Everyone at the church knows Laurel’s story. She was happily married to a guy named Chris for several years. She got pregnant with their first kid and then, during an ultrasound, Chris had a massive stroke and died right there with her still on the table. Her son, John, was born six or seven months later. We didn’t see much of Laurel at church for a while there. John was four when they started making occasional appearances on Sunday, and even then, she was a completely different person than anyone remembered. Quiet, withdrawn. She was still kind, sure, and especially with John, but reserved. Very reserved. She’d arrive after the service had begun and then leave before it ended just to avoid having to talk with anyone. 

My buddy, Adam, didn’t know anything about Laurel. He started coming to church when she was away. He’s a good guy. A real servant’s heart, you know? Adam volunteers for just about anything that the church needs. He’s one of the first to arrive, and one of the last to leave, so everyone had some concerns when he started trying to talk to Laurel. Adam’s no dummy, though, and he figured out the story and had a good sense of what he was doing. He was slow and steady with her, and pursued her very gently. Honestly, by the time they began dating in earnest a year later, everyone could tell that he loved Laurel in the way that 1 Corinthians 13 tells us to. 

Even after they married, Laurel still kept mostly to herself. I’ve never heard her say more than a few words at a time, but we had them over for dinner the other night, and Laurel had two glasses of wine with dinner and let loose this story about a trip she took to New Zealand with her husband. It took me a minute to realize that she wasn’t talking about Adam. 

She said that they rented one of those camper vans and that they would go days without seeing another soul. They’d stop when they found a place they liked and stay for as long as they cared to. She told us how they’d explore and read to each other and make love and cook and talk until the sun came up. 

“One morning—I’ll never forget this—we woke up in the clouds.” Laurel sort of tilted her head back like she was looking over my head at something that the rest of us couldn’t see. I reached for my wife’s hand, and she took it. 

“The fog had rolled in and settled in the valley we were camping in. The white was so dense that I couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. I put my hand out in front of me and waved it in small circles, and I laughed when the clouds were set into motion. I swept my hand back and forth, back and forth, and the fog tumbled and spun and lifted and I realized that the fog was rolling over the top of me. I looked down and I couldn’t see the ground. I looked up again, all around—a white so stark that it hurt my eyes. I became so disoriented that I—well, I reached out for my husband, but he wasn’t there, and I panicked. It was like swimming at the pool as a kid and getting tired and breathing in a bit of water and feeling your throat constrict and being so close to the wall and knowing, if only you could kick a bit more, you could make it, but also knowing that your legs are made of concrete and so what’s the good in moving at all? It was that same feeling of helplessness, of being too small, of—” 

She stopped then. She looked down at her plate. She pushed her fork gently with her forefinger. When it made a noise, she came to and was looking at us again. The room was silent. None of us were breathing. 

“Sweetheart,” my wife said, and I turned to her. She looked more like home to me in that moment than she ever has. “You’re hurting my hand.” 

I let go, but I didn’t want to. I forced a little laugh and a joke and an apology all at once. We all looked back at Laurel, who had turned one side of her face away from us and into her shoulder. 

“I still have the sandals I wore on that trip. Every time I think about getting rid of them, I just—can’t. Even when Adam and I moved into the new house, I just—” 

I looked at my buddy, her husband, who sat beside his wife listening as she said “my husband” over and over again, each time not referring to him. He didn’t look angry or hurt, he just sat there, pushing the last vestiges of his meal around his plate, enduring it. I wondered if it was the first time he’d ever heard that story. They left shortly after that. I didn’t sleep much that night. I’d nod off briefly, but would soon be swimming in a pool or lost in the clouds and I’d wake up with a start. I’m sure it was just the wine. 

Our church has been doing a four-week class on the Rapture—the moment when the Lord’s true believers will be taken up with Him before the great tribulation—and tonight is our last class. 

My wife and I have been enjoying learning more about what the Bible says about the End Times, and this evening’s class has been as enthralling as the rest. Pastor is a brilliant guy and helps me really understand God’s Word. 

“Pastor?” Clay raises his hand. Clay is a few years out of college. Big guy. Sandy blonde hair. All American made. The sort of guy that’s almost too good to be true. He played college football, and I’ve heard that he might’ve been able to sign as an undrafted free agent, but he decided that marrying his high school sweetheart and serving the Lord was more important. This is why I love my church. It’s filled with people who just want to serve. 

“What’ve you got, Brother Clay?” Pastor smiles broadly. 

“Me and Kelly’ve been wondering, will we know our spouses and families on the day of judgment? Will we be together with them for eternity in Heaven?” 

“Oh, that is an excellent question, Brother Clay. Excellent question. I’m sure many of us have been concerned about whether or not we’ll be with our loved ones, haven’t we?” Pastor looks around the room. Several heads are nodding. “Well, I’m here to tell you that several Scriptures make it very clear that we will be known in heaven as we were known here on Earth. Why don’t you all turn with me in your Bibles to 1 Thessalonians 4:17.” Pastor flips expertly through his Bible, not having to go to the table of contents or flipping through the book in hopes of getting lucky like some of the rest of us do. 

“The Apostle Paul writes, ‘We who are still alive will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air,’” Pastor says. My wife grabs my hand a little too tightly, and we all wait to hear what he will say next. 

Cyle Talley is a writer and musician from Southwest Colorado. Instagram: @borderlineobscene