by Randy Alcorn
“Good afternoon, Mr. Woods. I’m Special Agent Colin Sutter, this is Agent Jeffrey Mayhew.” Mayhew nodded dutifully, like the junior partner of a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses. “We’re with the FBI.” Jake stared at the badge. It looked authentic, though he didn’t ever recall seeing a real one.
“We need to ask you to accompany us to our office. Or, we can talk with you here. But in any case, it’s imperative that we talk immediately.”
A moment before, he’d been gazing through a giant telescope and studying the distant wonders of Elyon’s universe. But now Finney was thrust into what seemed another dimension, neither heaven nor earth. He felt like he was in a huge theater, viewing a curved screen. Like a planetarium, yet real, not simulated. He had the feeling he’d become much smaller, that he was inside of something—or someone. He was the face of the camera, intimately close to something magnificent on the verge.
Before him was a huge ball, being vigorously assaulted by swimming threads with tiny heads. Both ball and threads were parts of living beings, but not living beings themselves. The threads frantically searched for an opening to the ball, trying this place then that. In time they weakened, resigning themselves to failure, wilting into oblivion. One by one they fell off, until center stage switched to one, which showed hope and promise. Yes, it was penetrating, moving inside the ball, and somehow changing it, infusing it with life. Apart from each other, both ball and threads were incomplete. But together they produced something mysterious, something that felt to Finney like the magic of life.
Twenty-three grooves from the thread-shaped sperm joined with twenty-three grooves in the ball-shaped egg, meshing together like the two halves of a zipper. A great explosion produced a mighty sound and the full spectrum of colors, of what seemed galactic proportions, like a supernova. The two separate strands of twenty-three melded into a single seamless unit of forty-six, creating a unique genetic code that had never and would never be duplicated. Finney knew he was witnessing conception. It was the sound and spectrum of life. As Finney watched, a library of a thousand volumes, six hundred thousand printed pages of five hundred words per page, poured itself into a single strand of DNA.
Suddenly powerful singing enveloped him. He’d never heard the song before, but after hearing the chorus once, he knew it. It was a song about Elyon—his majesty, his greatness, and his power as Creator. Finney saw now he wasn’t witnessing this remarkable event alone but was surrounded by many others who watched with equal fascination.
Finney stared at the ball that was now so much more than a ball. It was a person, fully a person, and her beauty transfixed him. Yes, her. He could read her genetic registry and knew this was a girl. Now a great angel, one of the special angels that continuously beholds the face of the Father, spoke forth a wondrous name, a name he had never heard, a name he felt he could never pronounce. It was the girl’s name, her true name, no matter what she might be called on earth.
Finney felt exuberance. Joy. Exhilaration like he’d never known. A strong steady sound undergirded everything. He looked to find man or angel beating on a great drum. Surprisingly, he couldn’t locate the sound’s source.
To what could he compare what he now felt? It was several things at once. The joy of consummating his relationship with Sue, of being told there was a new life within her, of hearing in the doctor’s office their children’s heartbeats for the first time, of holding little Jenny and Angela and Finn in his arms.
Yes, of course, that was the sound he heard! The sound of a heartbeat, the child’s heartbeat. He knew it would be almost three weeks before this magnificent creation would have a beating heart, but heaven anticipated the sound, providing it now for all to hear. And why not, for all that this child would ever be was there now in that single cell, not at all simple but incredibly complex, endowed with every bit of genetic information she would ever have, determining height, color of eyes, thickness of hair, and untold millions of invisible details of design. The child’s heartbeat became a lovely melody, held up by the steady harmony of a more powerful beating sound, the sound of her mother’s heart. Mother and child, harmony and melody. He realized this was a unique musical score, every pregnancy an original concerto.
There was another sound, like the approaching tide he’d heard so often at the beach, the Manzanita beach where his family spent so many wonderful vacations. The pounding of the surf. Waves. Yes, brain waves. Brain waves which couldn’t be measured until forty days after this first day. The foreshadowed sound of those waves swept across the theater. Here was life before the signals by which life was measured in the dark world. All this girl would ever be she now was. Not potential, but actual. The life blood of Elyon had been poured out into her. And poured out for her. This was creation in his image, and redemption for his glory. Here before Finney’s wide eyes the unfolding drama of redemption played out in the eloquent witness of one tiny person.
Finney’s wonder exploded into joyful weeping, loud and unashamed. This wasn’t the shadowy glimpse of joy he’d sometimes caught in the twilight world, but joy in its full and total sense, joy that exceeded his ability to contain it, a contagious joy caught from and passed on to all those around him. For Finney, in a moment’s realization, had understood what this event was all about and why he had been so suddenly ushered to this place to observe this miracle of life’s beginning, and not another. He looked around him at the smiles on the faces of both men and angels. He saw many familiar faces, some of the same ones who had been there at his entrance to heaven’s birthing room. There was his mother and Jenny and…so many others. Of course. It all made sense.
The great concert moved to its climax, where Finney sensed it was his part to clash the cymbals at just the right moment. The moment now upon him, he raised his voice above the vibrant sounds of life rising from the new creation. He gestured at the colorful animated single-cell child, pulsating with life.
In the swirling tornado of color and sound, Finney shouted to all, “Do you see? Do you understand? My daughter, my child, is carrying a child. The tiny baby is Elyon’s. She is Angela’s. She is Bruce’s. She is Sue’s. And she is mine!” Tears formed in his eyes, refracting the colors of the new creation. “Behold, my granddaughter!”
Thunderous cheers and applause followed, but this was not yet the climax. The wonder of the moment overwhelmed Finney, his one hand firmly grasping Jenny’s, the other his mother’s. All eyes focused on the threesome, the family awaiting both completion and reunion. In an instant of insight, Finney was given the name Angela and Bruce would call the child, a name they’d not yet thought of, and he spoke that name and listened as words from his heart found their expression:
Karina, whose name means “gift”:
Spawned in the sea of your Creator’s consciousness,
Woven in the Artisan’s loom,
Spun by the Potter, molded in his hands.
You are so much more than that world sees.
No aimless product of time, chance, and natural forces;
Destined to be ruler of beasts, not descendent of them;
Climax of Elyon’s creative genius: the Magnum Opus of God.
As the simple watch must have a watchmaker,
So you must have a Creator,
An author of your genetic code,
A draftsman, architect, and builder of your soul.
A God so big the cosmos cannot contain him,
So small he too once slept in a mother’s arms.
One day you will know that awesome mystery:
A baby born in a barn is Creator of all.
Bearer of God’s likeness,
Object of his love,
Carved on his palm;
Apple of his eye.
When the stars collapse,
When the solar systems breath their last,
When the galaxies crumble with age,
You, Karina, will still be young.
So helpless there in your mother’s protective shelter,
So vulnerab
le, susceptible to harm.
So frail and weak, dependent on your elders;
So unsuspecting of the ugliness that lies outside.
A sin-stained world, no longer Eden’s paradise;
Torn and disfigured, marred by human will;
Testimony to man’s indifference to his God.
Tombstone on the grave of human sin.
True, that world is dark,
Held in the grasp of the lord of darkness.
But dark, Karina, that your light might brighter shine,
That straining eyes might sooner turn toward your unfading radiance.
Answer to our prayers,
Fulfiller of our dreams.
You are Elyon’s gift to us;
We give you back to him.
Ours to love,
But only His to possess;
For on your tiny shoulders will be borne
the reputation of the Creator’s Son.
As a prism reveals
the manifold excellence of light,
May you project to a tarnished world
the multifaceted beauty of your Creator.
Our prayer, Karina,
Daughter of God:
That when eyes of men and angels gaze upon you,
They might always and only see Him.
Finney, his mother, and his daughter Jenny smiled broadly at each other. Heaven erupted into still greater applause, and once again they found themselves immersed in the contagious laughter of the kingdom.
As on the day of his entrance, Finney saw a bright and wonderful being standing at the back of the crowd, quietly orchestrating this marvelous event, his eyes on Finney, smiling his approval. And Finney knew when the celebration was over and the crowd dispersed, he would take another unforgettable walk with Elyon’s Son, the Creator and Redeemer of this new child.
What was that name, that wonderful name the angel had called Karina? He could hear its echo in his mind, yet could neither pronounce it with his lips nor even remember exactly how it sounded. Now he knew why. It was Elyon’s name for her. She would not be called by that name until she was given it by him, on a glorious day after she would be born into heaven, graduated into glory, joining her grandfather and her great-grandmother and her aunt, and whoever else migrated home before her.
He looked again at the fair fabric of Elyon’s creation, this delicate living being. In another nine months she would be born, and in the Shadowlands they would say she had become. But she already was, before anyone on earth knew of the pregnancy. Finney had been there to behold her becoming, when she was spoken into being by the Word of God. Birth would merely be passing through a door, a rite of passage.
Overwhelmed, Finney longed at once to hold this girl, to hold Angela, to hold Sue and Little Finn. And yet in the longing itself there was joy, as if the anticipation of the embrace of reunion were the embrace of reunion itself. So strong were his longings in that moment, though separated by the veil, Finney thought Sue must be able to feel his presence. But not with the clarity he felt hers.
Suddenly, the embrace he longed for was real and physical, for Jenny wrapped herself tightly around him, and Finney’s mother made it a threesome again.
“O Daddy. Can you believe it? Look! Listen! Everyone’s rejoicing. I have a niece. You have a granddaughter. Grandma has a great-granddaughter! Angela and Bruce don’t even know! Mom’s a grandma and she doesn’t even suspect! I can’t wait to see the expression on her face. And little Karina. I long to hold her. Let’s pray that she’ll be a great champion for Elyon.”
Spontaneously, Jenny prayed aloud, head not bowed but looking toward the One who stood among them, who was always there in every nook and cranny of this vast realm, yet who sometimes focused his presence in one place, now this one.
“Protect her Lord. Give her mother—my sister!—and father your strength and wisdom. Let them know the privilege and responsibility that is theirs. Be with them in long and weary nights. Let them never think that any possession or opportunity or career compares in worth to this little one. Help them to see each moment invested in her is an investment in eternity!”
A chorus of “amens” erupted. Finney marveled that those of Zyor’s great race would say “amen” to a prayer offered by his little Jenny, who was as pure and innocent—no, much more so—as ever on earth. Yet now, compared to him, Jenny was a veteran of the new world, knowing its ways far better than he. Finney was so proud of her. He hugged her tightly, and they both trembled with excitement at the advent of Angela’s child.
After a while, Finney felt a hand on his shoulder, a great and mighty hand. It was Zyor.
“Congratulations, master. Angela is a godly young woman. You raised her to follow the Almighty. She will be a fine mother for this girl, as her mother was for her. And the father is a godly man—with your guidance, Angela chose him well. Elyon is pleased.”
“Thank you, my friend. The sense of wonder is so strong. I fear I’ll become callous to it, that it will somehow grow old to me. Yet how many times have you seen a child conceived, and the wonder seems new and fresh to you. How can that be?”
“Here you do not grow callous to wondrous events. You deepen in your appreciation of them each time. You gain new insight into the old wonder, making the old wonder always new. You never ‘get used to it.’ It never ‘gets old.’ It is always wonderful, always fresh, as if it were the first time. And there is something else—each time you see a child conceived, it is a reminder of the child, the conception, the incarnation of Elyon’s Son—the day God became man. Each child’s conception is a sacrament, a symbol, an enactment of that greater drama.”
Zyor’s voice trembled. “And that is the wonder of wonders. Never shall we fully comprehend it; always shall we joyfully celebrate it. The applause you heard was not only for your granddaughter, but for the One who once became as your granddaughter now is, that you and she and any of Adam’s race might have the privilege of being where you now are.”
Finney, one arm around his daughter, the other around his mother, pondered the words of his old guardian. He thought fondly of Sue, of the years they’d shared together, and of how happy she would be when she learned Angela was carrying this child. He peered again in unmasked adoration through the window into Angela’s womb, gazing upon this wondrous creation that those without eyes would call a mere blob of tissue.
The celebration was suddenly eclipsed by a realization that something was happening in the dark world, something somehow connected to him. Finney’s mind went first to Jake, and then to Jake’s teenage daughter Carly. Yes, that was it. Carly was in trouble, and Jake didn’t know about it. But Finney was being called to prayer. He rushed to the portal.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Jake stood staring at the FBI badge. He’d spent enough time with police and military to know these two standing at his door were the genuine item. Right down to the formal politeness, the air of respect in addressing him as “sir,” and even the use of the word imperative. Still, he wasn’t going to let them intimidate him. His mentor Leonard once told him, “Show me someone with respect for authority and I’ll show you a lousy reporter.” Jake was not a lousy reporter.
He stood there silently, studying their eyes, assessing the situation, as they grew more uncomfortable. Good. They were probably genuine, but it would be stupid to let two strange men into his apartment. Yet if these guys wanted to take him, he knew they could. He could see the outline of their holsters strung under their suits, and it was obvious both of them put in their time in a weight room. He decided the best approach was to go along with them, but on his terms.
“Where’s your office?” Jake ushered his best I’m-not-intimidated voice, as if Feds were always dropping by on the weekends and he was getting a little bored by it.
“The Federal Building on Fourth Street. Seventh floor.”
“All right, I’ll go. But I’ll drive separately and follow you.”
“No problem, Mr. Woods.” Agent Sutter seemed gr
acious enough.
“Okay, give me ten minutes to take a shower and change.”
“Sure. We’ll wait outside.” Jake wasn’t about to offer them his living room, but it was nice of them to back off on their own.
Jake’s adrenaline rushed as hot and hard as the shower water. Obviously these guys were on the case. What did they know? How much would they tell him? What did they want from him? He’d heard Feds often didn’t let local police in on what they were doing. Did Ollie know about these guys? Jake was out of the shower and in his jeans and sweatshirt in five minutes. The whiskers would stay. On weekends Jake never shaved until his face itched, and it didn’t. Besides, it would remind these guys he was a civilian, with all the rights and privileges thereto.
Jake grabbed a spiral notebook and pen and stepped out the door. Sutter and Mayhew were pacing on the apartment’s front lawn, looking about as inconspicuous as two guys in full suits and trench coats could look on any Saturday afternoon outside an apartment complex.
“Ready,” Jake said. “I’ll pull out my car from that driveway over there.” He pointed to the driveway exiting from the secured parking lot. Jake saw Mayhew eye his spiral notebook uncomfortably. This could actually be fun.
The car with federal plates pulled into one of many open spaces in front of the building, Jake following. The federal building looked unoccupied today. Agent Sutter ran a card from his wallet through a scanner to gain entry to the front door, then nodded to the security officer manning the desk at the entry way. Sutter signed the log book. The officer looked bored, as though pulling the weekend shift was effortless but tiresome.
