HE IS CALLING
The afternoon sun rested gently over the hillside, pouring warm gold across the rolling grass.
Wildflowers swayed in slow rhythm with the breeze, their colors breathing softly under the open sky.
A sacred stillness settled over the place, deep and attentive, as though heaven itself leaned close to listen.
Peace sat quietly upon a smooth rock, her hands folded in her lap. Her shoulders were still, but her spirit was not.
Her eyes lifted toward the heavens, searching, longing, carrying questions too heavy to remain unspoken. The air around her felt hushed, expectant.
The silence shifted when Isaac appeared along the narrow grassy path. His steps were steady, measured, carrying calm assurance.
As he drew nearer, the wind stirred again, brushing past him. His gaze rested on Peace, gentle yet discerning, and the moment gathered itself for speech.
Isaac’s voice entered the quiet with warmth, steady and inviting, carrying care shaped by understanding.
Isaac (warmly):
“Peace, your gaze lingers on the heavens. What fills your heart this day?”
The breeze moved between them, lifting the scent of wild blossoms. Peace turned slowly toward him. Moisture shimmered in her eyes as her thoughts pressed forward.
Her lips trembled, hovering at the edge of confession, and the hillside seemed to lean inward, waiting. Peace’s tone emerged softly, weighted with wonder and unease.
Peace (softly):
“I heard the preacher speak of the trumpet… of the shout… of the dead rising. It sounded glorious, yet also fearful.”
The wind slowed, and the grass rustled faintly under the shifting air. Peace swallowed, her chest rising as courage gathered again within her.
Her voice followed, careful but urgent, carrying the ache of uncertainty.
Peace (gently):
“Tell me, Isaac, is it true that one day He shall call us, and we must rise to meet Him?”
A hush descended upon the hillside. The grass bent low, as though creation itself bowed beneath the weight of the question.
The air thickened, alive with unseen presence, and the light seemed to hold its breath.
Isaac lifted his hand. The atmosphere responded at once. Before them, a spiritual screen shimmered into being, radiant and alive, glowing against the afternoon sun.
Upon it unfolded a mighty vision—the heavens splitting open, Christ descending in radiant majesty, angels lifting golden trumpets to their lips.
Graves burst open across the earth, and saints clothed in white rose upward, carried by light and power.
The trumpet’s blast thundered through bone and spirit. Peace gasped, clutching her garment tightly against her chest.
Awe and fear coursed through her, her knees trembling as eternity pressed close.
Her breath faltered, and her voice slipped out in a whisper, fragile and honest.
Peace (whispering):
“Such glory… yet my heart trembles. Will I be ready when that call comes? What if I am left upon the earth?”
The vision faded as Isaac lowered his hand. The holy light dissolved back into the quiet hillside. The breeze returned, gentler now, and the wildflowers lifted again.
Isaac stepped closer and seated himself beside her, his presence firm and reassuring. His eyes met hers with calm authority as the moment prepared itself for truth.
His tone rose with gravity, carrying Scripture like living fire.
Isaac (gently):
“Peace… listen to me carefully. ‘For the Lord himself shall descend from heaven with a shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trump of God.’”
The words rolled through the spirit like distant thunder. Peace flinched slightly, the weight of eternity brushing her soul.
Yet she did not look away. Her eyes stayed locked on Isaac, drawing steadiness from his calm as the air trembled softly around them.
His voice followed, earnest and sure, anchoring fear with promise.
Isaac (earnest):
“For the Scripture says, ‘the dead in Christ shall rise first.’”
The hillside seemed to echo the truth. Peace’s breath caught as images stirred within her—faces of loved ones long gone, now radiant and whole.
A shiver passed through her frame, but warmth followed, easing the tightness in her chest.
Isaac continued, his tone steady, layered with assurance.
Isaac (assuring):
“This is God’s promise—that no one who belongs to Him will be forgotten. Those who have long since passed will not be left behind.”
The wind brushed Peace’s cheek as though in agreement. Her grip on her garment loosened slightly, hope pressing gently against fear.
Isaac’s voice rose again, clear and lifting, like a call across open skies.
Isaac (firmly):
“‘Then we which are alive and remain shall be caught up together with them in the clouds, to meet the Lord in the air.’”
The words settled deep. The air brightened, and Peace’s eyes widened as the promise unfolded before her spirit.
Isaac continued, his tone warm with vision.
Isaac (triumphantly):
“And so shall we ever be with the Lord.”
Peace’s eyes glistened. Her fingers trembled as she clutched her garment once more, but now the weight felt different.
Fear loosened its hold, replaced by a steady anchor of hope. The hillside felt lighter, the sky closer.
Isaac leaned nearer, his gaze unwavering, his voice firm with conviction as the moment pressed toward decision.
Isaac (firm):
“Peace, He is calling even now—through His Word, through His Spirit, through every warning we hear. If we answer His call today, we shall surely answer on that day.”
The wind rose slightly, carrying his words outward. Peace nodded faintly, her breath slowing.
Isaac pressed on, his tone watchful and instructive.
Isaac (calm):
“Watch, keep your garment white, and live with your hope in Him.”
Peace exhaled slowly. A tear traced her cheek, but her spirit now trembled with awe rather than dread. The air felt clean, steady, wrapped in promise.
Isaac shifted nearer still, his expression softening as quiet strength settled over him. His voice returned, gentle and encouraging.
Isaac (gently):
“So, my sister, do not wait in fear. Live in readiness. Keep your heart pure, your faith firm, your hope fixed on Him.”
The breeze moved softly through the grass, as though affirming his words. Isaac’s tone followed, rising with joy.
Isaac (affirming):
“When the trumpet sounds, when the shout pierces the heavens, fear will melt into joy. You will be caught up. With Him, always with Him.”
The words soaked into Peace’s soul. Tears welled again, but her lips curved into a fragile smile. She nodded slowly as the wind brushed her face, carrying quiet witness.
Her chest lifted with a steadying breath, and her voice emerged with resolve.
Peace (resolute):
“Then pray with me, that I may live a holy life and be ready for His call daily, and never be left behind.”
The hillside hushed completely. Together, they knelt upon the grass, eyes closed, blades bending beneath their weight. The sky seemed vast and near all at once.
Isaac drew in a solemn breath. His hands tightened gently, and his voice lifted upward, rich with devotion.
Isaac (praying):
“Lord Jesus, keep our ears open to Your call. Let our hearts be ready, our garments clean, our hope steadfast. When the trumpet sounds, gather us to Yourself, that we may be forever with You. In Jesus’ name, Amen.”
Peace’s shoulders shook as tears streamed freely. Her lips trembled, and her tone slipped out like a breath offered upward.
Peace (whispering):
“Amen… even so, come, Lord Jesus.”
The air stilled. A holy quiet wrapped around them. The wildflowers bowed gently, and the hillside rested in peace.
They rose slowly from the grass, their faces lifted toward the heavens. The afternoon light lingered, clear and calm.
A silence of victory remained—not empty, but full—carrying the promise of a call yet to come, a call that would one day break every silence.
The call has gone out, but how do you keep your answer from fading? If you are ready to walk this path, learn how to protect your fire and KEEP YOUR GARMENTS WHITE in a world that tries to stain them.
THE END.
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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