Towards the beginning of the pandemic a man in our town died. He was young and his death sent a ripple of fear and disbelief through our community.

We stood on his widow’s driveway in the sunshine as she told us about the progress of his disease and swift death. It was as terrifying as the plague.

Eventually so many others died.

I was nearly one of them. After my life was given back to me, I told God I would always give Him credit for the miracle of my life returned.

I was surprised at how few of my extended family and friends seemed to believe me. It was shock? Or the fact that the recovery seemed commonplace to them?

It also troubled me that at least one of my friends thought that if I could survive it, so would she.

And she did not.

I carry her mistake with me. I feel her absence still, with all the others we have lost.

People have been telling us about their rapture dreams. “Rapture,” in this case is a shortened term for God taking a bunch of us home, ending the age of Grace.

Back in 2020 it felt like watching a tsunami rolling towards us on the horizon.

Jesus is coming soon. Find him. Buy oil for your lamp. It is minutes to midnight.

Matthew 25:6 NIV
[6] “At midnight the cry rang out: ‘Here’s the bridegroom! Come out to meet him!’