Read Online The Indwelling: The Beast Takes Possession by Tim Lahaye, Jerry B. Jenkins - Free Book Online Page B

the levelheaded temperament that made him a natural leader. Never one for psychobabble, when Rayford opened himself to God that night, in his spirit he saw his failure for what it was: sin.
    He had become selfish, angry, vengeful. He had tried to take God’s place as defender and protector of the Tribulation Force. In the process, he had left them more vulnerable than ever to danger. As Rayford dared peek at himself in that spiritual mirror, he hated what he saw.
    Here was a man who had been wholly grateful to God for his forgiveness and love and salvation, now living as a maverick. He still called himself a believer. But what had happened to his dependence upon God, upon the counsel of his friends and relatives and spiritual mentors? What had happened to his love for the Bible and prayer, and for the guidance he had once found there? As God seemed to shine the light of truth into his soul, Rayford pleaded for forgiveness, for restoration. Had his rage been sin? No, that didn’t compute. The Scriptures counseled, “Be angry, and do not sin,” so the anger itself was not wrong. What he did as a result of it clearly was.
    He had become consumed by rage and had allowed it to interfere with his relationship to God and to those he loved.
    Rayford had become isolated, living out his private ambitions. He had fought to see through his tears as God showed him his very self in its rawest state. “I’ll understand,” he prayed, “if I have disqualified myself from any role with the Trib Force,” but God did not seem to confirm that. All Rayford felt was an overwhelming hunger and thirst for the Bible and for instruction. He wanted to pray like this from now on, to constantly be in touch with God as he had been when he first became a believer. What that meant to his role as head of the Tribulation Force, he didn’t know. More important was getting back to the basics, getting back to God.
    Rayford found the cargo plane crew busy with their own work as he taxied a quarter of a mile north to park the Gulfstream. They barely looked up as he hurried past on foot, his bag slung over his shoulder as if he were headed somewhere specific. As soon as he emerged from the airfield’s gated entrance and found a dark spot between road lamps, he phoned the Mikloses’ home.
    Mrs. Miklos answered on the first ring.
    “This is your friend from America,” he said, and she immediately switched from Greek to her very limited English.
    “Say code so I know,” she said.
    Code? He didn’t remember any code. Maybe that was something among the local believers. “Jesus is the Christ, the Messiah,” he said.
    “That not code,” she said, “but I know voice. Saw on television.”
    “You did? Me?”
    “Yes. Did you shoot Carpathia?”
    Rayford’s mouth went dry. So the cameras had caught him. “No!” he said. “At least I don’t think so. I didn’t mean to. What are they saying?”
    “Fingerprints,” she said. “On gun.”
    Rayford shook his head. He had been so certain that if he shot Carpathia he would be immediately captured or killed that he had not even worried about fingerprints.
    He hadn’t considered escaping. Some criminal be was! Why didn’t he think to wipe the handle on his robe before dropping the weapon? “Are they showing my face?”
    he asked.
    “Yes.”
    He told her where he was and asked if Laslos was there.
    “No. With our shepherd. Praying for you.”
    “I don’t want to compromise you,” he said. “I’ll just fly on to America.”
    “Don’t know compromise,” she said.
    “Ah, sorry. Give you away. Get you in trouble. Be seen with you.”
    “Laslos would not leave you alone,” she said. “I tell him. He call you.”
    Rayford hated the idea of jeopardizing Greek believers, but Laslos’s English was better than his wife’s, so perhaps Rayford would have an easier time dissuading him from becoming involved. He gave her the number and settled in to wait for the call in the shadows of the shrubbery