stand inside for a moment and warm up a little. He stops between two sets of doors. With the wind cut out, it’s slightly warmer in the breezeway, but the warm cozy little lobby is still past the second set of double doors. Steven’s artist eye takes in the choice in terms of the color wheel: split complimentary. Cool blue monochrome tones in the parking lot through one set of doors, warm orange tones of the lobby through the other set of doors. The two scenes are opposites in other ways. The lobby’s plush armchairs, intricate carpets, and polished woods are much more inviting than the parking lot’s asphalt, shrubs and chill wind.

Steven’s body is still cold. He makes his decision and pulls open the inner doors to a whoosh of blessedly warm air. After all, God wouldn’t want him to freeze. Why should he torture himself? Comfort Inn has never seemed more aptly named.

Steven’s droopy eyes scan the room and notice that the check-in desk is unmanned. His lips turn slightly as a plan forms. He lumbers over to an armchair across from the elevator and quickly stows his bag on the far side of the chair, hiding it the best he can. Steven grabs a nearby magazine off a small table and opens it in his lap. With this bit of staging done, Steven assumes the role of a guest casually lounging in the lobby. He dazedly looks down at the magazine; the words refuse to come into focus. The weary traveler is proud to have beaten the cold and beaten the necessity to pay for a few hours of shelter. After so many hours scurrying around airports and being cramped on planes, the soft armchair feels like sinking into a cloud. Knotted muscles loosen and heavy eyelids slowly come down and lock shut.

“Excuse me sir.” A loud insisting voice repeats. “May I help you?”

Steven’s consciousness swims to the surface. A checklist runs.  I’ve been sleeping in an armchair, in a hotel, in Pennsylvania. I’m here on a mission. Who is calling me?  Turning his head to the left, Steven sees the concierge looking intently toward him. Ah yes, apparently the ruse had failed. Steven flips shut the magazine from his lap and tosses it aside. With effort, He rises and walks over to the guest services counter. The sharp, tall man is looking at him expectantly. Steven notices in the man’s keen brown eyes that he is dealing with a man of strong intellect and logic. The attendant’s name tag reads Mark.  Steven realizes who the man reminds him of, Star Trek’s Spock.

“Would you like a room sir?” Mark intones dryly. How long had Mark been calling him before Steven came to?

Still shaking off drowsiness Steven stammers “Uh… ,well, I.” Pause “Would I have to pay for tonight? Or, I guess is should say this morning.”

The concierge raises one eyebrow “no charge for early check in. you will not have to check out until tomorrow at 11;00 am if you book one day.”

Ah, two for one. Steven Smiles, relishing the bargain. “O.K. then, one night please” he says, sliding over his debit card. “Sorry, I’m a little tired from my trip, it’s been a long interesting day.”

Mark is all business “I.D. Please”

Steven holds up the wallet to show his Arizona drivers license, which doesn’t expire for 40 years. Mark checks the ID pic against his customer and begins keying in information.

“You seem like a guy that likes science and reason.” Seven says. “Maybe I could bounce some ideas off of you.”

Mark doesn’t look up from his work, moving from task to task. “I’m really busy at the moment getting ready for breakfast” he answers, sliding the room key card across the counter “Room 314.”

Steven takes the card “O.K, well, maybe later.” Theories of extra dimensions play through his mind. If angels are from a higher dimension they would seem as magical to us, as that 3D sphere would seem to the flat 2D circle man. “I’m very interested lately in scientific theories for the miracles in the Bible.” Steven says.

Mark quickly turns and vanishes through a door calling back over his shoulder. “I have to make coffee now Sir”

Alone again, key in hand, Steven stares at the empty counter. Mark had defiantly fled at his mention of the Bible; probably an atheist. Steven respects atheists, though he thinks they are close-minded. How can you wholly discount the possibility of the supernatural? Or know that there is no God. At least agnostics are open to ideas. He pities Mark. Perhaps they can talk after Mark finishes preparing for breakfast. Is it that close to breakfast time already?”

As Steven turns for the brass door elevator, he can hear mark clanking and bumping in the room beyond the counter. From the elevator he sees Mark emerge with a coffee pot in each hand: One decaf with orange lid, one regular with black lid. Steven gives a crooked smile and waves once as the elevator shuts. Rising quickly, Steven says a quick prayer for Mark.

A green light flashes in the room door lock as Steven withdraws the plastic card and opens the door. He’s greeted by two full size beds, which dominate the room. On the left, there is a little bitty bathroom with a great big mirror. Steven’s eye catches the beige phone on a nightstand between the beds. He hears his wife’s voice, “Call me when you get checked in, no matter what the time. I want to know you got there safe.”

He strolls over, sits on the far bed and dials slowly, fighting off the bleary haze of exhaustion.

“Hello” says a soft female voice.

“Hey it’s me. You wanted me to call when I got here.”

“I was beginning to get really worried and impatient. Did you ever go by and find a Go phone so we could stay in touch?”

“No, it was a long day.” Steven stands and begins to pace back and forth as he rapidly recaps his evening with Jason.

Lynnette tries to wake up and listen. She had fallen asleep anxiously waiting for Steven to call with the phone lying under her pillow. There was one hot subject she had researched for him that she wanted to share. Lynnette forces herself to sit up in the bed, and wipes her brows as to try and wipe away the exhaustion. Now, in the pre morning hour the thoughts comes rushing back to her. At a lag of Steven’s monologue, she interjects. “Ok, so I‘ve been doing some research on some of the topics you had been sharing with me and it was all quite interesting.”

“Like what?”

“I wanted to see what was out there about crop circles and the fourth dimension. I was quite shocked to find several ideas that sounded much like you had briefly shared with me, but different. You know the shadow of angels thing you were playing around with? 

 “Yeah” Steven says, now almost fully awake. He had thought the 4th dimensional angel shadow crop circle theory to be a new take on an old mystery, but apparently others agreed with him. Confirmation feels good.

“I found this report of these two guys that decided to spend several nights out watching over a field that had had several crop circles show up over in the south of England.  They were sitting out with a video camera and some kind of night gear that allowed them to see in the dark.  After watching for a number of hours, all of the sudden there was a bright flash of light that was quick and covered the field.  It startled them as they had been talking and drinking coffee more than paying close attention but their video camera captured the flash.  After the flash, the crop circle was there.  There was no activity in the field prior to the flash, nor after the flash.  They gathered their stuff and ran out to the field.  It was just as they saw in their camera.  The two guys stated that they had gone there to watch for who was doing it but instead got a shock of the flash of light. It caught my attention because it was similar to the idea you had of a shadow of something in the fourth dimension.”

“Hmm…not quite how I was thinking, but interesting, very interesting” Steven says. His imagination is still present at the scene.

“These two guys weren’t sure what to think but there are others out there that think it is a shadow of angels caught in some sort of light flash. The different views out there about angelic shadows think it could be God’s way of communicating because they always are orderly and not scattered so it is hard to believe that they are an accident. I had no idea there were so many different ideas about crop circles, but particularly that there would be several views out there with a connection  to angels and the fourth deminsion. I really thought it was all about whether it was aliens or humans. I tended to lean toward humans”.

After a pause, Steven replies, “It could be, but my thought was a process that it would take longer than an instant, but why should I limit higher dimensional beings by my own limitations. Did you find anything else?”

“I found some other things talking about the fourth dimension and how things look in that dimension. Many of the crop circles that are actually believed to be genuine have a shape that makes since when extrapolated to what mathematicians show the fourth dimension to look like.  It was super cool. I don’t know how many different ideas for the crop circles all talked about the fourth dimension and it’s relationship to the extraordinary.  There were some other groups talking about the crop circles maybe being seals, of some sort, from the fourth dimension. It didn’t seem that this group had tried to interpret the seals but I didn’t spend a long time looking at it. You hadn’t been reading about any of those other people’s ideas right?  I don’t remember ever seeing you reading any of that or even talking about any of that.”

“No, not at all.” Steven says, again wondering if he had some software capable of rendering 4D objects, if he could recreate the crop circle effects and see what the 4D object was that cast the “shadow”.

“Wow, that is really odd” Lynnette says yawning. “It certainly caught my attention and it was the one thing I thought I could look up and research to see what was out there on it.”

“You sound tired hon.”

“I am.” Lynnette admits “Thanks for letting me know you got there ok, I love you.”

“I love you too, go back to sleep now.”

“O.K.”

Steven drops the phone back into its cradle. His false high fades as he gets ready for bed, brushing with his Sonicare and flossing. Finally he decides to take a power nap. The hours are too few to really have a good sleep, so instead of pulling back the covers and snuggling in, he lies on top of the made up bed.  He’s dressed in tomorrow’s clean clothes, except for socks and shoes; Sleeping in socks always makes his follicles sore.

With a deep relaxing breath, he surrenders to exhaustion making mental note that he must get up soon. Steven knows he doesn’t need an alarm clock tonight, even at the risk of being late to the conference. His mind is too excited for the event and if that fails, he will get a “heavenly nudge.”  Confidence, peace, then sleep.

“We had a bit of an argument about the holy Spirit,” Steven explains coolly “I got a little defensive”. “I’m sorry by the way” He calls to the cooks back in a friendly tone, who continues to mutter.

Steven notices that the waitress has come back out to greet the new customers. He shoots her a smile, which she returns. Surveying the room Steven’s eyes catch Jason standing near the door. Time to go. He walks confidently out into the night. The parking lot is quiet, dark, and cold. Nearby cars zip to and fro on a highway, While Steven is still hyped up from his conversations, Jason stands near his white sedan and makes a brief call on his cell phone. He flips shut his phone.

“Well,I would ask you to come stay at my house, but I just talked to my wife and one of my daughters was feeling sick before she went to bed.” Jason says steppin around to the driver’s side.

Steven is disappointed since he had secretly hoped that God would provide a place for him to stay with a family during his trip. He had assumed he would stay the first night at the hotel, then perhaps be invited to stay at a home of one of the members of the church; That way he could keep his costs down and rely on God for provision.

“If you want we could go pray for her healing.” Steven thinks, did he make the offer out loud?  Jason unlocks and opens his own door then reaches across to open the passenger door. Steven climbs in and falls heavily into the vinyl seat.

“What happened to you back there?” Jason asks disappointed.  “I don’t think getting loud is the kind of witness you want to leave.”

Steven replays the diner confrontation, “I don’t know’ He says a little embarrassed now. “I didn’t mean to make a scene. I just got caught up.”

Jason’s tone relaxes, “Steven, that guy had his mind made up. And I’m not sure you helped him out of the confusion he’s in. I mean he thought William Shakespeare wrote the Bible.”

In his mind Steven can see into the diner. The customers, the cook and the waitress are discussing what happened. The cook is defending himself, several of the others are Christians and continue to help him reexamine some of his “so called” Christian beliefs. “I think after he calms down he’ll rethink some things.” Steven offers optimistically, knowing the confrontation was exactly what the young man needed. “Maybe no one has stood up to him before.”

“Hm,, maybe ” Jason Replies. “So where are you staying?”

“I’m not sure. My wife looked up the hotel. I’ve got the info here somewhere. Jason flips on a small light above him. Steven digs through the front inside pocket of his sketchbook taking no notice of what roads Jason takes. The lights out his window dance and flow. Tiny white lights and red ones. The car goes up an overpass, then merges onto another street.

“You find it?” Jason asks

“Uh…”  Steven snaps out of his daze and looks down at the paper calling out the name and address.

” I know a closer place to the conference if you’d like” Jason offers

“Sounds great.” steven says relieved of responsibility for where they are going. The tiredness has returned with a vengeance. He tucks the paper back into the pocket and reclines his head. His eyes droop. One final turn up a hill rouses him. Grass and trees break up the city scape and the car pulls to a stop in front of a comfort inn. Jason hops out, pops the trunk and pulls out the suitcase, while Steven, with great effort, cracks open the door and hoists himself out of the motorized sleeping chamber. It is now closer to morning than night. Steven’s been up for more hours than he can count. He thanks Jason for the ride and everything with a warm hand shake.

“Take care ” Jason says clapping Steven on the shoulder with the other hand. And in another moment Steven is alone. He can still smell the exhaust from Jason’s car in the quiet parking lot.

“What do you think happens to babies that get killed by abortions?” she drawls in a curious tone.

Steven squints, confused by the off subject question. He feels the weight of eyes on him in this sudden little crowd: Jason, the young waitress, the large woman, and now he notices that the cook has also come close. Steven pauses to consider the question. He doesn’t want to give pat answers. “Gee maam, I haven’t really been given any insight on that in particular.” he says while racking his brain. Didn’t the veteran mention something about this in the airport. Age of accountability, David’s lost child of basheba.

The ladies face sours and her eyes blaze “Well if you don’t know the answer to that then you don’t have no business trying to preach in here!” she snarls. She shoots a disapproving look at the waitress, turns around in a huff and stomps off.

Steven stands ” I wasn’t trying to preach.” he calls weakly after her. ” I was just talking to ..”

But the woman doesn’t turn. The waitress slips off the stool and disappears into the back through a door with a round window. The cook leans over the bar. He is young and fit, with a russet complextion “ I believe in God too.  I’m a Christian.” He confides.

Steven steps up to the counter “That’s cool” he says and smiles.

The cook grins. “So you say that God’s been ‘talkin’ to you?”

Relaxing after the abortion attack Steven is hesitant, but admits. “Well, I think the holy spirit has been showing me some things, but it’s hard to know what’s …”

“Holy Spirit” the cook interrupts. ” I don’t believe in the holy Spirit.” making a face like he just smelled something distasteful. “What’s the name of your holy spirit?” drawing out and almost spitting the words.

Steven drops his chin and furrows his brow. Great another trap.” I don’t know, that’s what he’s called in the bible.”

The cook turns dismissively and attends a large flat griddle. Picking up a spatula and turning some food he calls back in a lyrical voice ” the bible was written by man , not God.”

“But God inspired it.” Steven replies. The cook turns around waving his spatula for emphasis. “The bible, was written in the 1500’s by William Shakespear!”

“Hey, maybe we should get going” calls Jason from the table.

Steven hardly hears the interruption “But you do believe in God?” Steven says trying to find some drop back to common ground with the cook.

“Oh yeah, I believe in God.” repiles the cook sauntering back over to the counter.

“And you believe that God Is Good?”

“God is good” the cook agrees.

Steven presses on “And do you believe that he wants us to …”

“But he’s also evil” the cook interrupts.

Shaken by the statement, Steven feels the small patch of common ground turn to quicksand.  “No, God is good.”

“He’s good and he’s evil. Yin and yang, black and white” says the cook returning to flip some food on the griddle. ” If God doesn’t contain evil, then where did evil come from?” he quipped over his shoulder.

“God gave his creation the choice to reject him.”

“Nah, Nah!” Says the cook hotly, “ If he’s the creator of everything then evil had to come from him” he swings the spatula like a batton orchestrating his points and closes the distance between them.

Steven wants for the young man to know that God is Good and that he wants to reward those who seek him. How can the cook call himself a Chrisian and spout such ideas. “God only created the potential for evil.” he says. Tensions rise in the air like an electric current, making arm hair raise.

“Steven, come on man! We should really be going.” calls Jason from somewhere behind, his voice gaining urgency. This time Steven does turn and sees the pleading in Jason’s eyes. He is standing by the exit, keys in hand.

The cook smirks victoriously, “Yeah, and you take casper the Holy ghost with ya.”

Stung and disappointed Steven turns back to face the cook. He tries and fails to be nonchalant “man, you shouldn’t mock God.”

“I ain’t mocking God.” He jibes,  “Just your invisible friend you call holy spirit!”

Steven’s face reddens. He tries to smile as though this doesn’t bother him. The smile never reaches his eyes. “Don’t mock the Holy Spirit.” The low words escape unbidden.

The cook leans in closer. Eye to eye and raises his voice. “What holy spirit?” He taunts.

Frustrated, Steven raises his voice to match “Don’t mock the holy spirit” he says, stiffly articulating each word. His hands involuntarily tighten into fists. His smile evaporates.

With faces a hands length apart the cook repeats louder still “what holy spirit?”

Boiling over with indignation Steven sucks in a quick breath and projects loudly from his diaphragm. ” Do not mock the holy spirit!” He trembles from the passion that flared up so suddenly. The other man stares back , but says nothing. After a few moments the cook picks up his spatula and turns away back to the grill. Conflicting emotions wash over Steven: Thrill of victory, embarrassment for shouting, confusion, pride, zeal.

The silence is broken by a bell announcing the arrival of two young black men.

Steven feels Frozen in place as they take a seat at the bar. His breathing slows. The newcomers are smiling and talking five stools away. The cook approaches them. “Better watch out! that dude over there’s got a demon in him” he says pointing at Steven with the spatula. “He’s all “Do not mock the holy spirit!’” He imitates in a rumbling growl, while making a pained face and rolling up his eyes. Steven snaps back to himself filled with compassion for the cook and hoping that he can try again. He approaches the three men “I was saying God is Good and he says God is Good and evil and that makes me evil?”

One of the newcomers smiles and shrugs the other doesn’t make eye contact. The cook turns and offers his back muttering something about possessed costumers toward the grill, Apron strings swinging as he works.

Jason  smiles, “But you think most or all of the bad stuff is over now and we are coming into the millennium?”

“I think so. The seventh millennium; The Sabbath millennium. One thousand years of rest for the earth”

“I hope you are right” says Jason staring down into his coffee. “What do you mean by seventh?”

“Well according to Bishop Usher’s life long research, the earth is about six thousand years old. I’m not saying that I’m totally sold on the young earth thing. I have been studying it though and find it an interesting tie in to what we were talking about. According to him though there was a thousand years from Adam to Noah, a thousand from Noah to Abraham, a thousand from Abraham to Moses, then from Moses to the temple, and the temple to Christ. That gets us up to 4 thousand. Around the year zero. We’ve had 2 millennia since then.”

Jason runs with the ball “so that makes 6 millenia down and one to go in your book?  Corresponding to the six days of creation and the seventh day of rest. Seven being the number of perfection.”

Nodding, Steven gives a low smile, “ ties up nice and clean. Maybe too clean.” The smile turns to a frown. “ Plus I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what mile stone there was around the year 1,000 AD. I can’t think of anything. The reformation would be perfect, but it happened much later.”

Jason frowns back, remembering something, “but what about the second coming of Jesus, where does that fit in?”

Steven lifts his eyes from his utensils. “I don’t think Jesus comes back physically until the end.“

“You mean the end of the millennium, not the end of the tribulation as many say?”

“ Right. The end, end. Fat lady singing, angel blowing the trumpet, na na Na na, hey Hey hey, good bye.” Steven says “Then it’s judgement day.”

“Hmm, that’s an interesting approach, it all seems to fit.” Jason notices that Steven seems bothered. “What’s wrong?”

Steven picks at the bread of the uneaten half of his sandwich. He looks up into Jason;s curious brown eyes. “Well, I was just thinking of the judgement.” He says tentatively. “I told you about debating on the internet about necessity of baptism?”

Jason nods.

Somberly Steven continues, “I’m not sure I know where the lines are anymore… for salvation I mean. I’m having a hard time with the idea that everyone who doesn’t become a Christian during their life will go to hell forever.”

“Steven, man; You are starting to loose me here. You are hinting at universalism now? You know that Jesus is the only way to Heaven.”

Steven frowns “ It’s not really heaven that I’m thinking of, but the new earth. An unbeliever may not go to heaven when they die, but do they still have any chance of living on the new earth?”

Jason’s look hardens. “So are you trying to say that Jesus’ death doesn’t matter for ultimate salvation”?

“No, not at all.” Steven says shaking his head. “Jesus did what no mere man could do. He kept the law. He paid the debt for our sin. We are broken and only he can fix what’s wrong with us.”

“So what are you saying, people can get saved after they die?”

“Not exactly. Just that some people might be on a path toward God, and not get there before they die.”

“Could you give me an example?” Jason asks, now more curious than stern.

“Well I think about the native Americans before the white men came. Many of them worshiped the great spirit.” They thought of the land as a gift, they were thankful for their food. Then the Europeans come with their overwhelming numbers, technology and disease. We take their land and treat them little better than animals. Which side was closer to God? A Christian colonist shoots and kills an Indian who’s never heard about Jesus, so the Indian goes to hell and the colonist goes to heaven? Doesn’t seem right.”

“So you think that everyone goes to heaven?” Jason says, then quickly ads “ or the new earth.”

“No, I don’t want that Job of being the judge. I think Jesus already has the job. I think His judgements will be fair and that no one will be able to complain.”

Concentrating Jason asks. “So you think Jesus might extend mercy to a non Christian. Is that what you mean?”

Steven feels himself getting passionate again. His words swell and flow out from deep within. “We Christians have a guarantee of eternal life. We are sealed with the holy spirit, but people that die without that … I’m not sure what happens to them, but I feel comfortable leaving that to God. I think we should be encouraging people down that road toward God. I guess it’s a different way of looking at evangelism. First they have to believe there is a God. That He wants us to seek him. He has left clues, and reached out to us in many ways. Then we can share what God did for us by sending Jesus. I just hate the turn or burn method where people get saved as a sort of fire insurance out of fear.”

“Ahem” A soft female voice calls out from the left. the two men turn to see their waitress sitting on a nearby bar stool. Her eyes stare intently at Steven ” Do you have any of this stuff written out? it all sounds pretty interesting? “

Surprised Steven shakes his head “Uh, no. Not yet anyhow. I think I’m supposed to be writing a book, but all I have is some notes so far.”

“Excuse me” a voice interrupts. The waitress isn’t the only one who has been listening. A large black lady stands, arms akimbo looking from Steven to Jason to the waitress, then settling on Steven’s eyes.

“Yes maam?” Steven replies, turned around in his booth.

Lowering his cup of coffee, Jason asks, “So what kind of church do you attend?”

Steven looks up from his food. “I’ve grown up in Baptist Churches. My wife and I have been hunting for a church though, closer to our new house. We’ve also had some disagreements with what the pastors are teaching.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“Mainly dispensational teaching about the end times. It seems to be following us, wherever we go; we just can’t shake it.”

“That’s the teaching like in those ‘Left Behind’ books right?”

“Yeah, I read four or five of those, and bought into it at the time.” Steven says feeling the resentment rising up in him.

“So what do you believe now?”

“Well, my wife and I have been studying it a lot together over the last months. I’m still pretty open to exploring different interpretations, but I’m leaning toward a partial preterist view.” Steven remembers sitting up in bed taking turns reading with his wife from a book debating four views of revelation. He found himself outraged at some of the teachings. What really drove him crazy about the dispensational pastors he felt surrounded by was that they present John’s Patmos vision as though their interpretation is the only option. How many times had he heard,“There are three views of revelation pre-trib, mid-trib and post-trib”; The difference between the three views being when all the Christians are withdrawn from the Earth in relation to a seven year demonic world tribulation. The pastor would at this point chuckle and say he hoped that pre-trib was right so that he wouldn’t have to be part of that great suffering. Then maybe he would allude to some kooky sects having the lame notion that everything in revelation has already been fulfilled, which of course was preposterous to the point of pity. Steven had been shocked to learn while listening to ‘The bible answer man’ radio show one day that that these three “trib”  options are actually all part of one view; the futurist view.

“So you think all of the prophesies were fulfilled in A.D. 70 when the temple was destroyed?” Jason asks, pulling Steven back to the present.

 “No, but I do believe most of the things described in revelation have already happened.”

Jason looks skeptical. ”But how could the apocalyptic prophecies been fulfilled? The destruction of the temple just didn’t have the world impact and death toll that’s described in the text.”

“Revelation, as I read it, unfolds throughout history. Paul warns the churches in Asia about impending troubles from the beast, the roman empire.”

Jason squints and raises a hand, “Wait. You mean the beast isn’t a person? I thought the beast was the anti Christ.”

“No, the beast is a nation. John picks up the same imagery that Daniel used. The prophet Daniel described 4 beasts, 3 from his time and one yet to come. All 4 are nations; 4 great world powers ruling over the same lands in succession. Daniel also describes the nations as four parts of a great statue.”

Jason nods, “Right, the head of gold, torso, legs and feet of iron; something like that. I don’t remember what the middle parts were made of.”

Steven smiles. “My question is if all 4 nations are part of one statue how can you say that the nation described in Revelation is actually some kind of future European union? Wouldn’t that be like amputating the feet of the statue and moving them miles away? There are other things that point to Rome as the beast too.”

“ Wasn’t there some kind of code that points to Ceasar Nero?” Jason asks

“Right.  666 is Nero’s number in that Hebrew number code thing.”

Jason takes another long sip. “ What do you mean by the book of revelation playing out through history?”

“Well,  when you plug in Rome as the beast, then Revelation also describes a nation after Rome; it has two horns and a face like a lamb acting under Rome’s authourity. So my wife  looked up who ruled when Rome fell, guess who was in charge?”

Jason shrugs.

Steven smiles remembering his own skepticism when his wife presented the idea originally, “The roman catholic empire. It fits very well.” Steven finds himself rousing to the subject. His drowsiness falls away, “ I also learned in Daniel that two horns is symbolic for a kingdom divided in two parts.  Then we researched the catholic empire to find it was divided into an east and a west kingdom. Those empires finally fell apart in the dark ages. You asked about the apocolyptic judgements. Part of the reason their empire fell was because of the great plagues that wiped out a third of the world’s population. And part was because of wars with the Muslims among others. You know the Muslims almost took over the world then.”

Jason stares back unsure.

“ They had the first effective calvalry. They were finally turned back on September 11^th.”

Jason’s eyes widen, “ Did you say September 11^th? As in 9/11”

“Yep.” Steven lets that fact hang in the air a minute before leaning back and continuing, “I admit I haven’t gotten it all figured out yet; when exactly each of the seven seals are opened or the bowls of wrath.”