Read Online Rapture Practice by Aaron Hartzler - Free Book Online Page A

little yellow ticket stub and felt like my life was finally beginning. I wasn’t the guy who is a whiz teaching Bible stories to kids, or who plays the piano in church, or who makes my dad proud.
    I was just
myself
.
    I’m not sure how long I can go on making my parentsproud. For the past fifteen years, I’ve been to church three times a week and attended a Christian school Monday through Friday. I’ve learned enough to know the atonement Mom and Dad believe in is absolutely free for the taking, but that gleam of pride in their eyes comes with some strings attached. I have a hard time telling the difference between their love and their approval, and when my actions don’t live up to their standards, I feel like I’ve lost both.
    The choice that gnaws at my stomach isn’t between heaven and hell. I have a hunch that God isn’t disappointed with me, but my parents are a different story. I know in my head that Mom and Dad love me, but I can sense in my heart that I’m going to have to choose between their approval and making my own decisions—doing the things that feel right to me.
    I can’t find the words to tell Jason any of this. So we sit here in silence and watch the campfire shoot sparks into the sky until all that remains is a molten mound of glowing embers. I sneak a quick swipe at my face in the darkness and dry my cheeks with my hand. Then we stand up and head back to the covered wagons we call home.
    “We’ve got the next two nights without campers,” Jason says. “I was thinking maybe we could drive in to Grand Island for dinner tomorrow night.”
    “Excellent,” I say, and smile. “That’d be really cool.” Jason’s car seats only two. It’ll just be us.
    “Want to do anything special?” he asks.
    I smile at him in the moonlight. “Let’s go see a movie.”

CHAPTER 7
    Our waiter is tall and handsome, with dark hair. When he drops off my Diet Coke, I notice he’s wearing a silver ring on his left index finger. It’s a wide band brushed to a dull sheen. After he takes our order, Dad thanks him, then grasps Mom’s hand and addresses his four children.
    “Kids, we came to a nice restaurant today because it’s Aaron’s sixteenth birthday.” He turns to me, smiling like he does when I play the piano in church, his eyes shining with pride and affection. “Son, we want to consecrate your young adult life to the Lord Jesus Christ, and the Olive Garden seemed like just the special place to do that.”
    “Oh, Aaron,” Mom gasps, “do you know what I was doing at this exact moment sixteen years ago today?”
    “Lamaze breathing?” I know it’s a rhetorical question, but I can’t resist. Mom can tell you where we were and what we ate for dinner on almost any random date for the last twenty years.
    “Oh, no, honey.” She laughs. “I was all finished with laborby this point. I was holding you in my arms and thanking God for my firstborn son.”
    “Aaron, you have grown into a good-looking young man,” Dad says, beaming, “and soon Satan will begin to shoot his fiery darts of sexual temptation your way.”
    As the words “sexual temptation” tumble from my father’s lips a little too loudly, our waiter appears. I see him freeze briefly, then recover and place a large bowl of salad and a basket of garlic bread sticks on the table as Dad continues.
    “Aaron, your mother and I have gotten you a very special birthday gift that will be a symbol of your commitment to physical purity.”
    I glance up, hoping that by some miracle the waiter has missed this comment, but he is looking right at me, and I feel my cheeks flush. I drop my gaze and try to distract myself with a sip from my straw, but my glass is already empty.
    “I’ll be right back with another refill for you,” the waiter says. He has bright, kind eyes. “Can I get you anything else?”
    I shake my head no, and he heads toward the kitchen.
    “Let’s pray and bless the food,” Dad says, “then Aaron can open his