He didn’t fly. He didn’t vanish. He… lifted. Slow and steady, rising above the hill like the morning sun—and we just stood there, too stunned to breathe.
My name is Eliav. I’m a fisherman’s son, though I haven’t touched a net since Jesus called my father. We followed Him everywhere. Through storms, through stories, through fear, through feast. All of it. I thought I’d seen everything—the healings, the crucifixion, the empty tomb. But this? This changed everything.
It happened just outside Jerusalem, up a hill most of us had already climbed a hundred times. Jerusalem was still tense—Roman guards on every street, temple leaders whispering in corners, everyone pretending things were back to normal. But we knew. Ever since Jesus came back to life, nothing was normal.
He had been with us for forty days after the resurrection. Not just a few minutes or a vision—He walked, talked, ate with us. He even cooked breakfast one morning. But every time He appeared, it felt like light spilling into a dark hallway. It was beautiful, yes—but temporary. We knew He wouldn’t stay.
Still, I wasn’t ready for Him to leave either.
That morning, He gathered us one last time. I remember the wind on my face and the way the dust kicked at my sandals as we climbed the slope. My cousin whispered, "This might be it." I nodded, but inside, I hoped he was wrong.
“When will You restore the kingdom?” someone asked. I looked down, embarrassed. We still didn’t understand. Jesus didn’t come to fight back against Rome, to raise an army, or take over the temple. He came for a bigger kingdom. One without borders. One that would never fall.
"It’s not for you to know the times," He said. "But you'll receive power… and you'll be My witnesses. Here, and beyond.”
And then—He rose.
A cloud wrapped around Him like mist hugging a mountain peak. No wings, no thunder, no chariots. Just silence…and sky.
Then we just stood there. Some of us cried. One of the younger boys dropped to his knees and covered his face. I stood frozen, heart pounding, searching the clouds—because I still thought He might come back down.
But instead, two men in white appeared beside us. Their robes glowed like the morning sun on water. “Why are you staring into the sky?” they asked. “Jesus will return. Just as you saw Him go.”
Something turned heavy and light inside me all at once. I realized: He wasn’t staying—but He wasn’t gone either. He was leaving us the mission. And He trusted us to carry it.
That night I couldn’t sleep. Not from fear, but from fire. A kind of burning in my chest. All my life, I thought only the priests or prophets mattered to God. But now I knew—I was part of the story too.
Jesus didn’t just die for our sins. He rose to give us a job.
He rose... so we would rise too.
That day didn’t end with silence. It ended with purpose. And sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see Him in the clouds—and I remember: He hasn’t forgotten us. He’s just waiting for the right time to return.
He didn’t fly. He didn’t vanish. He… lifted. Slow and steady, rising above the hill like the morning sun—and we just stood there, too stunned to breathe.
My name is Eliav. I’m a fisherman’s son, though I haven’t touched a net since Jesus called my father. We followed Him everywhere. Through storms, through stories, through fear, through feast. All of it. I thought I’d seen everything—the healings, the crucifixion, the empty tomb. But this? This changed everything.
It happened just outside Jerusalem, up a hill most of us had already climbed a hundred times. Jerusalem was still tense—Roman guards on every street, temple leaders whispering in corners, everyone pretending things were back to normal. But we knew. Ever since Jesus came back to life, nothing was normal.
He had been with us for forty days after the resurrection. Not just a few minutes or a vision—He walked, talked, ate with us. He even cooked breakfast one morning. But every time He appeared, it felt like light spilling into a dark hallway. It was beautiful, yes—but temporary. We knew He wouldn’t stay.
Still, I wasn’t ready for Him to leave either.
That morning, He gathered us one last time. I remember the wind on my face and the way the dust kicked at my sandals as we climbed the slope. My cousin whispered, "This might be it." I nodded, but inside, I hoped he was wrong.
“When will You restore the kingdom?” someone asked. I looked down, embarrassed. We still didn’t understand. Jesus didn’t come to fight back against Rome, to raise an army, or take over the temple. He came for a bigger kingdom. One without borders. One that would never fall.
"It’s not for you to know the times," He said. "But you'll receive power… and you'll be My witnesses. Here, and beyond.”
And then—He rose.
A cloud wrapped around Him like mist hugging a mountain peak. No wings, no thunder, no chariots. Just silence…and sky.
Then we just stood there. Some of us cried. One of the younger boys dropped to his knees and covered his face. I stood frozen, heart pounding, searching the clouds—because I still thought He might come back down.
But instead, two men in white appeared beside us. Their robes glowed like the morning sun on water. “Why are you staring into the sky?” they asked. “Jesus will return. Just as you saw Him go.”
Something turned heavy and light inside me all at once. I realized: He wasn’t staying—but He wasn’t gone either. He was leaving us the mission. And He trusted us to carry it.
That night I couldn’t sleep. Not from fear, but from fire. A kind of burning in my chest. All my life, I thought only the priests or prophets mattered to God. But now I knew—I was part of the story too.
Jesus didn’t just die for our sins. He rose to give us a job.
He rose... so we would rise too.
That day didn’t end with silence. It ended with purpose. And sometimes, when I close my eyes, I can still see Him in the clouds—and I remember: He hasn’t forgotten us. He’s just waiting for the right time to return.
