4338.204 · July 23, 2018 AD
Two Thousand Dollars on Faith
He has walked through portals. He has heard the voice of a world speak his name. And now Luke Smith sits before a glowing screen, fighting with browser pop-ups, watching a spinning icon mock his impatience. The purchase is absurd. But absurdity, it turns out, is just another word for hope when you're preparing to shelter someone in a desert that shouldn't exist.
After the raw urgency of his call with Paul, Luke retreats to the familiar glow of his computer screen. There is comfort in banality—the clutter of browser tabs, the ritual of closing them one by one, small acts of control in a life spiralling beyond comprehension. Then an advertisement appears: a tent, large and sturdy, with two compartments flanking a central living space.
The image strikes him like revelation.
This is perfect. The thought arrives before logic can intervene. Not just fabric and poles, but possibility—shelter for the barren world he has glimpsed, provision for journeys yet to come. His hands move before doubt can catch them: delivery details, payment screens, the choreography of online purchase transformed into something almost sacred.
Then the error message. The spinning icon. The maddening simplicity of a pop-up blocker standing between him and salvation.
When confirmation finally arrives, Luke laughs aloud at the absurdity of it all. Two thousand dollars on a bloody tent. Duke lifts his head, unimpressed. But beneath the madness lies truth: this is more than retail therapy. It is a pledge. A first tangible step toward providing for what waits on the other side.
