by Bill Myers
“From what I have read of your work in neurobiology and psychic research, if you cannot help him, I doubt anyone can.”
It was another compliment, and it left Sarah even more unsteady. “Well, I … I can’t say at the moment. I mean, I’d have to check my schedule and discuss it with the staff.” She shifted in the chair. “How long of a stay would you anticipate?”
“That would be entirely up to you. However, once you complete your evaluation, you may wish to stay a few days longer and see the Himalayas. Nepal is beautiful this time of year, and it would be an honor for me to show you some of its sights.”
Sarah blinked. Was he flirting with her? She tried swallowing again, but with the same lack of success. “Listen.” She cleared her throat. “This is all very flattering, but I need some time to think it over.”
“Certainly, and please forgive me for this intrusion.”
“That’s, uh, that’s all right.”
“But, as I said, the young man is very important to us.”
“I understand.”
“All accommodations will be first class, and you and your clinic will be handsomely compensated should you decide to come.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then I will take it as a personal loss … in more ways than one.”
He was flirting.
He continued. “Do you mind if someone from my office checks with you in a few days, after you have had time to consult your schedule?”
“Uh, yes, I mean no, I mean that would be fine, certainly.” She could feel a cool dampness break out across her forehead.
“Good. Well, thank you for your time, Dr. Martus. And again, please accept my apologies for this intrusion.”
“That’s all right. No problem. I’ll let you know my schedule.”
“I shall look forward to that. Good day, Doctor.”
“Yes, uh, good day.”
She saw him reach for his monitor, and suddenly the picture went blank. Sarah stared at the screen for several seconds, feeling her heart pounding in her chest. She took a deep breath, trying to force herself to relax. And then she took another.
On the morning of the third day Brandon was sweating again. Only this time it had nothing to do with a fever. He wasn’t sure if he was awake or asleep, but he knew he wasn’t in the hospital. He still lay curled in a twisted knot, and he still writhed with the pain. But he was no longer in his hospital bed. Instead, he lay on a moon-shaped platform above a sea of flames, the same crescent moon he had seen tattooed on Salman’s arm and now had on his own, the same crescent moon he had dreamed about.
He didn’t know how long he lay there before he saw the light — the blazing brilliance that appeared from somewhere behind him. He tried to turn and face it, but the pain in his body was too great.
A moment later he heard the voice. Its power vibrated the air, the flames, the platform — everything shook with the sound — and yet it resonated gently within his own mind.
“Hello, my child.”
Again Brandon struggled to turn his head. The pain was severe, but he fought and strained until he succeeded. He had to.
The light was piercing, blinding like the sun, like a thousand suns. He squinted, trying to protect his eyes until, at last, he saw a form in the light — a form carved from the light. It was the form of a man. In one hand he held what looked like seven glowing stars. From his mouth came a razor-sharp, double-edged sword. And behind him were lampstands … seven as well. It was an astonishing sight. But even more astonishing for Brandon was to see this being quietly kneel down at his side.
That’s when he noticed the eyes. They were made of fire — pure, leaping flames of fire. But they were not flames of destruction. They were flames of passion. A burning, consuming passion. A passion that Brandon instinctively knew burned for him. It was so intense and overwhelming that he could not move. All he could do was stare at them and drink in the love. There was no doubt who he was looking at. And there was no doubt of the all-inclusive, all-consuming love. That’s why, before he could stop himself, Brandon spoke. It came as naturally as a little boy talking to his daddy. “Et hoorts.”
Sorrow filled the flaming eyes. The voice responded. This time it contained as much pain as it had tenderness.
“I know.”
“Why?”
The voice answered gently. “You say you love. Yet, My child, you know nothing of love. You know nothing of its depth or of its passion.” The voice was tender, yet the words cut deep into Brandon’s soul. “I have given you the briefest taste of My love. These three days you have felt the merest fraction of what I feel, you have ached the smallest trace of what I ache, you have wept the tiniest portion of what I weep.”
Brandon’s head reeled. Were such things possible? Could any one person contain such love?
The voice continued, its passion growing. “I have purchased My bride with My very life. You know nothing of the depth of My love for her; you know nothing of My passion. You who claim to love more than I.”
Suddenly Brandon felt fear, a tremendous terror rising up inside of him as the voice grew in emotion.
“Do you dare speak to Me of love when you know nothing of its meaning? When you cannot comprehend the price I have paid, nor the depths of My devotion?”
Tears sprang to Brandon’s eyes. He had to close them. There was no argument to be made. The thoughts running through his mind these past several days, those silent accusations of God, they’d all been heard. They’d all been heard and they’d all been wrong. Brandon knew that was true from the moment he looked into those eyes, from the moment he heard the words. He’d been terribly and ignorantly wrong. A sob of remorse escaped his throat. How could he have been so blind, so presumptuous? Another sob came. And then another. He lowered his head as tears began to fall.
The voice did not respond but waited patiently. Brandon had no idea how long he cried, but finally, when there were no tears left, a hand reached out and touched his cheek. He opened his eyes and recognized it as the hand from his past, the hand from his father’s church, the pierced hand that had saved him from the fiery abyss of the serpent’s throat.
With excruciating effort, Brandon reached up his own crippled hand to take it. And, as he did, his pain immediately disappeared. But not just the pain in his hand, the pain throughout his entire body … and his mind. It suddenly ceased.
He looked up, startled. The burning eyes smiled. Reaching out and taking the pierced hand with both of his own, Brandon began to kiss it over and over again as a fresh assault of tears sprang to his eyes and streamed down his cheeks.
“My son …”
He looked up.
“I have set before you and your bride a great call. I have given you a glorious promise. But you have allowed worldly thinking to turn that promise into worldly glory. You say you are yielded to Me, yet yielded is not the same as broken. The promise I have given must die and face darkness. For only in the darkest places dwell My brightest victories. You and the promise must be ground into the powder of contriteness, then mixed with the oil of My Spirit before My glory is manifested.”
Brandon nodded, not because he understood, but because he knew truth was being spoken.
“You are able … but only if you live in My strength. Only if you hold My hand and look into My eyes. You are able. But if you are not willing, I will understand. My love will be no less, but I will understand and I will find another.”
Alarm filled Brandon. Was it possible? Would He really pass him over and choose someone else? After all they’d been through?
The eyes waited patiently until Brandon finally realized they were waiting on him. Impulsively he wanted to shout, “Yes, whatever You want and then some! Anything You choose will be fine with me!” But what of the cost? Look what he and Sarah had been through so far, and they’d barely begun. And if the prophecy in Revelation was to be taken literally, the reward for their obedience would be their murder and their bodies left in the streets to rot.
Not exactly the happily-ever-after ending one would hope for. Yes, there would be a resurrection, but …
What was so wrong with having a normal life? What was so wrong with having a wife he could actually make love to, of having children, raising a family, growing old together? What would be so terribly wrong with just being normal?
Brandon looked back into the eyes. He knew there would be no condemnation if he refused. The flames of passion would burn just as intensely for him regardless of his decision. But, as he stared into those eyes, Brandon realized something else. How could anyone say no to such love, to such all-consuming passion?
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Brandon began to nod.
The eyes sparkled in delight. And it was that expression that burst Brandon’s chest with joy. To think that he, a nobody, could actually make the Creator of the universe smile.
The voice spoke again. “I will give you a gift few have received. I will give you My heart. My words will become a fire in your mouth that you cannot contain. They will burn until you have completed the warning to My bride.”
“What … ” Brandon’s voice was a trembling whisper. “What am I to say?”
“Warn her before it is too late …
She who preaches to love herself,
when I have commanded her to hate.
She who prays for her will,
but does not seek Mine.
She who claims to be My servant,
yet demands I serve.
She who cries out for answers,
but will not listen.
She who demands healing,
but will not seek Me in sickness.
She who indulges her every whim,
yet allows My least to suffer.
She who is quick to raise the sword,
but slow to drop to her knees.
She who chases her dreams
while forgetting My call.
She who raises her skirts to the world
while ignoring My call to holiness.”
“But … how?” Brandon whispered.
“She no longer has ears to listen, but by seeing, she will understand.”
“See what? What are we to do?”
“As My bride’s affection has turned from Me, so Sarah will turn from you.”
Brandon’s protest came before he could stop it. “No!”
The eyes looked upon him with overwhelming compassion. Brandon searched them, hoping for a reprieve, for some other solution.
Again the hand reached out, gently touching his cheek. “It is the only way. But she will return. Just as My bride will return to Me, so she will return to you. And her act, the returning to your covenant, will be My testimony to the world.”
The lump in Brandon’s throat made it nearly impossible to talk. “But … can’t there be … another way?”
“No.”
Brandon looked down, his eyes burning with tears.
The voice continued. “You and I will share the longing for our bride. And that love, followed by her obedience, is the message the two of you will proclaim to the world.”
Brandon nodded, barely able to breathe for the sorrow.
“Study My letters of love to My bride. Point to their warnings, lest I come and take away her lampstand. Be strong and courageous, My son. Do not tremble or be afraid. For I will be with you. I will be with you always.”
Tears spilled down Brandon’s cheeks and onto his pillow. The pillow from his hospital bed. The pillow that he was now lying on. He clutched it and continued to weep until it was soaked with his tears.
Sarah was cleaning again. This time she was on her hands and knees in the shower. It was amazing how quickly mineral deposits could build up, especially in the grout, especially in the corners. She’d heard people talk about the city’s hard water before; now she understood. For whatever reason, she hadn’t seen the accumulation in her first cleaning of the apartment. This time, gratefully, she had. So with spray cleaner in one hand and a brush in the other, she was furiously at work. It was either that or putting down another quart of Swiss Almond Delight which, although kinder to her knees, would be far less considerate of her hips.
She didn’t know how long she was down there like that before she heard the front door open. Immediately, she froze. Had she locked it? She wasn’t certain.
A moment later, the door shut. Whoever had opened it was now inside the apartment. Sarah held her breath, uncertain what to do. She could call out, demand to know who it was. But that would give away her location. And there, cornered in the shower, on her hands and knees, was not the strongest position in which to ward off an attack. Maybe she should just lay low and stay there in hopes they would take whatever they wanted and get out. It was a difficult decision. Fortunately, she didn’t have too long to weigh it. A familiar voice with a terrible Ricky Ricardo accent suddenly echoed down the hall: “Lucy … I’m home!”
“Brandon?” She dropped the brush and spray cleaner and jumped to her feet. “Is that you?”
Her husband rounded the corner and her heart leaped. She was so excited that she stumbled over the threshold of the shower.
“Easy!” he warned.
But she didn’t care. “Brandon!” Even as she was stumbling and falling, she didn’t care. “Brandon!”
He stepped in and managed to catch her just before she slammed into the wall, his arms as strong and healthy as ever. He was laughing now, as he helped her back to her feet, trying to keep his own balance. “Are you okay?” he asked.
She stared at him, not believing her eyes. Then suddenly she threw her arms around him, hugging him, kissing him. “Brandon … Brandon, Brandon, Brandon.”
He continued to laugh, holding her, until suddenly a dreadful thought filled her mind and she pulled away. “Are you all right, did I hurt you?”
“No.” He grinned as he pulled her back into the embrace. “You didn’t hurt me at all. I’m fine. I’m absolutely fine.”
“And you’re positive it was the Lord?” Sarah leaned against their kitchen counter sipping her lukewarm Earl Grey.
Brandon nodded from the table. “Oh, yeah.”
“Not some dream, not some hallucination?”
“He was more real than you and I put together.”
Sarah paused, carefully thinking it through. Finally she spoke. “Super-reality.”
“Hmm?”
“That’s what Dr. Reichner used to call the supernatural, those dimensions that are higher than our own. Remember? ‘Super-reality.’ ”
“He was super something.” Brandon looked down at the table, his voice thickening with emotion. “I’ve never seen such love, I’ve never felt such intense …” But the memory was too much, and he let his words trail off.
Sarah watched silently. It had been nearly three hours since he’d returned to the apartment from the hospital, since he’d strolled in as strong and fit as if nothing had happened. From the looks of things, he’d been made completely well. But, unfortunately for Sarah, she had other types of wounds, ones far less quick to heal.
Of course she was grateful to have him home. Their first hours of reunion had been pure joy. But now they were down to the cold hard facts … and some equally hard questions.
As far as Sarah could tell the vision had been legitimate. There had been no drugs administered except for Percodan to help him relax. Nor had he remained in ICU long enough to develop any of the hallucinations common with longer stays. Granted, what he’d been through would be enough to push anyone over the edge, but nearly everything he described corresponded with other documented visions and accounts, both historically and biblically.
Then of course, there was one other fact: her husband, who had been sick and crippled with pain beyond belief, had been instantaneously healed during the encounter. Psychosomatic? Perhaps. Though Sarah had her doubts. This seemed far less psychological than it did paranormal.
She took another sip of her tea. “Do you remember anything else? Anything else He might have ment
ioned?”
“Sarah, we’ve been through this a half-dozen times.”
“I know, I know …” She couldn’t put her finger on it, but she sensed he was keeping something from her. “Nothing more about our relationship?”
He shifted slightly. “He still doesn’t want us sleeping together, if that’s what you mean.”
It wasn’t what she’d meant. To be honest, she wasn’t sure what she meant. Maybe it was just her own insecurity, her lack of self-esteem — it’s pretty hard having self-esteem when God says you’re not good enough to sleep with your own husband. But there was something else. She couldn’t put her finger on it, but there was something else.
She watched as Brandon reached up and pulled a Bible from the shelf behind him. He opened it and flipped through the pages. How odd, a month ago that book had meant everything to her. And now, almost against her will, she found herself growing uncomfortable with it. Uncomfortable with the way it was invading and overturning every aspect of their lives. Every aspect. “What are you looking up?” she asked.
“Remember I told you He said something about ‘love letters to His bride’?”
She nodded. “I still don’t understand that.”
Once again Brandon fell silent, and once again she thought he was hiding something. But what?
He continued. “And those seven stars and those seven lampstands?”
“That’s from Revelation,” she said. “Toward the beginning. The first couple chapters are the ones that talk about lampstands and stars …”
“And letters,” he said with growing excitement. He riffled through the pages more quickly.
She looked on. Of course she was thrilled to have him back home, and grateful that he seemed completely well. But, then again, she’d never asked for him to be sick. Neither had he, for that matter. So it’s not like she should be doing cartwheels in gratitude just because life was almost returning to normal. And what about this business of becoming God’s audiovisual aide to the rest of the world? Not exactly the “love, peace, and joy” Brandon had preached to her when she was recovering back in the hospital.
