So, a week after The Big Event, and there’s no more denying the truth - I haven’t been Raptured. And I hate to break it to you, but if you’re reading this you’re probably still here too.
I can’t speak for you, but apart from the blaspheming and the fornicating, the not going to church and the coveting of other people’s stuff, I’m a pretty decent kind of person. And more to the point, I spent last Saturday (the very day it counted) being totally wholesome all day.
Allow me to present the evidence.
I got up early. On a Saturday. I’m sure there’s something in the Bible about not being lazy, so that must be some Rapture points right there.
A couple of small detours later, I was at a Christian Aid coffee morning in the depths of the country, with a friend and her nephew and neice.
A Christian Aid bloody coffee morning. We bought house-plants, we ate scones, we let old ladies coo over the kids. It was so incredibly wholesome I’m amazed I wasn’t Raptured right then and there.
As if that wasn’t enough, babysitting duties completed I hared it back to the city and spent the afternoon with my godchild. And if you don’t get bonus Rapture points for being a godparent, something’s really up with the system.
Frankly, I don’t know what went wrong.
It could have been the evening that let me down. The pub, the strawberry beer, the accidental drunkenness. The boy’s house, the sofa, the snuggling in front of a film. (Cinderella Man, in case you’re interested. Really quite good.)
Whatever. I’m not Raptured, and neither are you, and together we must await the next Day of Judgement.
October 21st, apparently. We’ve got an awful lot of living to do before then.