In Which I Fear I Will be Raptured from my Bath . . .

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As a mother of four, I sometimes need to get creative about carving out time for myself.  I admit to hiding my latest book, my iPad, even homework, in the bathroom, then feigning an attack of indigestion all in an effort to have ten minutes of silence.  However, any mother of young children knows that a closed bathroom door is no guarantee you will be left alone.  No matter what is happening on my side of the closed door, little fingers reach under it, little fists knock on it, and industrious little boys even try unlocking it.

While I am used to the interruptions of my offspring, never did I expect a heavenly one.  On this particular day, I was eager for a little time alone to relax.  Rob had taken the two oldest out on an errand, so I set my two youngest up with some screen time, and prepared to enjoy a relaxing bubble bath.

I sighed in contentment, dropped my towel, and stepped into the bubbles.  Into this blissful silence, a faint melody began to rise.  Thinking the children had turned the volume of the TV too high, I prepared to grab my towel and go confiscate the remote control.  But before I stepped out of the tub, the sound had significantly increased in volume.  Suddenly, the ethereal music of strings filled the room.  I gasped; my heart pounded.

Though I had always imagined the music which propelled me heavenward would be trumpets, I was convinced these were the strains of heaven filling my bathroom.  I turned to look out the window thinking I would see the skies rip open.  The sun shone beautifully, but it appeared the sky was still intact.  How long until my feet lifted off?

With that thought, I jumped out of the tub and began to race around my room in a nervous panic.  The Bible wasn’t clear on the details of how this would all go.  Did I have time to throw on some clothes?  I did not fancy the idea of standing before the throne in my birthday suit; I felt so exposed.  I had always thought of being fully revealed before my God in a more metaphorical sense.

Not having the presence of mind to decide which outfit would best be suited to the Rapture, I grabbed my towel again, hoping desperately that I would be able to hang on to it as I sped through the firmament.

This whole process unfolded in merely seconds, though it all seemed to happen in slow motion.  Another quick check out the window revealed nothing unusual in the skies and it was then I realized the song had begun to sound somewhat familiar.

A little investigation revealed that upon entering the bath I had dropped my towel on my phone which was resting on the tub deck.  It must have landed just so and started my music playlist.  Rather than heavenly choirs, it was only the New Zealand Symphony Orchestra playing “Adagio for Strings from the Strings Quartet, Op. 11.”

While I was somewhat disappointed by this anti-climactic ending, I was relieved to have the opportunity to get dressed.  I prayed fervently that in His divine wisdom, the Lord would see fit to return at such time as I was fully clothed.

The vulnerability of complete uncovering lingered.  One day, our souls, our lives, our actions will be laid bare in this fashion before His throne.  There will be nothing lying around that we can grab to cover ourselves with.  And I wonder, until we have grasped the shame of our nakedness, can we truly marvel at the beauty of the white robes with which He covers us?

 

For you say, I am rich, I have prospered, and I need nothing, not realizing that you are wretched, pitiable, poor, blind and naked.  I counsel you to buy from me gold refined by fire, so that you may be rich, and white garments so that you may clothe yourself and the shame of your nakedness may not be seen, and salve to anoint your eyes, so that you may see.

Revelation 3:17-19

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