Inspired by a dream
Recommended Listening: Fly by Jars of Clay

Yet to Come

They came while we were singing. I remember locking eyes with Kelsey and singing about the harvest. She never liked that particular song, but that night she gripped my hand and we sang out our breaking hearts. Even when the last notes faded, no one moved to sit. Pastor nodded to Kyle and we played our last song. The piano soared softly to the rafters and everyone on stage was crying. Through our tears, past the lumps in our throats and the stones in our guts, we played and sang. The laws didn't extend to music back then.

We sang praises and thanks, praying every second for the uniformed men behind our congregation. The truth flew from our hearts, through our parched throats, past our trembling lips, and into our sanctuary. The world grew small and we all hit our knees, reveling in the momentary solace and overwhelming security.

Eventually, that song had to end as well. Pastor didn't even finish opening his prayer when they shot him.

"Our Abba Father, Savior, sovereign Lord, holy--"

Crack.
Bang.
Boom.

Many people started crying as they lined us up; but Jacob, Jared, and Joel--orphans as of moments before--stood tall beside their mother. Solemnly, they linked hands and sang softly to themselves. The song was one Kelsey and I taught them when they were still shorter than us. They took the first three places.

Crack.
Bang.
Boom.
They fell like stones.

The test was simple; spit on the Bible or take a shot to the head. Choose prudently.

Several walked away, trudging out the door with broken hearts and heavy steps. My teacher, my love, my father. I sobbed quietly for him, clutching Kelsey's hand like a lifeline. The scent of death was suffocating, nauseating. Kyle started praying when his turn came. He reached out to take my hand and I realized I would be next.

"God, I'm sorry." He was so broken. "Give them strength. I wish I could've done more for You. I wish I had more time. Father, forgive these men. They don't--"

Crack.
He fell.
My turn.

One soldier put the opened pages in front of my face. For a split second, I envied him for his complete copy--so much larger than my tiny set of gospels and neater than my handwritten epistles. The passage was Psalm 122. For the sake of my brothers and friends, I will say, "Peace be within you." Then I saw the spit stains.

My knees hit the floor before I knew I was falling. My cheeks were still wet from earlier. Kelsey knelt next to me, not surrendering her grip on my hand for anything. I took the book gently from the soldier's gloved hands, wiping away the wet spots with my hand. I couldn't see past the blur of fresh tears.

"Make your choice." A deep, southern voice. A familiar voice. How could we have missed that man? Didn't he know most of us personally? "Choose now!"

"...I can't." Wings enveloped me and I knew I was safe. I shuffled through the pages carefully. When I found my life's chapter, I lifted my chin to stare boldly into his eyes. I didn't need to see the words.

"Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.' My voice rang clearly and even the babies stopped crying. God wanted everyone left to hear.

Click.
Snick.
No ammunition, though the gun was reloaded just before Kyle was shot. I kept reciting.

"Do not put out the Spirit's fire; do not treat prophecies with contempt. Test everything. Hold on to the good. Avoid every kind of evil."
They'd reloaded the gun. I heard my mother sob.

Click.
Ching.
The trigger was jammed.

"May God Himself, the God of peace, sanctify you through and through. May your whole spirit, soul and body be kept blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful and He will do it."

Click.
Stare.

"I can't choose now, sir." My clear eyes met his gaze squarely. "I chose a long time ago." I clutch the Bible to my chest.

Bang.