It's a God Thing!

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A scaredy-cat? A shrinking violet? Not dare-devil Miriam Piaget. Adventurous, fearless, excited beyond each challenge, she lived life head on, footloose and fancy-free.

She reveled in gunning her silver Porsche a hundred miles an hour on curvy Catskill Mountain back roads, careening closer than breath near precipitous sheer drop offs. A world traveler, she relished exotic dishes no one else would touch, and explored venues on her own, in spite of others’ warnings to the contrary. She befriended small shop owners, conversed with international dignitaries, traversed what she called her city with reckless abandon, always with extraordinary elegance and élan. She thrived on risks and thrills, bragged about episodes others shunned, and name-dropped with the best of them.

She’d dare anyone on Aspen slalom courses. She held black belts in several martial arts disciplines; she’d once dropped a potential mugger in his tracks, right in the middle of New York City’s Central Park where she daily visited the exercise trail with workout routines at each mile marker. Did terrorists’ threats intimidate Miriam? No. She reveled in intrigue, downright danger, and faced life with display of adolescent-like gutsy bravado.

The spiritual realm? End times? Dependence on, or even considering, religion? Did she need it? Hardly.

Would she shudder contemplating the predicted day the sun refused to shine and the moon appeared as blood in the sky? No! She’d consider it, along with the intellectuals of the world, as an atmospheric anomaly, maybe part of Global Warming—all the rage now! Huh! Bring it on. She could handle anything with aplomb, deference, or downright nonchalance.

She’d set the social scene wherever she decided to drop her hat. Sullen summer’s stifling steam? Avoidance was the answer. Perhaps a Mediterranean cruise? Or,Brasilia for the fashion season? Maine, perhaps—the cooler Catskills, for sure. And, of course, her estate in the Hamptons. Didn’t matter! She’d set the scene in any milieu. Options? She owned the term. Her luggage was ready at a moment’s whim.

Winter meant pain for New Yorkers; its howling winds at the street corners were atrocious; and that awful salt-stuff ruined pair after pair of designer boots she’d had custom-made. Perhaps another cruise was in order. Maybe a safari?

Miriam had inherited the pretentious ten-storied building on the Upper East Side, and sat enthroned at the top, the exquisite penthouse—ten fabulously decorated rooms with spectacular views from each. Every wall boasted imported damask or moiré, backgrounds for world-famous, gilt-framed masterpieces. Polished parquet floors outlined handcrafted oriental carpets, each commissioned and created expressly for its place. Priceless Chippendale and Louis XIV antiques enhanced the rooms’ splendor. Sculptures graced illuminated corners designed to showcase their unique placements.

Velvets, satins and silks draped the windows, and the music salon displayed a magnificent Italian gilded harp and a Steinway grand pianoforte acquired last season from Carnegie Hall. Yes, all was done with taste and elegance, as was its mistress.

And her city. It sat at her beautifully pedicured feet. It was the modern Babylon. Yes, had anyone noticed? It was described in the book of Revelation, chapter 18. The merchants of the earth grew rich from her excessive luxuries. (NIV)

It was a city of power. There were:

¹² cargoes of gold, silver, precious stones and pearls; fine linen, purple, silk and scarlet cloth; every sort of citron wood, and articles of every kind made of ivory, costly wood, bronze, iron and marble; ¹³ cargoes of cinnamon and spice, of incense, myrrh and frankincense, of wine and olive oil, of fine flour and wheat; cattle and sheep; horses and carriages; and human beings sold as slaves (Rev. 18: 12–13)

and all the rest that money could buy.

Oh yes, she was a consummate consumer of all that was good in this life. And she attended all the heralded concerts, where she heard the music of harpists and musicians, pipers and trumpeters, (Rev. 18:22) Yes, she tasted, she indulged, and she savored life in the big town, and the good life was at her salon-manicured fingertips. Fawned upon, even kowtowed to by every prominent concierge, all on speed-dial, she had the run of the town at her beck and call, and relished in the power her personal assistant, Jacqueline Ennis, could evoke in one brief phone call or text.

When she felt like it, she wrote society columns for the Times. But they knew to expect her column whenever she pleased. On the other hand, her presence was standard at every celebrity event, every debutante ball, and anywhere His Honor the Mayor might request.

Her column, The View from Here, was the who’s- who- and- who- wants -to- be on the New York cosmopolitan scene, and beyond to the four corners of the globe. The world was her oyster, and the trimmings might get mentioned. If they did, one’s status was elevated; if she acridly criticized an event, everyone who was anyone knew about it. In her mind, she ran the town and wanted everyone to know it. And they did.

She had everything money could buy. Her lavish jewels and designer wardrobe were the envy of her distinguished New York cosmopolitan friends. Almost six-feet tall with long, shapely legs and a lithe frame, she turned heads as she whirled through her exclusive society scene.

Her beautiful face, sculpted by surgeons and detailed by spas, stopped traffic; this gorgeous elegant brunette had a charisma money alone couldn’t buy, but which required scheduled, expert maintenance. She was a spoiled, sophisticated manipulator who got exactly what she wanted from everyone around her, except her ex-husband, Michael.

Fed up with her tactics, he endured until shortly after daughter Deirdre’s third birthday, then quietly packed his bags and escaped her hold. Miriam had hardly noticed.

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Nor was there room in her life for little Deirdre.

Relegated to a series of indulgent nannies and doting servants, the child, Deirdre Patrice Piaget, took second place to Miriam’s career incentives and excitement.

At the age of twenty-five, Miriam did not fancy cuddling a child, so she didn’t. Treated as a pet or a piece of window-dressing, Deirdre was showered with toys and gifts, not with love.

From the beginning, Deirdre’s misbehaviors were overlooked, from winsome whining, to audacious food dumping, to tempestuous temper tantrums. Her signature willfulness demanded attention, so it was easier to give into her whims than to suffer reprisals. She was a bright, beautiful, talented little star, most assuredly following Miriam’s lead.

Her French nanny encouraged bilingual conversations. As she grew, beautiful at every stage, Deirdre’s skin never endured a pimple, her pearly teeth never required braces, and her bright teal eyes flashed laughter and mischief, teasing beyond endurance.

Classes in dance, music, riding and gymnastics filled Deirdre’s days, and the best tutors devised lessons to prepare her for society’s rigorous protocol. Books became her passion. Her recognized photographic memory allowed her to quote entire sections at a mere glance. At age eight, Deirdre captivated an exclusive Swiss boarding school, and at sixteen, a renowned upper West Side finishing school. At eighteen, she was the most radiant debutante of the City’s season.

At nineteen, Deirdre was a ravishing blonde, sporting designer clothing, spending lavishly at all the better stores, driving a sleek Diablo, jet-setting internationally, and fulfilling no responsibilities to anyone or anything but her passions. Following Miriam’s model, she was becoming a spoiled, selfish, haughty, pretentious snob.

Smith, Bryn Mawr, Vassar—she had the pick of the exclusive schools. Toying with each, she collected A’s and moved on. Degrees? Requirements, huh! They were for others. She studied what she wanted, if she wanted, and recklessly spent extended weekends around the world.

It was not her idea to enroll in yet another college. After all, she was independently wealthy in her own right, and could bankroll any lifestyle she wanted. However, college served, after all was said and done, as a way for Mother to get rid of her, at least for the season. Deirdre was bored, and did not conform any better here at Walters Academy than at the others.

People here are such slobs, she complained to Ruth, her roommate. They don’t know how to dress, or talk, or enjoy life. All they know how to do is study, and there’s absolutely NO ACTION at this school. I hate it! This is like kindergarten with a bunch of cheap toys! What kind of life is this anyway?

I wouldn’t advise you to rock the boat at this point, Dee, Ruth replied. You know, your reputation has preceded you. You don’t want to get kicked out of here, too! If I were you, I’d lie low for a while. Anyway, this isn’t the kind of school that stands for rowdies. It turns out the finest women leaders in the country. In the world. It’s been my dream to graduate from here my whole life. Come on, Roomie, you can do it too!

Well spoken, little Miss Goody-Two-Shoes! I’m getting out of here as soon as I can, and you can’t stop me!

Little did Deirdre know how soon she would be leaving; her mind and life changed completely, just one week later.

She had not planned to attend the lecture at the civic center, but Ruth was going, and her enthusiasm over the speaker evoked mild curiosity in Deirdre.

What’s the lecture about? she quizzed.

Old and New Testament Prophecy.

Old what?

You know, Old Testament—the Bible! Don’t you know anything about the Bible? Ruth asked.

Bible, Deirdre quipped. That’s for crackpots—weaklings—They can believe that rubbish! Bourgeois stuff—not interested!

Well, my little friend, the speaker is interested in you! I promised I’d get you there! He wants to meet you!

Do I know him?

Not really. You bumped into him in the Student Union at dinner the other night and nearly upset his tray.

OMG! Not that tall, handsome blond?

The same. John Phelps in the flesh!

I’ll go! I’ll go! Deirdre dashed. He’s the best thing that’s happened since Bermuda last month!

First thought, What will I wear to capture that hunk’s attention? Wonder what his fav color is? Guess, judging from his gorgeous blue eyes, it might be.—could be.—must be—blue! That new Dior cocktail dress might be just the ticket. Hmm. Silver slingbacks? Sapphires? Yeh, that should do it, especially since everyone else will show up in dingy grey and slouchy college garb. He won’t be able to keep his eyes off me. OK, John Phelps, you’re about to meet your match, Buddy. Hope you’re ready for l’il ole me!! This has gotta be more memorable than some stupid tray encounter in the Student Union! I’ll bring you to your knees, Dear John. What I want I get, and I want a smashing date with you, Gorgeous!

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A full harvest moon cast shimmering shadows along the pathway to the auditorium. It was a crisp, cool evening, and excitement surrounded the facility. Hoards of people moved briskly toward the building, hoping to snag seats.

This guy must be really something to get all this attention, Deirdre answered.

They say he’s the next Billy Graham. I can’t wait to hear him in person. I’m excited too.

How do you know him?

He’s my brother Dirk’s roommate at Seminary. He and Dirk were here for dinner the other night. Remember, the collision! They graduate as ministers in June.

Who’d want to do that? Deirdre asked, with disgust.

Anyone who wants to help save people, naturally, Ruth replied. "They’ll bring salvation to hundreds, thousands, maybe.

Who needs it?

How about everybody! The whole world would be much better off, and so would you, if Jesus Christ blessed every soul with new life.

So what’s so bad about my life, huh? I have the best money can buy, and more where that all comes from. I can do what I want, where I want, wherever I want, with whom I want.—that’s a pretty great way to live, no? And these rags—Dior and Adolphi, don’t come from Target, you know, even if you pronounce it Tar-jay.

Then why are you unhappy, Roomie? You know what I see? I see what you have, and who you are, and where you’re going, and I see nothing I want. I, at least, have a sense of purpose, a reason for living, and I wouldn’t trade that for all your stuff or for anything else in the world.

They entered, with over a thousand others, and took their front-row reserved seats. Used to being in the spotlight, that was her accustomed place to observe and be observed. But somehow, this was not the performance scene. This was a totally different place, with a decidedly different atmosphere.

Deirdre heard singing—not the kind of music she had heard and ignored all her life—but a kind of spiritual weaving of words and music. What was that word that seemed to hover into her newly aroused consciousness? Hallelujah? What was that?

House lights dimmed; hands raised in praise and adoration; voices continued in harmony led by, what she later learned, was a Praise Band. A spotlight focused on a stage mark where a single microphone stand stood, the only visible prop. She was so close, she could have touched it in a minute, but it was not hers to grasp. When the star attraction appeared, she was bedazzled.

Suddenly, from a darkened area, John Phelps stood in the center of the beam with upraised face and outstretched arms. His eyes were closed. A hush fell over the civic center as his words became audible.

I have never seen anyone so beautiful—never! Deirdre thought as she feasted her eyes on the solitary figure. His tall thin frame exuded confidence. She stared, transfixed. His dark suit, offset by a sparkling white shirt and conservative tie proclaimed that he could have escorted her anywhere she chose—any club, any resort, any posh restaurant in the world. Soft blond curls framed his handsomely rugged face, and when he opened them, bright blue sparkling eyes looked directly at her. She gasped. OMG! Instant chemistry.

For a moment, a hush filled the facility. No one uttered a sound. An inexplicable awe enveloped the large auditorium. No coughs, no rustling of papers, no inattention.

Deirdre was captivated. Something strange was here; something she couldn’t explain; something she instantly embraced.

The silence suddenly welcomed John’s rich, resonant baritone voice. He had just prayed for the presence of the Holy Spirit. Is that what was here? Is that the Force that filled this place? Deirdre was entranced, eerily eager to listen, If only, she thought, to get close to this John Phelps.

He used no notes. Holding a well-worn Bible in his left hand, he began the message he’d come to deliver.

I want to talk to you tonight about clouds, he announced. "Have you ever thought about the importance of clouds? Think with me. If it were not for clouds, we would have no rain or snow. We would never enjoy beautiful sunrises and sunsets without the presence of clouds. Yes, clouds. Clouds are essential. If it were not for clouds, there would be no streams, rivers, lakes, or oceans. How could we eat? Can vegetables, fruits, animals, birds, live without clouds? Could we?

"Now, that is one kind of cloud, the moisture one. But we have spiritual clouds too. We’ve heard of clouds of depression, when we just can’t bring ourselves to look beyond gloom, to see the sunshine which seems to be hiding. Sometimes storm clouds billow into our lives, posing as grief, or disease, or sadness of soul. These clouds seem gray, unyielding, expansive, and impervious to our attempts to break forth into heavenly realms.

"They envelop and enclose us, almost like prison bars can. They obscure our view. They sap our strength. They limit our vision. They drain our vitality. They give rise to apathy. They deny our self-worth. They dwarf our personalities. They rob us of potential. Yes, clouds can be spiritual, because they affect the very fiber of our inward being.

Or who can ignore the horrors of terrorists’ demonic, choking smoke clouds? Ever smell blood and burst intestines? I have. A recent trek through Baghdad opened my eyes, my nose, my heart. You get it secondhand. The acrid stench of blown up bodies and burning hulks of metal on television? We see them nightly. Thank the eternal God his creative children have not yet conveyed the sense of smell through that evil eye we worship daily. Ugh! Smellavision. The crowd squirmed in their seats at the graphic thought.

"Have you experienced clouds of doubt? Do you, right now, continue to question the values of your parents? Do you know where you’re going in life? Is sensual love fogging your sense of right and wrong? Worried about your college bills? Can’t choose a major?

"Is there fog surfacing between you and your goals?

Do you wish you had gleaming fog-lights to help you see clearly? Yes, those are clouds St. Paul said we’d experience as mortals. He promised that someday we’d see as in a glass clearly, not dimly. Someday, the veils would be lifted and we would know as we are known.

"I long for that eternal day, don’t you? Or are you living in fear of what others will see in your innermost thoughts? Will your deepest sins be revealed? Will the hard-drive of your brain be open to review? Is there addiction to gambling? Is there a curious, prurient interest in pornography? Are you dabbling in the occult? Do you rely on horoscope predictions to guide your actions and thoughts?

"My dear friends, these are moral clouds, and they will be stripped away. God sees the inward being. God knows us as we are. There is no hiding. There is no protective shield. No computerized filter system. The hard-drive, the software, the artificial intelligence, the microscopic elements—they’re open, naked, transparent, and true. The fog will lift. God reads the emails of your souls. He knows your thoughts before you text them. Nothing is private!

There’s another kind of cloud I’m here to mention to you tonight, because I’ve been led to tell you that God uses clouds in the Bible to reveal deep truths and eternal principles. Think with me about this.

He can talk in all the riddles he wants, thought Deirdre. For once I’m curious about what the Bible has to say about clouds.

"The Lord Jesus, Lord of the universe and Lord of my life, often ‘clouded’ His talk in parables. It was a common tactic, because he knew we’d listen closer if we had to discover His teaching, both literally and symbolically. Any good storyteller knows how to use this technique, and Jesus was THE master storyteller. So he clouded his references by things like ‘the Kingdom of man’ or ‘the Kingdom of God is like . . .’ or ‘when I come into my Kingdom.’

These references are for us to understand when, as St. Paul says, ‘we shall see, not in a mirror dimly, but face to face.’ Some mysteries are not for us in this life, but in the life to come. They’re clouded by our sinfulness, the original sin of Adam and Eve, which broke the perfect relationship between man and God. Without that tainting, without that depravity we’re born with, we could see everything clearly, just as God first intended us to do—without the cloudiness—without the distortion—without the haze—without the filter—without filaments of doubt which keep us from walking in the true sunshine planned for us from the very beginning of time and space.

Deirdre marveled at the web of words he used. She was taken in by his oratory, by the sincerity of purpose, by the charismatic centrality of his message. The electricity between his words and the audience was profound. He held the thousands in his gaze. They, and especially Deirdre, remained mesmerized.

When God didn’t wish to be seen, He came in clouds. Turn with me, if you have your Bibles, to Exodus, chapter fourteen. No, Deirdre didn’t have a Bible, but she was hearing more intently than she remembered ever listening before. John continued:

"Here, during the forty years of wandering, God provided a cloud to lead them by day, and a pillar of clouds at night.

Let us look at verses nineteen and twenty:

¹⁹ Then the angel of God, who had been traveling in front of Israel’s army, withdrew and went behind them. The pillar of cloud also moved from in front and stood behind them, ²⁰ coming between the armies of Egypt and Israel. Throughout the night the cloud brought darkness to the one side and light to the other side; so neither went near the other all night long. (Exodus 14:19–20)

Again, in Exodus, the sixteenth chapter, the tenth verse, we read that we find the glory of the Lord in a cloud. Exodus, chapter twenty-four tells us that Moses went up the mountain and a cloud covered the mountain for six days. On the seventh day God called Moses from the midst of—what?

A cloud, the crowd roared.

That’s right. Now Exodus thirty-four, verses five through seven, reveals that God descended in a cloud and stood there with Moses as Moses was praying. And a cloud covered the tent meeting and the Glory of the Lord filled the sanctuary just as the Holy Spirit is filling this room tonight. And you know what else?

People strained to answer—to know more—to continue.

If we look into the New Testament we see incontrovertible proof that we’d better be paying attention to clouds in these last days. Here’s an incident when we Christians know, without a doubt, that clouds play a very important part in our spiritual lives. Listen—this is the scene when Jesus last spoke to us on earth. Imagine being there. Imagine standing on that hillside. Imagine knowing he was ascending—as we one day will—into clouds so beautiful, so welcoming, so embracing, so comforting . . .

Were those tears sparkling in his eyes? Deirdre wondered. He read:

⁹ After he said this, he was taken up before their very eyes, and a cloud hid him from their sight.¹⁰ They were looking intently up into the sky as he was going, when suddenly two men dressed in white stood beside them. ¹¹ Men of Galilee, they said, "why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven. (Acts 1: 9–10)

"Friends, that is prophecy! That is what we are to look for. That is what we await! That is why we are continually looking up, away from this sordid earth, this cesspool of selfishness, this frazzled frenzy we call millennial life. This is why we are told to watch for signs and wonders in these last days. This is why the litany is Biblically proclaimed, that there will be wars and rumors of wars, and earthquakes, and fires, and all manner of pestilence, and brother turning against brother, and wails and groans and gnashing of teeth. And defiance against God in media, in advertising, in despicable, blasphemous law, in pop culture, in materialism, in secular humanism, in relative morality, in pornography, and in tacit acceptance of this sewer-filled environment by those too preoccupied to defy its filth.

"So how do we live in this fallen world? How do we have the courage to press onward, to complete our studies, to profess our Lord’s salvation, to plan for the future? How do we resist efforts to make us one with the world? How do we trade and buy and sell without the mark of the beast, the new government orders which persecute us? In that great letter to the Hebrews, after the momentous chapter explaining how faith has worked for God’s people throughout the ages, the writer, perhaps Paul, says:

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, ² fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. ³ Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart. (Hebrews 12:1–3)

"Now that, my beloved friends, is the how, the why, the everything that’s important. Eventually, we will see the final clouds mentioned in the Bible, from John’s great Revelation, a picture of heaven. Here we picture Christ as Triumphant King. Listen to this, and just imagine that those of us who believe Christ’s promise will one day see it!

¹⁴ I looked, and there before me was a white cloud, and seated on the cloud was one like a son of man with a crown of gold on his head and a sharp sickle in his hand. ¹⁵ Then another angel came out of the temple and called in a loud voice to him who was sitting on the cloud, Take your sickle and reap, because the time to reap has come, for the harvest of the earth is ripe. ¹⁶ So he who was seated on the cloud swung his sickle over the earth, and the earth was harvested. (Revelation 14: 14–16)

"We, my friends, are that harvest. The Lord planted the seed, the Spirit nourished it, and now, we who have grown in the Lord, are white unto the harvest. Christ indeed will be collecting his harvest of souls. And the chaff, those who refused to believe and hardened their hearts, will be cast into the fire. But I believe they will suffer not only one death, after the terrible tribulation to come, but also the second death which is eternal damnation and permanent separation from the God who created them for good. Put another way, God will separate the goats from the sheep. Since he’s our Great Shepherd, he carries us close to his bosom, in His arms. His own flock acknowledges Him and follows closely. The goats are left behind to fend for themselves, to be scattered and lost. Which route, my dear ones, will you take?

"Well, it’s nothing new that wars and terrors and frights have occurred throughout history. Yes, you say, there have always been earthquakes, rumors of war, famine, and disease. In a way, you’re right, since you and I cannot remember the perfection of the Garden of Eden, or understand the predicted Peaceable Kingdom millennial reign of Christ on earth in the future.

We humans have indeed made a mess of this world. You ask, why does God let all this evil happen? I’m not going to stand here and tell you I have all the answers, but I will tell you that I know who is in control, and when God says it’s time to show his awesome power so that every knee shall bow and every tongue confess that He is Lord, it’s going to happen.

Deirdre thought: Wow. This is incredible. Where have I been, under some rock? This guy could be talking about anything and I’d believe him, but this is without a doubt, something I’ve never even thought about. Whoa . . . there really is somebody in control of this place? In control of me? Why should He care what happens to me? Guess I need to know more about this God. I thought He was just something for sissies who couldn’t handle their kids, or their finances, or whatever. Hmm. What’s all this future stuff—another world? Guess I never thought about that—I’m havin’ way too much fun livin’ my kinda life!

"You’d better be ready. You’d better confess your sins and go to Him who will forgive every evil thought, every desire, every motive, every awful thing you’ve said, every lie you’ve told, every selfish ambition you’ve held,