Rapture Practice by Aaron Hartzler Page A

to serve the Lord Jesus Christ.”
    I can’t stand it any longer. “So, are you going to give me a whipping?”
    Dad looks past me and rubs a hand over his thick auburn hair. When he focuses on me again, there’s a faraway look in his eyes, as if he’s seeing a stranger.
    “Son, I don’t think a whipping is going to fix this. You’re too old to spank.”
    Something about this news should be comforting. Instead, it’s chilling. If he’s not going to spank me…
    “I am so grieved about this that I don’t know exactly what to do. Your mom and I have been praying about how to discipline you. She is as heartbroken about your rebellion as I am.”
    They’ve known about it for days. This was an ambush. I walked right into it. Dad gave me enough rope to hangmyself. As I swing from the gallows of my own deceit, tears fill his eyes again.
    “Do you remember when you were little and you asked me who spanked me when I did something wrong? Do you remember what I told you?”
    Dad waits. I don’t want to be having this conversation. I feel a desperate panic in the pit of my stomach.
    “You said God spanked you, but not with a belt; that there are some things that God allows to happen as the consequences of our actions that are worse than a spanking.”
    Dad crosses his arms and leans against the wall in my room. His gaze wanders past me toward the ceiling.
    “I’ve been praying about this, Aaron, searching for the answer. How do I handle my own son lying to me?”
    He pauses. The silence is horrible.
    “I’ve talked to your mom about it, and I feel like you need to lose something that’s so important to you that you’ll never forget this lesson.”
    I can’t swallow. I can’t blink. I stare at Dad, waiting.
    “I’ve made an appointment to talk to Miss Tyler up at Blue Ridge on Monday. I think as a consequence for lying to me about this CD, you’re not going to be able to be in the play at school.”
    When Dad says these words there’s a roar in my ears like the sound of the jets flying over the air force base down the road from our house. It rockets into my chest, then full throttle out of my mouth.
    “Dad, you can’t do this!”
    Mom appears at the door of my bedroom. I am crying and yelling and I don’t care. “That punishes the
entire cast
, not just me. I’m one of the
leads
. I’m in almost every scene. Monday is the beginning of spring break, and we have rehearsals every day until we open.”
    “I realize that, son. Which is why I’m going to talk to Miss Tyler about it. I don’t want to put her in a bind if I can help it.”
    “A
bind
? Put her in
a bind
? We open the show in
two weeks
!” I am so angry that I can see spit and tears flying as I speak.
    “I understand that, but if Miss Tyler feels that she can recast your role and still open the show as scheduled, I’m going to pull you out of the production.”
    “Dad, please don’t do this,” I say quietly. I hate myself for begging. I hate that he can win like this.
    “Aaron, I love you so much, and I know how much this means to you. Jesus Christ, the Son of God, came to earth and suffered and bled and died for your sin of lying. He knew while he was hanging on that cross that one day Aaron Hartzler would lie to his dad about buying a CD for his girlfriend, but he loved you so much that he let those Roman soldiers crucify him anyway.”
    “I’m sorry, Dad!” I am hysterical, but I can’t stop the explosion. “You can spank me if you want, or don’t let me drive. Why do you have to take me out of the play?”
    Even as I say the words, I know that I’ve just sealed my own fate by bargaining. I can see it in his eyes: he knows he’s hit me where it hurts.
    Game over. He wins.
    “Aaron, this play is more important to you than anything else. I feel like being an actor has become more of a priority to you than your commitment to Christ, and nothing should be more important than that.”
    I can’t argue with this, because he’s