*Insert R.E.M. Song Title Here*

The picturesque morning of July 6 gave way to thunderclouds and rainfall by mid-afternoon. I was outside with my wife, Suzie, and my son, Max, as the first rain drops touched down in our backyard.

"I thought the weather guy said the rain will start at 9 tonight," Suzie questioned, as she folded up our neat little picnic blanket.

"When are they ever right?" I muttered, as I held the hand of our three-year old, trying to get him inside before his favorite dinosaur shirt got soaked.

As my wife gathered up the ham sandwiches, the first lightning strike shot out from the gloomy sky. My son jumped almost high enough for me to catch him, and I hurried up the stairs to our patio.

"Daddy, the sky is attacking us!" my son cried to me, as I opened the sliding door into our kitchen.

"That's just lightning," I assured him. "You have a better chance of being eaten by a monster under your bed or winning the lottery than being hit by lightning."

Of course I was lying, but the parents' main job while under duress is to make a child feel better at all costs. Suzie came running in with the remaining items through the open door, and placed everything on the kitchen table. Just then, the doorbell rang.

"I'll take Maxie up to bed and you can see who that is," Suzie announced, putting her hand out for Max to follow her.

I walk through our main hallway, and unlock the top lock. I open the door to find an older gentleman--around 6'0, 200 pounds, a beard as long as Billy Gibbons'--standing on the other side. Before I can even speak, he grabs my shirt with both hands by the chest, and puts his face so close to mine I can smell the tuna he had for yesterday's lunch on his breath.

"IT'S THE END! THE END, I TELL YA!" He exclaims, as he lets go of my shirt.

"Excuse me?" I was baffled.

"Nobody would listen to me! I told everyone on July 6 we would get a thunderstorm! And here it is!"

"Okay?" I didn't know what else to say. I had never even seen this gentleman before, no less hear anybody predict July 6 as the day we all die.

"But it's okay," he continues. "You have a chance to repent right now! The Lord himself has set me down and has given me the divine power to absolve everyone of their sins with a few easy sacrifices!"

I started to become a bit angry, as I realize he was not so much crazy, but really a crazy religious fiend who is probably trying to pull a Billy Mays and sell me something I don't need.

"The Lord expressed in his holy pages that in order to be poor in spirit, you need to be rid of all possessions that distract you from the true meaning of life!"

I decided to humor him.

"Like what?"

"Bank accounts, fancy cars, huge houses, nice watches, everything!"

I could tell he was looking inside our house when he said that. The rain and wind were picking up, and the spray remnants of what were hitting both the old man's back and my face were resting on the carpet just inside the front door. This added to my frustration, although it didn't seem to faze the man.

"All you have to do is sign over your funds to the Holy Trust bank account and you will be able to rest eternally in the most comfortable place in the world!"

The sky screamed "KABOOM!" with such might that my next door neighbor's car alarm was initiated. Suzie came walking down the stairs with a serious connotation.

"He's still really frightened. He thinks the lightning is going to hurt him."

My wife can quickly see the inaudible sign that resonated on my face after she described Max's situation, almost like she gave weirdo the key to our house right there.

"Who is this?" she asked, a question directed towards me, but one she didn't take her eyes off the man for.

"He..."

"I'm Jacob, and I'm here to help your beautiful family make it to heaven once this doomsday storm we are currently experiencing ends the world."

Puzzled is not the word that describes the look on Suzie's face.

"So you have a son, eh? Seems very bright. He seems to have an understanding of the situation and what can happen here."

He pauses and strokes his ominously colored grey beard.

"You don't have to listen to me. But maybe your son can convince you to 'donate' your possessions to the Holy Trust to save yourselves."

My wife's puzzled face turns to pure rage in one minute of conversation with this man, or 66% less time than it took me to reach this stage, for those keeping score at home.

"You listen here," Suzie elicited from the top of her small--but powerful--lungs. "You do not come into MY house and tell me to give up MY money to save MY son! I don't know who you are, or what your motive is, but you have five seconds to get off OUR front porch or else I will make YOU pay rent!"

"Fine. How about your husband's watch and we'll call it even."

"GET OUT," my wife projected to the man in such a low and demonic voice I thought Satan himself had made a cameo appearance to fight the supposed representative of God.

As I stepped between the man who is staring at my wife like she was indeed Satan, and my wife who was staring at the man with eyes so wide they could have been comfortably substituted for golf balls, a massive gust of wind pushed through the branches of the front yard so hard, nearly 50 leaves decided to join the rain pellets' journey to the ground.

Without warning, the old man grabbed my left arm, and tried to maneuver my watch off my hand!

"Come on! Repent! REPENT!" he screamed, thunder and lightning making its presence known in the short-term distance.

"Just give it to him so he can leave!" my wife cries.

He manages to break the strap, and the watch falls to the ground. He instinctively drops down and grabs the watch, and rises up just a split second before my left sneaker would have left a Nike imprint over his right eye. He runs down the steps.

"What the...that sonofa..."

As I watch him run with my watch, almost at half-speed I notice a bolt of lightning dart down from the once beautiful sky right in the direction of the man. I immediately turn to my wife, but in the corner of my eye I can see my watch flying through the air, and a can hear a loud thud of body hitting concrete.

In hindsight, maybe we should have called 911 first, but in our anger and confusion I followed my wife indoors and up the stairs to my son's room, which has a view overlooking our front lawn. My wife opens the door, and our son is already standing right in front of us. We both jump on top of him, not caring whether his dinosaur shirt gets completely soaked.

"Are you okay, Maxie?" my wife manages to ask through her tears.

"Yes, mommy."


The next day, me, Suzie, and Max all sat at the kitchen table for breakfast, completely silent. Max, after I was about ready to take my last bite of the sausage Suzie fried, decided to break the silence.

"Mommy? Daddy?" he whispered in his innocent voice.

"Yes, Max?"

"I'm not afraid of lightning anymore."

Me and Suzie both looked at one another, wide-eyed. I was the one who decided to inquire after a moment of confusion.

"Why is that, son?"

"I thought the lightning was God's way of attacking all of us but really it's God's way of dying [sic] bad guys!"

My wife instantly became concerned.

"You saw?"

Max nodded.

"Yeah, I heard you screaming and I was scared but then I saw God's laser beam keep you safe so I was happy!"

Me and her both got up and embraced Max. After we let go, I fixed my tie and headed out of the kitchen. Behind me, I hear my son's voice again.

"Daddy?"

I turn around with a scared look on my face.

"Yes?"

"I was also happy because that means somebody won the lottery!"