UNSEEN FRIENDS
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And the men
which journeyed with him stood speechless, hearing a voice,
but seeing no man.
—ACTS
9:7
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It was
happening again. That strange urging, as if something were beckoning,
calling him out to the backyard. Curious, a little frightened,
six-year-old Ledyard Patterson dropped the Nintendo GameBoy
he was playing with and went to the playroom window. It was dusk. A
huge Texas sun the color of warm blood was poised on the horizon beyond
the rolling green carpet of golf course that bordered his family’s
private, two-acre compound, built in the midst of the 6,000-acre
Christian Condensed Ministry’s campus, founded by his televangelist
father, Pat Patterson.
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He had never
been on the golf course before. In fact he was hardly allowed out in
the yard alone. His parents were paranoid that some deranged person
disgruntled with his famous father’s rather dogmatic fundamentalist
theology might slither from the urban slime of nearby Houston and
attack or kidnap the boy. Still, what was it? Ledyard peered around the
room. It was so strange, this weird feeling suddenly upon him.
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The room was
cool. He could feel the coolness, but he was warm. Tingling warm. And
that strange urging. Something was outside and it was calling to him
and suddenly he wanted to be there. Had to be
there. He wanted to know. What?
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The
little boy crept to the door, eased it open, stuck his head out and
looked up and down the hall. His parents were out for the evening. He
was glad of that. Otherwise, the thought crossed his mind, he’d never
make it outside. Like the last time.…
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Elly, the
maid, was down in the living room reading. It would be easy to sneak
out the backdoor. Wearing his one-piece baby-blue pajamas with the feet
in them and a zipper up the front, Ledyard tiptoed down the hall, down
the stairs, and with his back against the wall, slipped into the
kitchen and stopped at the backdoor. Determined that before being
discovered he would at least make it to the decorative split-rail fence
that separated their yard from the golf course, the little blond,
blue-eyed six-year-old reached up, twisted the doorknob and slipped
out, gently closing the door behind him.
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It
was cool and shadowy, the rush of the wind rising and falling as it
rustled the leaves of the towering oaks that graced their meticulously
landscaped estate. The huge red sun was half-sunken into the Earth now.
Underfoot the grass was soft, cool and damp, immediately soaking
through the feet of his pajamas.
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Driven by one
simple urge, to find out what was out there in the gathering gloom that
seemed to be calling to him, Ledyard glanced back at the kitchen door
once, then scampered across the huge expanse of rolling lawn to the
rear of the yard.
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He
ran to the left, down a slight slope, and stopped at the split-rail
fence. He stood for a long moment, staring, feeling, his arms held away
from his sides as if he were trying to touch the very air around him.
The fiery red orb of the sun was slipping. Soon it would be gone and
he’d be left alone in the dark.
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The boy
slowly lowered his arms, every sense alive, electric, his hearing,
smell, and taste sharp, his eyes searching. It wasn’t here,
but it was close, whatever it was, for he could clearly feel it.
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Almost
catlike, he lifted each foot very high and took one broad, carefully
placed step after the other, as if he were some prehistoric hunter
stalking prey. Making his way along the fence and up the slope without
a sound, the little boy suddenly froze in mid-stride and looked up, his
right foot held high. Slowly, unconsciously, the foot came down and he
stood firmly, feet apart, the slightest hint of a smile playing on his
face as he gazed up at the walnut tree he had stopped beneath.
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And
then that “glow” was upon him again, like up in the playroom when the
air had felt so cool and he so warm, with his entire being engulfed in
a tingling sensation. Gradually his breathing became shallow and steady
as if he were falling asleep. Total calm. Total contentment. Yet his
mind was alert. At last he spoke softly. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
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Now, if
someone had been hiding nearby listening and watching they would have
seen and heard a silly little boy talking to a tree. When the tears
began rolling down his cheeks they would have thought him disturbed or
severely depressed, not knowing, of course, that his were tears of joy.
And it would be through no fault of their own, as well, when they
failed to hear the tree talking back to the child,
for everyone knows that trees don’t talk.
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Cloud Drops
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3
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OTHER WORLD
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And he said unto them, whosoever shall receive
this child in my name receiveth me…
—
LUKE 9:48
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Even among the Elite no one was anxious to walk the Earth
again, for to do so involved donning an “Earth Unit” of flesh and
blood. To tread the heavens above the clouds and occasionally
pressurize the air to distract a criminal, or chase off a gang of
“Other Ones” trying to stir up trouble for some unfortunate soul, well
that was one thing. But once returned to an Earth Unit—to the
flesh—there was only one way out again and that was to die, being, as
it were, the only way to shed the vessel of flesh and blood and return
to the sky.
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Even for someone secure in the knowledge of the outcome, even
for someone who has once before experienced “death,” it was still a
traumatic and frightening thing to contemplate. Such is the great force
which is the will to survive, an integral part of the flesh that
knowledge alone cannot overcome, not to mention leaving loved ones and
the bliss of heaven to return to the cold, hungry, sometimes brutal
struggle for survival on Earth. In fact returning to the flesh was
rarely done and required of no one.
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And so when
Cambian landed upon the front lawn of the King’s personal dwelling in
response to a request for a volunteer, a code-six voucher attached
indicating a return to terra firma via the flesh, the King was well
pleased.
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Cambian
straightened his gray cotton shorts, which had twisted around a bit
upon landing, started across the grass, scampered up three stone steps,
crossed a huge expanse of front porch with four marble columns, and
stopped before the tall oak doors. Hesitantly lifting the brass
knocker, he let it fall once with a heavy bang.
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Expecting to
be greeted by the housekeeper of the day, when the double doors swung
aside and the King himself stood there smiling, Cambian froze, mouth
agape. When the realization of who stood before him sunk in, Cambian
muttered, “Forgive me, Lord,” and quickly dropped to his knees and
bowed his head to the floor.
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For a moment
all was quiet, then the King’s head fell back with a hearty laugh. At
the laughter Cambian chanced a peek, tilting his head slightly to catch
a glimpse with his left eye.
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Still chuckling, the golden-tousled curls of his head shining
light like a gold crown even in the cool shadow of the porch, Jesus
said mildly, “My, my, Cambian, aren’t we being formal today!” Then he
stooped, gathered the youth into his muscular arms and tossed him high
into the air, caught him and smiled broadly at Cambian’s happy
laughter. Kissing the boy once, he swung him up on his shoulders and
carried him into the house, kicking one side of the double doors closed
with the heel of his foot. Naturally the other door followed suit,
swinging shut with a sound click.
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Striding
through the elegantly appointed mansion with Cambian atop his
shoulders, Jesus said, “I’m glad you responded, Cambian, because my
need for a volunteer is linked to a project you’re already involved in.
Shall we have lunch and discuss it?”
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Cambian, a nickname he had acquired as a popular descendant
of the Cambodian people, gulped, stammering, “W-Why yes, of course,
sir.” He hadn’t expected a lunch invitation. To dine with the Lord was
considered a great honor.
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“To
the bath, then!” the Lord exclaimed, for it was customary to wash
before meals. It might be added, to these creatures eating was only a
pleasant pastime. They had no need of food, their
bodies merely burning off whatever was consumed without the necessity
of it going through any gastric process. To break bread with someone
was also a formal means of demonstrating friendship. Furthermore,
washing was not merely a hands-cleansing chore but a communal
recreational amusement that everyone enjoyed, as the washing facilities
would attest to.
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Out back was a tropical garden, the centerpiece a natural, two-acre
pool. There, Jesus set Cambian down. Crystal clear warm-water springs
gushed up from craggy rock formations near the rear, feeding the pool
in three splashing waterfalls. At the far end the water spilled over
the top, carried away in a sandy creek sparkling in the sun as it
twisted and turned through a distant valley lush with emerald-green
forest.
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With the
laughter of a child Cambian whipped off his shorts and kicked them high
into the air with one foot, watched as they plopped onto a nearby
marble bench, then ran up the winding path to the pool and dived in,
shouting, “Come on, Lord!”
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Grinning, Jesus slipped out of his gleaming white,
gold-embroidered robe, neatly draped it over the bench beside Cambian’s
shorts, sprinted up the path and dived into the pool.
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After a short intense game of water polo they called it quits
at a score of seven to seven. Climbing out of the pool, they showered
briefly beneath the warm waters of the falls and returned to the bench
where they had left their garments.
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While waiting
to dry, the water droplets clinging to their tanned bodies sparkling in
the sun, they got into a fast and furious game of slap-hands in which
Jesus’ reflexes proved to be somewhat quicker. True, they could have
simply vaporized the water droplets in a fraction of a second and
dressed immediately, but they were enjoying the warm sunshine. And
since they had all the time in eternity there was no rush.
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They lunched on broiled whitefish and lightly buttered
steamed rice with fresh sliced mushrooms and pearl onions, taking the
meal in the cool shade of the expansive veranda that overlooked the
garden with its pool and splashing waterfalls.
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After the food was set before them, their crystal goblets
filled with iced papaya juice, and the servant had withdrawn, Jesus
spoke quietly, cutting into the tender fish with the side of his fork.
“So, I understand you managed to establish contact with young Ledyard
Patterson.”
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“Yes sir,”
Cambian answered, lifting a forkful of the flaky, delectable fish.
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Jesus
swallowed, his fork hovering over the rice dish. “And how did that go?”
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“Good, sir.
He was very receptive.”
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“Good,” Jesus
answered, “but you do realize it’s his father we want to win to our
cause, don’t you?”
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Cambian
cleared his throat. “Uh, that is a little confusing to me, sir. I mean,
his father’s always talking about you on television.”
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“Using
me would be a better way of putting it. And getting rich for his
efforts, too. But the most disturbing thing, Cambian, is that he’s
generating a massive following and polarizing the people, one religion
against the other. The irony, of course, is that just when nations are
finally learning to settle their political differences peacefully, this
cheap television pop-star and others like him are going to end up
splitting nations along religious lines!”
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“Which side are we on, sir?”
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“We’re not on
any side, Cambian,” Jesus answered, dipping into the rice dish.
Gesturing with his fork he added, “Eat.”
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Cambian took a bite. “And this guy Patterson.…”
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“Has them
worshipping the religion instead of the God,” Jesus interjected. “And
he’s certainly not proclaiming my
teachings, nor those of God. Neither is the Pope or any of the rest of
them for that matter. Religion is all about politics, power and money.
Always has been and apparently always will be. That’s why I blew-up
that time and overturned the money-changers’ tables.”
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“Uh-huh,” Cambian nodded. “I see what you’re getting at. If
we get to the boy early enough before he’s brainwashed.…”
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“Right. He’s
heir to a powerful religious empire. And one that shows no signs of
letting up, I might add. If we can just keep tabs on him and little by
little bring him in, well, maybe his father will come around and maybe
he won’t, but at least one of our guys will be
well-positioned when Patterson retires.”
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Cambian bowed his head, “In your service, my Lord, I pray
always keep me.”
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Jesus waved the pleasantries aside, his face growing somber.
“This is a long-term project. You’ll be working with the boy over the
next ten years or so. And then, if it looks like the right thing to do
we’ll probably go for something dramatic like a touch down—in the
flesh—thus my request for a volunteer with the code-six voucher
attached.”
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Again Cambian bowed his head. “In your service, my Lord.”
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Jesus smiled.
“Thank you, Cambian. Then the assignment is yours. That is, if we
decide to go through with it. In the meantime just keep coaxing the boy
along like you’ve been doing.” As an afterthought he added, “Oh, and
plan on maybe setting up an out-of-body experience for him when he’s
about ten just to lock him in and get him ready for the big one.” He
paused. “Have you ever done one of those before? An out-of-body?”
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“No
sir,” Cambian shook his head. “But I’ve got lots of time to get the
team together and practice.”
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“Good,” Jesus said conclusively. “Don’t let your food get
cold.”
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| At the great
front door of the Lord’s house Jesus took Cambian in a final embrace,
then held him at arm’s length by the shoulders. “Now, tomorrow come by
the House of Kings and we’ll make a formal announcement concerning our
decision.” Then he said goodbye and sent the youth off with an
affectionate clap on the shoulder. |
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