“Isn’t it wonderful, Pastor?” the aged voice trilled.
   “Huh? What in the world are you talking about?” the pastor wondered whether he was dreaming.
   “Have you looked outside, Pastor?”
  He peered outside into the blackness.
   “It’s dark! It’s dark, Pastor!”
   “Yeah? So?”
   “This is it! No more arthritis! No more glaucoma! No more wheelchair! Soon I’ll be in my new heavenly body. Jesus is here at last!”
   At last Pastor Haffner understood. “Mrs. Charles,” he said gently, “do you know it’s three o’clock in the morning?”
   “What? No, Pastor, it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, and look how dark it is! Jesus is coming. All things are made new.”
   “No, Mrs. Charles. It’s nighttime. That’s why it’s dark outside.”
   “Are you sure, Pastor?”
   “Yes, Mrs. Charles.”
   “Oh, Pastor, I’m terribly sorry. I thought it was afternoon, and . . . I mean, I just assumed Jesus was . . . I feel so silly. I’m sorry. It must be this new medication