Misty Kay is a cancer and fibromyalgia survivor and author. Together with her husband and four children, she has spent many years actively involved in volunteer work across Asia.
“Oh, my lord, what shall we do?” Elisha’s servant asked.
The king of Aram (present-day Syria) was at war with ancient Israel and had sent an entire army to the city of Dothan to capture the prophet Elisha. They came by night, so when Elisha’s servant woke and went out early in the morning, an army with horses and chariots had surrounded the city.
My nine- and ten-year-olds came whining to me again.
“Mommy, Chalsey’s taking all the LEGO blocks!”
“Davin always gets the best pieces!”
Kristy, my five-year-old, was crying. “It’s not fair! I want to build an airplane, but they won’t let me.”
My husband Daniel and I live with our four children on the 13th floor of an apartment building in Taichung City, Taiwan. Needless to say, the elevator is a part of our daily lives.
It had been just another normal, busy day, with most of my time and energy spent keeping the kids happy, fed, and out of one another’s hair. We had all been out together, doing what I don’t even remember, and were coming home. We stepped into the empty elevator, and one of the kids pressed the button. The number 13 lit up on the panel, and the doors closed.
Scientists have recently made a fascinating discovery about an unseen and little understood parasite, the negabugger—so called because of the negative effect it has on its human host’s mental and emotional well-being.
It is too small to be seen by the naked eye, yet the symptoms of infection are plainly evident. It lives by attaching itself to the soft membrane of the inner ear. Its tiny buzzing wings vibrate at a frequency undetectable by humans, but which interferes with brain waves and leaves the victim feeling confused and depressed.
When I was a child we played a game in which we would each stand straight as a board and then try to fall backward into the strong arms of an adult who was waiting to catch us. It’s strange, but no matter how many times I’d seen it done or tried to do it myself, it was still difficult to keep from bending my knees or doing something else at the last split second to try to break my fall. Not chickening out took a certain “letting go” that went contrary to my natural reasoning and reflexes. It took complete trust in the one who was catching me.
The vision lasted only a few seconds, but it left a big impression. I had been talking with a friend, when suddenly I saw a glimpse into the future. We were hugging, laughing, and talking about our lives—and we were in Heaven. This has happened to me several times. Sometimes it has been with a close friend, and other times it has been with someone I had just met. In each case I was left with the profound feeling that friendships in Heaven are much deeper and more meaningful and longer lasting than the ones we enjoy in this life.