In the Heavenly Realms

By H.t. Browning

Andrew Wagner and his best friend Kara were just normal kids playing at church until their treasure hunt lead them to something extraordinary.
The little chunk of quartz doesn't look like much, but with it Andrew finds he can become incorporeal. Little does he realize what supernatural adventures await him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Dec 28, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329792739

Book preview

In the Heavenly Realms

In the Heavenly Realms

by

H.t. Browning

Copyright © 2015 Henry T. Browning III.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

All Scriptures taken from the New Heart English Bible which is in the public domain.

Dedication:

For Greg Smith, a spiritual father and my guide in angelology.

Chapter 1

God has endowed us all with gifts, the preacher was saying.

As it was most Sundays, my mind was miles away from the sermon. I’ve never known an eleven-year-old boy who focuses well on sermons, but I had a doubly hard time focusing this Sunday. I had special training in tuning out this particular preacher’s voice. The preacher was my mom.

Today’s sermon was about finding the gifts God had given you and finding out how to use those gifts for Him. I knew the notes of the sermon by heart; my mom had been hashing it out all week. She only preached once a month, so on that week, she was completely enveloped in the message she was bringing.

There were four preachers at Refuge Bible Church, and none of them had been through seminary. Half of them had never even attended college and only one of them had a degree of any kind.

The idea to have four preachers had begun in necessity over sixty years ago. The pastor at the time died suddenly on a mission trip to Mexico.

At first, various people from the congregation started filling in while a committee searched for a new pastor.

After much prayer and deliberation, God revealed to them that He did not intend for them to have a shepherd other than Christ. They presented their revelation to the congregation, citing Matthew 23:8 But you are not to be called 'Rabbi,' for one is your Teacher, and all of you are brothers.

The congregation accepted the word of prophecy, and they stopped searching.

They elected four people to bring messages on a rotating schedule and a dozen people to go and visit the sick and home-bound.

People in the community found it surprising that a church could get along without an ordained minister, so they joined. Others thought it was amazing a church could grow without one, so more joined.

A new sanctuary was built, and the old one was turned into a gymnasium. There were new classroom wings added, and then more added after that.

The new sanctuary was less formal than the old one had been. It had a simple stage in front, curved rows of padded folding chairs with a center aisle. Above us was just a simple white drop ceiling.

No matter what your gift is, it has a purpose, I heard my mom say. You may be able to perform miracles or you may be a good janitor…

My thoughts crossed the sermon every now and then, but the majority of the time, my eyes would wander around the sanctuary and my mind would run full tilt down whatever tangent presented itself.

The formality of the congregation’s clothes was always immensely varied. My mom was wearing black jeans and a white turtle-neck, and my dad was in a full-on suit and tie. Some people were in work clothes and others wore things along the lines of khakis and a polo.

One man on this particular Sunday caught my eye. He was sitting one row ahead of me and about ten seats down. I guessed he was somewhere between seventy and two hundred years old, with a long, pointed nose, long white hair, and an even longer white beard. He was wearing a navy blue suit my grandpa would have thought was outdated. On one knee hung a navy blue bowler cap.

On his face he wore the most out-of-place expression: the corner of his mouth that I could see was twitching. He looked like a man at a funeral who was reminded of a hilarious joke just as he came face-to-face with the grieving widow.

God has fitted us each perfectly for His will in our lives. Some of His gifts are innate while others are given when we receive the Holy Spirit.

My eyes drifted to my best friend, Kara, sitting house left in the row behind the piano. She was hunched over a notebook, feverishly taking notes. Now there was an eleven-year-old who enjoyed sermons.

She swept a stray lock of black hair out of her face and glanced up at me. She smiled sweetly, her eyes and teeth standing in stark contrast with her deep brown skin.

I smiled back, then turned to my mom pretending to listen.

Often people will disagree, and their gifts may seem contradictory, my mom was saying. One person may be more emotion driven. They may say that it is more godly to raise hands and dance in worship. She danced in place behind the pulpit, and I felt myself redden.

Another may be more intellectually driven, and say that dancing is a mockery, that worship should be peaceful and reverent. However God has made us, it is not our calling to decide what worship is best. God only calls us to worship, in word and deed…

I looked down at the twin scars on my right wrist. I got them when I was little: the all-time worst wake-up call of all time. My parents figured that a snake had gotten into the house and slithered into my bed to share my warmth. I must have lain my arm down on it in my sleep. All I remember is screaming and running from the room.

My parents never did find the snake. We spent the rest of that long, sleepless night seeing snakes that weren’t there in every shadow and behind every table leg.

The next day, I ended up in the emergency room with my whole arm swollen. They tried an antivenom, but it was useless.

My mom called some people to pray over me, and they called others. Pretty soon they had a full-scale prayer vigil in the waiting room.

The swelling spread to my whole body. I'm told that at one point, doctors were talking about boring a hole in my skull to let off some pressure, but after seven days of torment, I was completely and inexplicably healed.

My dad said it was a sign. Seven is the number of completeness, he had said. It reminds us that God was in control the whole time.

God healed you on the eighth day, my mom had told me, because eight means new beginnings. God has plans for your life.

Since my thoughts were years and miles from the sanctuary, it caught me off guard when everyone stood to sing the hymn of invitation.

The old man I had noticed earlier, slipped out of his row walked up the aisle toward the vestibule.

After the closing prayer, Kara and I waited for people to file out of their seats so we could collect the communion goblets. This was sort of a weekly ritual for us.

I was a few rows down, house right, when I came to place where the old man had been sitting. There was a cloth stuffed into the communion goblet holder, which were welded onto back of each chair. It kind of looked like a cloth napkin in a fancy napkin ring.

I pulled the cloth out and opened it. It appeared to be a map of some sort. There were lots of colors enclosed in wavy lines, and a set of geometrical hash-marks set in the middle of them.

What’s this? I asked myself out loud.

What’s what? I heard Kara ask from the other side of the church.

I held up the cloth. An old man left this in the cup holder, I replied as she came over to see it.

Treasure map? she said slowly.

I glanced at her, surprised. She usually tried to act grown up. I had been thinking the very same words, but I was too afraid of sounding childish.

Why would you say that? I asked, trying to sound mature.

It says so here, she said, taking the cloth from me and turned it over. The words Treasure Map were printed on the back.

Oh, I said for lack of anything intelligent to say.

She seemed to lose interest, and turned back to her side of the church.

I flipped the map back over and studied the designs.

What’s with the wavy circles? I asked her.

Kara came back and looked at the map. I’m not sure, but I recognize these rectangles.

She pointed to the hash-marks. See, this is the floor plan of the church building, and this X is the supply closet in the gym.

Once upon a time, when the gym was a sanctuary, the supply closet had been a baptistery. Now it was chocked full of brooms, mops and chemicals.

Do you believe there's a hidden treasure? she asked.

I shrugged. I will if we find it.

Do you think it’s okay to hunt for the treasure? Kara questioned, I mean, it had to belong to someone, probably the old man who left the map behind.

People with treasure maps aren't usually the owners of the treasure, I pointed out, Plus, he stuffed it in a cup holder. I don’t think it was very important to him. He probably didn’t even know what he had.

That’s all the more reason not to take it. We should hold onto the map and give it back to him if he comes back.

That’s a good idea, but you know… We belong to this church so what’s to stop us from going in a closet. If we do find anything, we can re-hide it for him once we return the map.

Her face broke into a wide grin. Sometimes she liked to act grown up, but deep down she was as much a kid as I was.

We finished collecting the goblets and deposited them with the older kids who washed them, then we headed off to either pretend or to find a treasure.

When we got to the closet, we found it jam-packed with buckets and jugs. It was a little overwhelming to see that mess, but I held hope that there was a treasure of some sort hidden amidst the chaos.

Kara and I had to work together to move the heavy buckets. Alone, neither of us could move them.

I was starting to rethink the way I viewed pirates. The glory of finding the buried treasure must have always been preceded by hours of torturous digging.

After an eternity of fruitless searching (probably more like twenty minutes), Kara’s older brother, André, came and told her it was time to go. We tried to jam the heavy chemical buckets back into the closet, but André kept telling Kara to hurry up, and he wouldn’t lift a finger to help us.

Go ahead, Kara, I finally told her, I’ll finish up here.

She looked at the number of buckets yet to be moved, then looked back at me. She started to refuse my offer, but André said, About time, and was on his way out of the gym.

Sorry, Kara added hastily as she turned to go.

I tugged on the handle of one of the buckets a couple of times, then I resigned myself to waiting for my parents. They were in the church leaders meeting that followed the service every Sunday, and I knew they’d be there for at least an hour yet.

I walked away from the mess I had made. I planned to wander the halls and maybe find some other leader's kids.

I didn’t make it any farther than the door between the gym and the Sunday school wing, before I heard the deep metallic thud from the gym’s outside door closing. That sound was followed by the distinct thump-tang of a basketball being dribbled.

I turned to see a college-age boy in black slacks, a red button-up, and wingtip shoes clumsily dribbling a basketball.

Whoa! he exclaimed still dribbling, The closet threw up.

That was me, I called.

The boy raised an eyebrow as he caught the ball. You threw this up? he asked with a false, incredulous voice. How would it ever fit through your mouth? He smiled and continued. According to the calendar in the foyer, the Girl Scouts are renting this place tomorrow. They may not appreciate ten-year-old-boy vomit spilling out of the closet.

I couldn’t help laughing at him. I'm eleven, and I was gonna clean it up, but my best friend left and I can’t carry those buckets by myself.

Sure, he quipped with a grin, blame it on the kid who’s not here to defend himself.

Could you help me? I asked. You’re big enough to lift one of the buckets by yourself.

If I help you how would I ever get my basketball practice in? Plus, it’s your mess. He started dribbling the ball in the direction of the hoop.

I didn’t answer him. I just walked over to one of the buckets and starting scooting it across the floor back toward the closet. It barely moved, making a scraping sound as it went.

I heard a neglected basketball bouncing away toward the wall. Alright, kid, came the boy’s voice, you clearly need a hand. He came around the corner smiling kindly. Besides, you’ll ruin the floor if I leave it to you, he teased.

The boy came over and grabbed a bucket handle in each hand. He gave them a solid jerk, but the buckets didn't budge. He cut his eyes at me. What do they keep in these things?

He took one bucket and, with some difficulty, carried it back into the closet. I stood awkwardly by. I'd be in the way trying to help him with one, and I there was no way I could move one on my own.

After a few awkward moments, he put the last one in the closet. Thank you, I said extending my hand. My name is Andrew.

He took my hand and shook it firmly. Elias Enosh.

Is there anything I can do to repay you? I asked him.

How about telling me why you and your friend were tearing apart a janitor’s closet?

I felt myself go red. I couldn’t tell a boy his age about a treasure hunt. He’d think it was stupid.

Does it have anything to do with this? he asked, holding up my treasure map.

I found it in the closet. What is it? A treasure map?

I felt my hue deepen.

"Ah, so it is a treasure map, he said, smiling slyly. If it helps, I think that the dotted lines imply that the church is irrelevant to the search, like the map is looking through it to the ground underneath."

I stood there stupidly as he tossed the map back to me.

You up for some one-on-one? he called over his shoulder as he went to retrieve his basketball.

He was about twice my height, but he was an awful player, I was quite a bit ahead when he pulled out an ancient pocket watch.

I have to get to work, he announced. It was nice meeting you. You know, he added, if I hadn’t just carried hundreds of pounds of supply closet fare, I’d have mopped the floor with you.

Sure, you would have, I teased. I’ll have to tell all my friends that I whipped an eighteen-year-old.

I’m nineteen, and just be sure not to tell them my name.

I pretended to weigh my options, then smiled. Deal.

He took his ball and left. No sooner had the door latched behind him than my parents came through the door at the  opposite end of the gym.

How did you get so sweaty? my mom scolded.

I was playing basketball with a boy named Elias.

Elias? my dad mused. Tall boy; about eighteen; wavy brown hair; long, pointy nose?

I nodded.

My dad smiled. He was in my Sunday school class this morning. His name is Elias Enosh. He chuckled. I made what I thought was a profound point, but he quoted me chapter and verse that made me look like a silly child. He smiled.

He seems to be a good Christian boy, my dad added thoughtfully. I think he said he’s enrolling in seminary this fall.

He ought to know better that to play basketball with a boy who’s wearing Sunday clothes, my mom mused. You should bring an extra set of clothes if you plan to get all sweaty again.

You think he’ll come back next week? I asked hopefully.

My dad shrugged. We’ll see.

Chapter 2

After a short afternoon spent at home, eating and preparing for the evening service, we were back at church. We came back half an hour early. My mom had some copies to make and my dad had to fix a door knob that had fallen off a few weeks earlier.

Kara’s mom, Mrs. Mendelssohn, had to come early to prepare for choir practice, and much to my delight Kara had chosen to tag along. I told her about meeting Elias and kicking his butt, and more importantly about his input on the treasure map.

We walked the perimeter of the church looking for an access hole to the crawl space. Apparently there never was an access hole to the old sanctuary, but Kara theorized that all the crawlspaces may be connected. We were able to find an access hole under one of the Sunday school wings attached to the gym.

I pulled out the flashlight I had smuggled from home, and quickly realized that I should have brought two.

That’s okay, Kara said when I offered her the light. You hold onto it. Then she scurried into the hole ahead of me.

I shined my light into the hole after Kara. I was hoping not to have another run-in with my least favorite reptile.

Kara looked back toward me. C’mon, Andrew, we don’t have long before class starts.

I swallowed my fear, (or maybe my pride just overshadowed it) and I climbed into the dark, musty hole.

Kara was already a couple yards ahead of me and steadily going away.

I was crawling as fast as I could, but every rock seemed to find its way into the soft spot below my kneecap.

Kara was about twelve feet ahead when she sat down to wait for me. I was a little insulted but soothed my ego with the fact that she had a head start.

By the time I caught up to Kara, I had banged my head three times on the floor joists that ran overhead, supporting the floor above us, and my poor knees were also screaming at me to watch out for the stupid rocks.

Kara took the flashlight and shined it off to our left. About twenty feet away I saw an old access hole that had been hidden by the addition of the Sunday school wing. That ought to be the way into the gym’s crawlspace, she explained. If the teenager is right, then we need to take a left after that hole and the treasure should be under the old baptistery.

I had, so far kept my promise not to use his name. I wasn’t sure if he had actually been serious or not.

Without another word, Kara handed me the flashlight and darted off for the passage. The going was easier since we were traveling with the floor joists instead of across them, but I still managed to bang my head twice, and my knees still found every stupid rock.

Once we got through the hole, the ground was higher and the joists were lower. Kara pointed at a support beam that ran across the middle of the crawl space. The X should be about ten feet past that, centered on the far wall.

I shined the light on the support beam. It definitely looked newer than the rest of the boards, so I guessed that it was added more recently. I also noticed that whoever had installed it hadn’t dug out under it. The bottom of the board was about three inches from the ground.

How are we supposed to get past that? I asked.

Kara simply waved me on.

When we reached the beam, she scurried back and forth sticking her head up into the bays between the floor joists.

This one, she announced suddenly.

I came over to join her and without a word of explanation she started to clamber her way through the tiny rectangular hole formed by the rough, shaggy joists on the sides, the uneven floorboards above, and the slick new beam below. When half her weight was on the other side of the beam, she reached the tipping point, and her feet kicked into the air with her belly pressed hard on the beam

Little-- Help-- she grunted from the other side.

I grabbed onto her feet and pushed her the rest of the way through the hole. Unfortunately, it was my turn next. I got up on my knees (which promptly screamed at me) and I looked through the hole. I couldn’t see a thing, so I pulled back and handed the flashlight through to Kara.

My shoulders were narrow enough that the joists gave me enough side-to-side room, but my arms would have to go first or else they’d get pinned to my side.

When I stuck my arms through the hole, Kara grabbed them and started to pull gently. I gradually straightened my legs as my torso was pulled through the hole.

Pretty soon, my feet were off the ground. Before I could tell Kara to stop pulling, she had unceremoniously dragged me though the hole.

I landed on the other side in a series of uncoordinated thuds.

Oops, Kara said, giggling softly. That was very graceful, she teased. She pointed to a large rectangular stone pillar that had been broken off even with the floor joists. There were newer boards filling in the floor where the pillar must have once passed through.

That’s the base of the old baptistry, right? I asked.

Kara nodded. If your friend is right, the treasure must be hidden somewhere near it.

We looked all around the ground for an X or for obvious signs of digging, but found nothing.

You know, I mused, maybe he was way off course. I mean, it took an act of congress for us to wriggle our way into here; there’s no way an adult could have hidden a treasure down here.

Kara pointed to the new boards above the pillar and to the support beam. Back when the room above us was converted from sanctuary to gym, there were plenty of adults under here to fix it up. Whoever hid the treasure could have been on the crew that made the changes under here.

I nodded. Where would he hide a treasure? I thought aloud as I shined my flashlight here and there, not sure what I was looking for.

Shine your light back over here, she said poking her finger at a blob of mortar.

In the beam of light I saw what she was talking about. That blob was a different shade of brown-gray than the surrounding mortar.

Kara scampered over and picked up a large stone out of one of the piles that dotted along the length of the beam. She bashed at the pillar with it and the mortar sheered off.

I shined my light at the newly exposed rock, and there in the middle of where the blob used to be was a tiny X cut cleanly into a chunk of quartz.

I dug the stone under one corner of the rock and pried it out.

What do you think it is? I asked, brushing the mortar off of it.

Kara shrugged. I dunno.

I shrugged too. So is this the treasure or is it only a marker?

I shined my light into tiny alcove where our quartz had been. It seemed to be just stone and mortar like the rest of the pillar.

I guess this is our prize, I said, cradling it in my hand and examining it closely with the flashlight. The quartz was rough, with a bunch of small, square juts sticking out. The overall shape kind of reminded me of a conch shell. It was about two and an half inches from stem to stern and no more than an inch wide at the widest.

What do you think we should do with it? Kara asked as I handed it to her.

I dunno, I answered shrugging. "The old man seemed