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

gift.”
    We all hold hands in a circle around the table, bow our heads, and close our eyes. Dad begins to pray in the middle of the Sunday afternoon Olive Garden lunch rush.
    “Lord, we want to thank you for this special time and for Aaron and what a fine young man he is growing up to be….”
    As Dad continues to talk to God over our bottomless basket of breadsticks, I can sense the eyes of the otherdiners in the restaurant staring at us. It always feels weird to hold hands and pray in public. As usual, that feeling is followed by a pang of guilt for feeling weird about it. As a Christian, this is one of the ways I can show my faith to the unsaved world. It is a simple, quiet act that speaks volumes: Our family believes in Jesus Christ. We pray over meals in restaurants.
    Usually, I keep my eyes closed and just pretend that if I can’t see the other people, they can’t see me, but today is different. I sense someone approach the table, and I open my eyes to see our waiter standing behind Dad with a fresh Diet Coke, waiting respectfully for us to finish praying. This time when our eyes meet, I don’t look away.
    Neither does he.
    I smile and shake my head.
Can you believe this?
I silently telegraph to him over my father’s bowed head. He winks at me and smiles.
    I don’t mind praying. I just wish we didn’t have to make such a big scene of it in public. Why can’t we pray in the car before we come into the restaurant? Usually, prayer is this thing we do in private—a personal conversation between us and God. Jesus even taught a parable about not praying on the street corner like a Pharisee but showing you are repentant and humble by keeping your prayers out of sight. Restaurants require a prayer of the evangelical variety, it seems. Praying in restaurants is all about other people seeing us do it. It’s our faith on offense. One more way we can prove we’re not ashamed of Jesus; one more way to spread the Gospel; onemore way to show we are different from the unsaved world, when all I really want right now is not to stand out.
    “… so we thank you for all of your blessings to us but most of all for the blood of your son, Jesus. And it’s in his name we pray, Amen.”
    Dad wraps up his prayer and the waiter delivers my Diet Coke. “Here you go.” He smiles. “I’ll be right back with your food.”
    I watch him walk away as Mom reaches into her purse and hands me a tiny, wrapped package. I am excited, but I’m not sure it’s the present. Something about the moment I shared with the waiter made me feel good, like an understanding had passed between us.
    I tear the paper from the present, and feel the flocked fabric of a small, velvet-covered box. I’m pretty sure I know what this is, and when I pop open the box, I am not surprised. Inside is an eighteen-karat gold signet ring etched with a large
A
in the kind of calligraphy I saw once in a picture of a Gutenberg Bible.
    “Wow,” I say. “Thank you.”
    Dad’s voice is husky with emotion. “Son, every time you’re alone with a young lady from now until the day you get married, this ring will be on your finger to remind you of your promise to the Lord Jesus Christ to remain morally and physically pure until your wedding night.”
    “Oh, darling!” Mom is smiling, her eyes bright with tears. “Think how happy you’ll be in the honeymoon suite on the night you’re married when you’ll be able to slip this ring offyour finger and give it to your new bride—the best wedding gift of all: your virginity.”

    “Wait, let me get this straight.” Jason is laughing so hard there are tears running down his cheeks. “You’re supposed to give it to your wife when you get married? On your wedding night?”
    We are in the dinner line at the Bible college cafeteria. It’s Friday night, and I got permission from Mom and Dad to spend the night in Jason’s dorm room tonight. When I lifted my green melamine tray onto the rails along the hot-food line, he