Where Heaven is Now

By Priscilla Ford

He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto eternal life.

""John 12:25
The words that Jesus spoke are so often misunderstood that people pretend they are not in the Holy Bible. It is human nature to destroy those people and those things which they do not understand. How do you feel while you know exactly when you're going to die? Where Heaven Is Now will try to answer this question and many more. A man does descend from the clouds of heaven, and his name just happens to be Jesus. Life is what's happening while most people are making other plans. The recognition of Christ becomes virtually impossible if it is not recognized in one's self. So this man, Jesus, arrives via parachute in a small town in Ohio. It turns out to be quite an experience and somewhat of an adventure. People have often asked the question, "What would Jesus say?" or "What would Jesus do?" The end of the world is an individual thing, and so is entering heaven. It's human nature to feast on mass hysteria and look forward to sensational occurrences. So many years of preaching and singing about something that never happens becomes unnecessary to the meaning. The book is enjoyable to read and thought provoking.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 17, 2020
• ISBN: 9781098010942

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Where Heaven is Now

Priscilla Ford

Copyright © 2019 by Priscilla Ford

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods without the prior written permission of the publisher. For permission requests, solicit the publisher via the address below.

Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.

832 Park Avenue

Meadville, PA 16335

www.christianfaithpublishing.com

Scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version Holy Bible, public domain.

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 1

I’m sorry, Jesus. I owe you an apology. The woman paused.

Do you remember me? said Jesus. Your voice is familiar. He took a more careful view. And your face appears well known too.

I’m Mrs. Gee. She flashed in a falsely bright voice. I raised Cain when you made your customized fall onto my lawn. She blinked her eyes quickly several times. I guess I was scared and went off on you. Then you told me who you are. She analyzed his face. I’m not a religious person. I wasn’t taught to look for the second coming. Will you forgive me? After another pause, she blurted out, Anyway, I thought the judgment seat of God would be—let’s see—you behind a big high desk with a big open book.

Ooh! He tilted his head reasonably. What’s in the big open book?

Embarrassed for an answer, the woman said I never intended to find out.

They looked fixedly at each other and said not a word for a moment. Mrs. Gee then asked Jesus, Have you met anybody in our fair city yet who was looking for you? We do have a few foreseers into the future.

Weren’t you told… Didn’t the hostess of this tea tell you?

She left Jesus without responding to that question. But he heard her mumbling, That’s typical Christ. Answer a question with a question. As she stormed into the living room from the foyer.

Mrs. Gee, you’re early. I thought we’d have to wait for you, remarked Mrs. Campbell, the lady of the house. Mrs. Campbell was setting up TV trays for tea and cakes. Besides Mrs. Gee, she was expecting four more ladies. She heard someone talking to Jesus out in the foyer.

Jesus, this is Mrs. Everman, introduced Mrs. Morton.

Very pleased to meet you, Mrs. Everman.

And I you, Jesus. Thank you so much for joining us at this gathering, said Mrs. Everman. I looked forward to meeting you face to face ever since I heard you were here. She was wearing a summery sundress the same color of her auburn hair. Her blue eyes were sparkling with happiness.

It is my pleasure to be invited to be in the company of you fair ladies, said Jesus.

Mrs. Morton said, Oh, here come Mrs. Boyer and Mrs. Hodges. Are you acquainted with them, Jesus?

Mrs. Boyer, yes, he said. But I’ve never met the other lady.

Mrs. Morton took Mrs. Everman by the hand. Let’s go into the living room. Mrs. Boyer can introduce Mrs. Hodges to Jesus.

Jesus Parpieri was born, (raised and educated) in Stanley, Falkland Islands, thirty-four years ago. He was the only child. His mother was a schoolteacher. She home-schooled Jesus. His father was a college English teacher. When Jesus was fifteen years old, he had completed twelfth grade and took the college entrance exam and achievement test and passed with flying colors. His father’s colleagues then tutored Jesus all through college and law school. He had foreign teachers who taught him Arabic, Greek, and Hebrew. He took the Falkland Islands bar examination, passed, and joined a law firm in Stanley, where he practiced law until 1998. He began a world tour.

Two weeks ago, he fell from the heavenly clouds, strapped to an umbrella-shaped cloth contrivance which, when unfolded, was used to retard the speed of dropping from an airship to earth. It was red—a red parachute. It was his first jump, and his first landing, when he put foot on American soil. He was in the city of Mason, Ohio. To her surprise, Jesus was on Mrs. Gee’s lawn.

What are you doing? Get out of here! She ran out to the edge of her property where it met the Western Row Golf Course property. He was untangling himself as fast as he could.

I’m going. Give me time, Jesus replied calmly.

You could have damaged my lawn. What are you doing here anyway? She welcomed the stranger.

I’m Jesus. This is my first visit to the United States.

I don’t care who you are, Jesus. Well, nobody wants you here. She looked as though her eyes would pop out. Where did you come from? Now don’t tell me heaven!

Jesus snickered. Okay, I won’t tell you then. Appearing more sober, he asked, Could you tell me where I am?

When people are frightened, they are mean. Nothing will make them become calm except getting out of their sight. Jesus hurried to fold his parachute so he could carry it for he had to walk to a place to lodge.

Where is the nearest lodge? he asked.

The Country Hearth Inn is that way on the Mason-Montgomery Road. She pointed.

Mrs. Campbell was ready to serve. Her guests were seated and appeared comfortable when she showed Jesus to the head of the table. I thought you might be more comfortable here where you can see all of the ladies and they can hear you. Any time you’re ready, we’ll start talking.

Said he, I am ready. He cleared his throat and added, "It is good to see those of you again that I met before, and I wish to show the new faces how to sit and talk with ease.

"We’re here today to put our mental health feelings on the table as an orderly arrangement of facts. To break the ice, I’ll tell the story of an acquaintance of mine not living in America. She’s a woman of forty-five or fifty. She left the city where she had lived and held a responsible job for ten years. She was only away a year, and when she came back, she received a cool reception. She had no money and no job, so a charitable organization put her up at the YWCA. She was looking for work and was willing to even take a job beneath her qualifications. The female director of the Y became threatened by her being unemployed with such a fine resume. The Y director was insecure in her position. So she started making trouble for my friend. I’ll call her Fran. She evicted Fran from the Y, but Fran had no place to go, so she sat in the reception room with her suitcase beside her chair. The Y director called the police and had Fran arrested and charged with trespassing.

"I’ll make a long story short by telling of the main issues. Fran was in jail for ten days, and the judge sent a local minister to the jail. He got her released and took her to the mental health unit of the city hospital and left her. Late that night, she had a workup session with a psychiatrist. The psychiatrist moved Fran to a halfway house where about a dozen mental patients lived and worked cleaning, cooking, and doing dishes for room and board. Fran walked away from there and applied for a social disability income.

Now my point in telling you Fran’s story is to remind you that those institutions make permanent records. They can say anything they want to while they rush through to convict a person hastily without careful consideration. They ruined Fran’s reputation and eventually her life.

Someone raised her hand.

Yes, Mrs—

I’m Mrs. Hodges.

Did you have a question about Fran’s case?

No, I just wanted to say, here in America, it is exactly the same way. There is nobody to help us. We are made victims and kicked while we are down. Mrs. Hodges looked around at the other ladies for comment.

Jesus announced, I’d like to give each of you an opportunity to give your circumstance. That’s what we’re here for. I want to help you with your legal rights. Let’s proceed with Mrs. Gee, Mrs. Hodges, and last but not by any means least, Mrs. Morton.

Mrs. Boyer began to speak. My problem began with abuse by my ex-husband. It got so bad I had to call the police. One time, they took him to jail and he stayed overnight. But when he got out, he said he’d get even with me. His complaint was hearing voices, and one of these voices he said was mine in his head. He said I would curse him and accuse him of all sorts of things. Finally, he brought charges against me and I was ordered to go for counselling. I was diagnosed as psychotic, and my contact with reality was impaired. I couldn’t get out of the straitjacket, so to speak.

Are you taking medication? asked Jesus.

Yes, I don’t like it, and it’s very expensive, but I’m afraid if I stop, they will institutionalize me. Then Mrs. Boyer added, That is just a synopsis. There are some things I did do that are on record. Being falsely charged made me angry.

Jesus said, I completely understand. When once a doctor gets his or her name on your record, they stay on your case even if they hand you over to another doctor. They refuse to admit a wrong diagnosis, and there is no way one will retrace the steps taken leading up to prognosis and treatment. Then Jesus turned to the hostess.

"My difficulty was with a neighbor. She has moved now, but she had a habit of sending her little daughter over to see me—to get rid of her. The child got in my way. I had to think of something. So I told her one day that I was sick and couldn’t let her in because she might catch it. That little girl went home and complained of being sick, and her mother took her to the doctor. It turned out that they scheduled her for a tonsil and adenoids operation. That woman spread the rumor all over town that her child caught something from me and had to have surgery. I finally called her and told her off over the phone. She swore out a warrant for my arrest, charging me with threatening her. I was only in jail a few hours. I bailed myself out. So I got probation. When I missed signing up once, they came to pick me up. This time, they put me in the psychiatric unit in a private hospital.

"My name got put on lists which names occupied for having committed heinous crimes. They treated me however they wanted to treat me, just like they treated them. Nobody ever read my initial statement or gave me credit for never having been in trouble before. They seemed to be pressured to add more to my file, and they added pages. I don’t know what they said.

I guess that’s about it, except I’m diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic, and I’m taking Haldol. I don’t know what the dosage size is, but I take a half-tablet three times a day. I feel agitated all the time and it makes me drool, especially in my sleep.

Thank you, Mrs. Campbell. Jesus nodded toward her. "You may be sure all of that writing in your file is textbook wordiness. Those case workers don’t know you well enough for them to be writing about you directly.

"I don’t mean to make light of your pain and suffering, but you were lucky to get rid of that child who visited you. She and her mother were a pair, imitations of the devil and Satan. They are the kind who drown and dig deeper under the sea. The average deceitful person, after drowning, comes to the top and floats.

We’d better get on with our testimonies. Mrs. Everman.

"I’m going to start with the end first. I went for help from my daughter. She’s grown and lives in an apartment in Columbus. For Jesus’s benefit, Columbus is the capital of Ohio, ninety miles from Mason. My daughter took the advice of her boyfriend and took steps to have me committed to the state hospital. First, I was asked to leave the apartment. When I said I had no place to go, her boyfriend told her how to get the police to come with community health center workers and get me out. They took me to the center, which is a holding facility. There they tested me for I-don’t-know-what. When they had started a file on me, they transferred me to the state hospital ambulatory unit. I was given a dormitory room where five women slept in one room. There was barely space between beds to walk. There was a toilet and shower room at the end of the hall with two toilets, two showers, and six dirty wash bowls for about thirty people. At the foot of each bed, there was a drawer for your property. When I had been there only two days, someone stole several packs of cigarettes from my drawer. At pill-call time, the thirty women were to line up at a Dutch door and, one by one, take their prescribed medication. I was never given any, and when the doctor met with me, I turned down everything he offered.

"I got out of there after answering an ad for room for rent. That landlord helped me get my social security disability check. Ninety days after I left my daughter’s, I was living in a furnished room with bath and cooking privileges. But I was ordered to go for counselling at a neighborhood clinic. It was walking distance from my rooming house. They just won’t let you alone unless you leave town.

"So I told my social worker the story from the beginning, thinking her sense of sympathy would prompt her to advise me advantageously. I said to her:

"When I was in my thirties and divorced, I met a recently divorced man, also in his thirties, a year younger than I. We started dating, and I told him we shouldn’t get serious because he was too young for me. He assured me that that was all right and he said age is only a number. He did get serious and moved into my house against my better judgment. Well, five years went by with his paying a minimal amount for room and board and nothing for laundry, lunch for work, and body service, etc. Because I wasn’t trying to get rich, I never insisted that he pay more. He didn’t want to get married at first, and I adjusted to the common law arrangement. About three years after we’d been living together, I caught him cheating on me. For about a year, our relationship was rocky. He then suggested we get married, and I was afraid to. Then he said one day, ‘Let me buy your house.’ He gave me the verbal promise that I would always have a home and could continue as I had been as a homemaker. So I took $3,000 that he thought was equal to my equity and signed a quit claim deed. In truth, I had about $8,000 equity in that house, but keeping peace, you get gypped out of what is due you!

"Well, in less than thirty days after the contract, which was unwritten and proved to be not worth the paper it wasn’t written on, he threw me out. He struck me and I left to keep from killing him or him killing me, and I lost everything I had accumulated over the years.

I just couldn’t seem to start all over again. Maybe I became a manic depressive, I don’t know. But I do know the treatment I get is not worth the treatment I’m getting. Then Mrs. Everman laughed heartily.

Jesus digressed. "Modern names given to mental illnesses don’t change an ancient disease of mankind. Incorrect attention to a disease causes spreading. The devil can be blamed for this. He prompts incorrect attention. No attention is better than attention administered incorrectly. The devil acts as a cover forming over an illness during healing. The victim outgrows the cover like a reptile shedding its skin. Thus, therapy is only a time-consumed prying.

"Cain had the ancient disease. He ‘was very wroth, and his countenance fell.’ That sounds like manic depression, doesn’t it? God advised him to do well and be accepted. There was no pill or brain chemistry medication.

Mrs. Gee, we are ready to hear from you.

She was spiffy, dressed in a pink cotton jumper with a long-sleeved, see-through blouse. It was hot two weeks after the first day of summer. She had bleached platinum blond hair, which she wore in an upswept bun for the occasion. Mrs. Gee had huge eyes that made it appear that she was always excited. They danced while she spoke.

"If I’d known it was possible to have legal rights and that there was going to be a campaign to eliminate the stigma of mental illness, I would have handled my disappointment differently, I’m sure. Mental illness is misunderstood and feared. I was denied the opportunity to fully participate in American life. The most damaging myth is that mental illness is a personal failure, not a physical disease. Nothing could be further away from the truth. Professionals have come far in the diagnosis and treatment, but attitudes have lagged far behind.

Mine all began at my workplace when an opening for a supervisor was posted. I had worked up to my God-given potential, and I was sure I would be promoted when I applied. When I was not, somebody else got it. Disappointment shattered me. I had a nervous breakdown and lost my current job. People were saying I was conceited and had false pride. I wasn’t learning anything about myself. I knew I was somebody, but I didn’t know who I am. I was institutionalized and remained in an institution for six months. The only diagnosis was delusions. I was told that I had feelings of grandeur I couldn’t find by experience or trial. When I was released from the institution, it was on the condition that I would take Prozac.

Jesus was curious. Forever?

Well, forever or until further notice. But I won’t get my job back or be hired on another one as long as I’m on Prozac. Every time I visit the psychiatrist I ask, ‘When am I going to be healed?’ He says, ‘It’s up to you.’ So I would be grateful, Jesus, if you could help us collectively.

Career prospects, uttered Jesus, are shadowed in the soul. Career was male until female education became popular. Opposites are attracted to the careers because the exact sex is contrary. The soul moves with such ease that his life located in a female used to enjoy rest. The male career covered in the soul gets and gives the urge to do something known as initiative. So you see, God has prescience into equal rights for women without amendments to the law.

Now Mrs. Boyer’s imagination was running away with her. Could the fact that the exact sex is contrary have anything to do with my ex hearing me, a female voice, in his head?

That I can’t say, Jesus told her. But I feel it was his own conscience guiding him through what he deserved. If the male in the soul gives the urge to the woman to do something known as initiative, perhaps the female in the soul gives the urge to the man to do something about his anger. When the male psychiatrist says your healing process is up to you, subconsciously, he knows the female in himself is at rest. What else does he have to use as a measurement?

He beckoned to Mrs. Hodges. It’s your turn Mrs. Hodges.

She was wearing a yellow pantsuit. It went very well with her dark skin and hair. Mrs. Hodges was black. She wore her long, flowing hair about her shoulders and down her back. She had a lovely voice too.

"I’m the victim of an automobile accident where people were killed. I was driving and alone in the car. I wasn’t able to say exactly what happened. It was so fast that it looked as though those people had just jumped from airplanes without parachutes. I was taken into custody where I stopped.

"I was in jail for a few days over two months and moved to a facility that is between a mental institution and a prison. It was small, housing only thirty clients—we were referred to as clients. They started right out testing me and assigning a sponsor. My sponsor went away for some training for the first two weeks that I was there. Meanwhile, my public defender came and told me not to talk to anybody, but when my sponsor came back, she took me to a conference room about three times a week while she took notes. Taciturn, I was not. Being represented was a pejorative condition, but I was in a catch-22. The medical doctor was begging me to voluntarily take an anti-psychotic drug. For four months, I refused. I was neither a danger to myself nor to others, but he kept pressuring me. Finally, one evening, he lined the wall of his examining room with officers, had a nurse with a hypodermic needle ready, and called me to come in. At the door, he said, ‘Pull up your shirt and pull down your pants.’ I did as I was told! The nurse jabbed me in the butt with actually a shot of Prolixin. I got the shakes almost immediately. I had bad side effects. I was so angry death was really inviting. It was worse than I heard electro-shock treatments feel. I felt like I was commiserating with the enemy.

After a few weeks, the doctor changed the drug to a different muscle relaxant, Novane. It was not as bad, but I drooled, especially at night, and it made me walk a lot instead of sitting still. My sponsor asked me if I would plead not guilty by reason of insanity though charged with murder. I told the director of the public defender’s office that I was not insane, that I had had an accident, so if it ever came up, we would be sync. Well, it turned out when I was arraigned, when the charges were read, I was standing. The judge asked, ‘How do you plead?’ I said, ‘Not guilty,’ and sat down. My public defender jumped up and said, ‘Not guilty by reason of insanity.’

Asked Jesus, raising his brow in perplexity, And you were tried behind that complex plea?

Yes, Jesus. And throughout the trial, my public defender simply sat there, only present, as if he were watching a stage play.

He hesitated between words. On…top…of that…you got…the…death penalty?

And the courts kept me in an increasingly hostile environment. I mean the State Supreme Court is hostile toward me.

We had better get on with Mrs. Morton before I think I’ve heard everything.

Mrs. Morton stood. I feel like standing while I talk.

Jesus stood for good manners.

Keep your seat, Jesus, she said.

Mrs. Morton was wearing a sheer print dress with matching fabric pumps. She had on a broad brim hat with a band matching her dress and shoes.

"My story starts with my adopting a baby girl seven years ago. When she was only one year old, her biological father found out her mother had lied, saying the baby died at birth when she put her up for adoption. The Child Protective Services took the child from me and put her in a foster home to stay until the court decided whether her father could have her or I would get her back. When she had her second birthday and a decision had not yet been made, I suffered a breakdown due to anxiety neurosis. I was put on medication. Under the influence of Valium, I got nerve. I went to see the child’s father to discourage him from continuing to pursue custody, expecting a rule against me. The antagonized man snapped back, ‘You are a drug addict and I can prove it.’ The next thing he knew, he was sprawled on the ground. I’d whaled on him. I don’t know where the power and strength came from. Needless to say, I went to jail. I was charged with violent assault.

Now I have a criminal record and no child. I never saw her again, and I don’t know to where the father moved. I’m afraid to try adoption again. I might fail the test. And Mrs. Morton sat down.

Jesus stood up to speak. "When we think positive loving thoughts, we draw positive, loving people into our lives. Energy moves in circles. Everything we generate must come back to us in some form. Dark forces have no power over you unless you give the power to them. Change yourself, and you have the power to transform your environment. Truth is the only purity. The energy that you have been reeling is a kind of truth. In actuality, it is a force. But truth is never reached without a struggle on your human path.

"You are a small group of women generating a truth that happened to you. Collectively, we have one truth. We call your truth persecution. The justice trail is trying to reduce you or lessen your character and curtail your reputation. We shan’t give power to their dark forces. So we will change ourselves by transforming our environment. For everything that is physical, there is a spirit counterpart. The judge, for example, is physical. God is the judge that exists in spirit. Our judge is His physical correspondence on the earth.

We should have our case heard in the District Court of Appeals. We can make an urgent request to destroy the records which are false characterizations and which hinder us in our freedom to communicate.

What shall we do while we’re waiting that will assist you in handling our case? Mrs. Campbell asked.

Each of you should compile a review journal with dates and places that each recorded incident occurred. State whose court you were heard in, and list witnesses both for and against you, if there were any. Do this in the form of a class assignment in school and give them to me by July 19. That’s two weeks ‘from today. I’ll collect them from you, Mrs. Campbell. Any more questions?

Yes, Jesus, said Mrs. Boyer. Could we have the press informed when we’re heard in court so the news will become public information?

That’s a great idea. Mrs. Everman said.

Sure is, said Mrs. Morton. The stigma won’t go away without knowledge of our being fit enough to do something about it.

Well, said Jesus, I have an early evening appointment. I will probably see you a week from today. You’re invited.

He would be giving a lecture at an independent/nondenominational church called Living Word Fellowship in Loveland. The lecture would be followed by a Q and A session. This program would be the first, so very little was being said until they saw how it turned out.

After Jesus was gone, like all women, the ladies stayed to rake up his being in the community.

I never thought he would be accepted here, muttered Mrs. Gee.

He wasn’t for about a week after he arrived. Everywhere he went, someone had phoned ahead that he was coming, and they stood as a posture of readiness for defense, Mrs. Hodges said.

Mrs. Everman offered, There was a consensus that Jesus would come to reprimand us as you would mischievous children when you come home. People were basically in shock when he turned out to be an ordinary man who doesn’t harm anybody.

Exactly, added Mrs. Campbell. When my lawyer asked me to host a tea for women who had inaccurate police records, I couldn’t believe my ears. The idea was Jesus’s. He knows just what to say to be needed. He changed more minds about a Savior than the executioner for the state.

Mrs. Morton inquired, Are you going to the lecture next week?

Unanimously. I am!

You’d better jot down some good questions for the Q and A session. I have one about my adopted child’s soul. I should be contented about her father winning custody of her. Jesus can settle my mind and clear away the worrisome sediments.

Mrs. Campbell said, That’s gracious of you. She’ll have to know about you some day when she grows up. And she might want to meet you. You’ve a right to clarify your side of the story.

I have a lot of questions. I wonder if he will ever make house calls. I’d like a private consultation, said Mrs. Boyer.

Make that one of your questions. Jesus may not be preparing to have a consultant practice, but if there’s a great demand, he might say, ‘I’ll think about it,’ Mrs. Campbell suggested. Any more tea? Anybody?

No, I must be going, said Mrs. Hodges. Are you ready, Mrs. Boyer?

They gathered in the foyer and all left at once.

Where’s your luggage? asked the desk clerk at the Country Hearth Inn. He looked down at the registration Jesus had just completed. You’re from Stanley, Falkland Islands, without any luggage? He lowered his eyes back to the card. And your name is Jesus? The clerk began to laugh. How did you get here?’

I dropped by parachute about a mile or so down the road. This is my first visit to the United States. Is this city Mason or Montgomery? said Jesus.

Wrinkles formed between his brows. You are in Mason. The clerk frowned. Mason, Ohio.

I have American cash money. I’ll pay in advance by the day until my personal property arrives, then I’m going to look for permanent lodging. The clerk was just staring as if he could see through a transparent Jesus. Jesus continued, I was falling as soon as my body dropped, gathering speed, heading straight for the ground. It appeared to be flying up toward me. I was taught to pull the parachute cord. If the parachute doesn’t open, there’s an emergency cord. They said don’t pull both! Excitedly, he said, The strings might tangle!

When Jesus finished, the clerk watched him anxiously. Was your landing good or were you made suddenly afraid?

I had practiced the tuck-and-roll method. I didn’t chance landing on my feet. So I did tuck-and-roll okay.

Oh, we won’t make unethical use of you here. The room is $45 a day. Stay as long as you like, said the clerk.

Jesus was wearing a suit of clothes under his jumpsuit. He reached inside and pulled out a roll of fifty-dollar bills. He handed the clerk a fifty-dollar bill. I would like to make a call. Call to London. There a phone in my room?

Yes. The clerk asked, Are you reversing the charges?

If I could get time and charges right away, I’ll pay on this end, said Jesus.

His first day in America was Wednesday, June 21, 2000. He decided to attend a midweek prayer meeting at some church. So Jesus picked up the telephone directory to look over the listings. He discovered the church he passed walking to the Country Hearth was the Village Seventh Day Adventist. He had heard those people preached of Christ’s soon coming. He called 398-7378.

This is Jesus. I just arrived in Mason. I wondered if there is a midweek prayer meeting tonight? he said when a male voice answered.

The man stammered, Y-y-you’re J-je-sus?

Jesus remained silent—so silent you could hear it.

The man repeated. Y-y-you’re J-je-sus? In Mason?

Yes, said Jesus. I’m just a little way up the road at the Country Hearth. Is there a prayer meeting tonight?

I believe so.

At what time?

Starting at eight o’clock.

May I ask your name?

The party hung up.

Jesus was tall, six feet, two inches, had dark olive skin, black hair, and was handsome. His hair was wavy. His eyes were dark brown, almost black. He had the looks of a movie star. He weighed 190 pounds, and everything