"What do you make of this Mr. W?" He jumped at my loud, interruptive entry, and his pen slid and "now it looks like I've flubbed.  Which I have not." 

     "Yep, it looks like you did, so I guess you did.  Of course, you can blame it on me." 

     The Pastor's face frowned a little.  "What are you asking about?" 

     It was a passage in Ezekial.  Chapter 12ish.  He read it.  He blinked it into the dense prophecy stuff he was studying and writing about in a stare over the kitchen table.  "It's not the same as worshipping false gods.  More like," he thought.  "Like God saying that because Israel is the Promised Land and where things will culminate (i)in the end times(i) some of the Jews were feeling entitled." 

     "What's that?" 

     "I just learned the concept myself." 

     I let that justify, (i)can't explain right now(i).  He frowned.  A lot on the plate.  "All right, so what I mean it as is," the Eight Day clock hit high noon.

     "Being ingrates?" 

     "Hmmmm.  Sort of, or like taking God's previous promise to them for granted.  Kind of assuming exceptionalism." 

     "Like lawyers and politician's (i)above the law(i)." 

     He put his glasses back on and didn't want to confirm that analogy.  I pressed on.  "Mr. W., We've got a problem." 

     "More than one looking at all these thunders-to-come." 

     "We're training people up to fight evil and a real enemy.  One of my friends just went over to and came back from the Middle East.  But we are becoming very violent." 

     "What did you hear?" 

     "Somebody's grandmother Linda Mac-Manned her husband." 

     "Not familiar with that phrase." 

     "She clocked him or cleaned his clock or, she punched him!" 

     "Really?" 

     "Nobody's sure if it's Alzheimer's or just fed up." 

     "I'll ask my wife to look into that.  Make a note on this one." He handed me one of eight writing pads.  "One for each thunder," he winked. 

     "That's not funny." 

     "Wasn't meant to be." 

     "Seriously though.  My reading is telling me, God's Word is no peace and that's in part because people took the gift of Israel and being chosen or blessed for granted." 

     "That's a good start.  Maybe you should write a book.  Your own book." 

     "Too many prophets not enough days left until (i)the end(i)." 

     "About that," he took his glasses back off.  "The End?" 

     "I know you signed up to do a reading at Church and I appreciate that, but I'm worried about that too." 

     "I've practically memorized it." 

     "Oh you have?! You'll do fine then I'm sure."  But his brow furrowed.  "Something besides messing it up?" 

     "It's new material for lots of folks." 

     "And it matters (i)how(i) people learn about such big stuff?" 

     "I think it does." 

     "Well, if you think so then..." 

     The clock ticking was making me feel sleepy.  "It's the same with the war stuff, I think." 

     "Hmmmm?" He'd put his pen to paper again.

     "I'm glad, (i)you've got this(i) Mr. W." 

     And I was.  The vibe of one in a high energy current can be extreme.