Tribulation House: Reloaded

Chapter 30

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- 30 -

Saturday, October 6. I had a lovely day on Blue Springs Lake, out in Fleming Park. With my new 2008 Bayliner 192. Cool breeze in my hair, the sun dancing on the surface of the water. It was heavenly.

Before I left, I parked it out on the street for everyone to see. I made a point to knock on a few doors, tell a few neighbors to watch my house for any suspicious activity—I would be out on the lake with my new boat. My 2008 Bayliner 192. Have you seen my new boat? So if you could watch my house while I’m out on the lake, I would surely appreciate it, neighbor.

Sure, they tried to play cool. Like it was no big thing. I knew they were wrestling with jealousy right then and there, with the fact I had a boat they could never afford. (Okay, a boat I could never afford, either—if it weren’t for my special arrangement with Jesus.)

Doug Waters said he would keep an eye out. “That’s a nice one there,” he added, hiding the fact that he must have been seething.

Felix Mendel shrugged. “Sorry, I’m headed out this afternoon.” He didn’t even bother to look at my boat, but I’m sure it was because he knew he wouldn’t be able to hide his coveting.

Mrs. Henson just gave me a disapproving look. But I think her face is frozen that way.

With my 2008 Bayliner 192 hitched to the back of my Chevy Avalanche 2500 LT, I waved to whoever watched as I pulled away from the curb. On the way to Blue Springs, I made one slight detour. But Marvin Dobbs wasn’t home. I couldn’t apologize to him for the unpleasantness the other day. Worse yet, he couldn’t see my new boat.

Getting the boat out on the lake, I was soon sitting back on the lounge chair, sipping from my lemonade and munching on Oreos. I really got a sense of what it must have been like for our Lord on the Sea of Galilee, ministering to the crowds on the shore.

Did I preach to the crowds at the dock? Oh, Lord, no. I didn’t think much of that crowd. I had already stapled some flyers about Kingdom Come on the telephone pole and stuck one on the bulletin board. If those people wanted to get saved, they could come to church like everybody else.

Of course, no Eden is without its snake: Even though I was out there on the lake like Jesus, the enemy tried to squelch my good time, with flickers of memories about those gangsters. And, I must confess, I wrestled with the shadow of doubt. Had I been right to speak with them? Had I been right to share my dilemma with them? Had I been right to take their money?

Allowing the breeze to wash over me, the smell of the lake, the sweetness of the Oreo, I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds on the water. The waves gently lapping against the side of the 2008 Bayliner 192. The birds announcing themselves as they passed overhead. The others on the lake, boating and skiing and laughing and envying me on this day that the Lord hath made.

I pushed the doubts out of my mind. I held fast to the promise that we faithful should benefit from the money of the unfaithful. (I am not exactly sure where it is in the Bible, but Reverend Daniel Glory preached about it one time.)

But, man! Being alone on the lake. No nagging from the wife. No nagging from the kids. No contact with another human soul. This was the way God meant for it to be.

I wondered what Marge was doing. Probably trying on her shoes. How could someone expect to wear so many different shoes before the end of the world? I looked down at my sneakers. They were new—you did not wear old sneakers on a brand-new 2008 Bayliner 192—but they would be the last pair of shoes I ever owned. (Will we wear shoes in the kingdom? Jesus wore shoes, I guess—sandals, right?—so we must.)

Right about then, my daughter was probably brushing her hair or trying out different nose rings in front of the mirror and gabbing with her friends on her cell phone. I had considered whether I should cancel her cell account—didn’t want her unsaved friends to come across the phone wherever the daughter dropped it in the Rapture and start running up minutes. Then I chuckled, remembering that it didn’t matter what the phone bill came to—we wouldn’t be here to pay it.

Jubilee.

When my glass of lemonade was empty, it was an effort to peel myself out of the lounge chair to get some more—the rocking of the boat had made me drowsier than I realized. Another glass of lemonade and then a nap on the lake would be exquisite.

Settling back in the chair with my refill and another handful of Oreos—the wife never understood how I could take the sweet and the sour together—my thoughts turned to the boy. Him and his stories. Always writing. When would he learn that fiction is no way to serve God?

Then I heard the voice. Dobbs. “Are you going to copy everything I do?”

I set down the lemonade, peeled myself out of the chair again, went to the side of the boat—wait, what do they call that? Bow? Stern? I probably should have remembered that from the test. But I was sleepy from dozing in the sun, so it could be forgiven. I squinted at the boat cruising slowly alongside mine. “What are you talking about now, Dobbs?”

“First you steal Armageddon House—and now you got a boat!”

“Lots of people have boats! How can I be expected to remember you have a boat too?”

“We came out here just last summer. You and all the deacons. On my boat. For our summit.”

“I forgot about that.”

“How could you forget that? You spent all winter talking about how we need to do it again.”

“No, I think I talked all winter about how Jesus went out on the boat. I just want to be more like Jesus.”

“No, you want to be more like me,” Dobbs said. “Pathetic.”

I don’t know how it happened, but my cooler was thrown at his boat. And maybe the lounge chair.

Apparently, Fleming Park has a policy against that. I was going to have to find another place to be like Jesus.

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