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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CHAPTER 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…
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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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