CHAPTER 19 THE END
We're wondering if our time is about up. There's this haze that gets thicker each day. The sun is visible, but there is no sunshine, and the moon is dark red. We haven't seen any stars for a long time, even when we try to use Scopi's telescope. Everything smells smoky and the animals are all mixed up. The birds don't sing.
Dad has always had a special love for the wild things. He says that they will be liberated when we are. Sounds good to me. We all know that the world of nature can't go on like this.
Even Mom is acting strange. She always wants to wear her red bathrobe. Her hair has grown long, it‘s way down her back. She used to talk and laugh a lot, but now she is real quiet and just smiles. It's spooky.
Dad is extremely interested in the weather. It's beginning to get cool and the leaves are falling. We are all wondering if we can make it through another winter.
Maybe I can't keep up my writing. Each trip to get water is a pain. Our spring and creek are dry, and I have to go halfway down the hill to the well at the old farmhouse site. Each time I let down the bucket, I use more rope. I’m getting weak. I hate to tell it, but it's a big effort to get back up the hill.
When it does rain a little, we are almost scared to use the water because of its bad smell. We hardly have any desire to keep clean. We look like some of those primitive people in the geography book. It is just lucky if we have a pair of pants and a shirt to put on. Brand names and styles don‘t mean anything now. I guess I’ve learned my lesson.
Old Johnny Appleseed had the right idea of people’s needs; the Bible, human company, and apples. I wish he could stop by. We‘re really lonely.
I can't believe the change that has come over me; I didn't want to go to hell, of course, but I couldn't see much sense in bowing down to a higher authority, especially from an old moth-eaten book. To tell the truth, I didn't really mean to be much of a Christian, or a saint, and certainly not a martyr; but things look a lot different now. I didn't know that I would have to give up everything for Jesus, but what else matters? This Savior Who used to seem so invisible and so far away is really my only hope and my truest friend. Who else would suffer to save my soul? Still, I have some pangs of self-pity when I think that I will never be a husband or father.
Here I’ve got all these muscles, but who cares? It was a different world back then when we used to get so worked up over sports. I guess I’ve become an old man at sixteen, with no car, no license, no chance of a girl, or a movie, or a Coke or -- oh, who cares?
Dad has been doing a lot of study even though his Bible is in shreds. He's pretty sure that everything is falling into place. He says, "Come on, boys, we're just about to the top of the hill. Soon we‘ll see the view. All we have to do is to endure to the end."
We’re still living on our miracle candy and whatever is growing. As long as Mom eats, Spike eats, that's a relief. I found him gnawing on a tulip bulb that had poked out of the ground. He looked up at me with dirt all around his mouth and said distinctly, "I like God." Maybe I was wrong, but he does say lots of words these days. He went right back to gnawing with his sore gums.
The long summer evenings have been good for our schooling, but will we endure to the end?
Dad asked if I would read my "book" to the others tonight, I felt pretty shy about it. It wasn't meant to go public, but, it might give them some entertainment.
Maybe I shouldn't have read this story. Mom has gone off to bed, crying. Was it that bad? Was it good?
Dad stuck his head out the door to call to us on the porch, "Boys! Get up and wash your faces and hands. Comb your hair. Hurry! Get your typewriter going, JG. This is it!"
"Why, Dad? Why? It's the middle of the night?" I whined, rolling over and curling up in a ball.
"We're going to a wedding," he grinned, humming as he brushed his own hair. Honestly, I thought the strain had finally cracked him.
OK, I’m dressed and washed, sitting out here in the yard, trying to wake up.
There‘s so much noise, but it's different from The Blast. This sounds like the blowing of a huge trumpet with lots of shouting. The whole sky is aglow; I can see to write. The thick cumulus clouds are all shades of pink and rose, light streamers are pouring through the holes. Everything is getting bright -- too bright!
"This is the moment we’ve been waiting for -- - for almost two thousand years," announces Dad. He's gone to stand over near the graves. Mom has joined him, in her same old red bathrobe. She's holding Spike who is looking around with his big, wide blue eyes and sucking on his thumb. JohnB and Sol are coming out of the cabin, tugging at their ragged shirts.
There are white flashes like lightning that hurt my eyes and huge swells of music coming from everywhere.
My log is trembling. This old typewriter always was shaky, but now it is jumping. I wish the trees weren‘t in the way. It looks like maybe millions of angels, but I can't quite tell. There‘s a whirling mass like a huge crowd of something. Is it people?
Yes, there He is! It really is Jesus! He really is riding on a big white horse! He is shining so bright that I can hardly look at Him. He's way up there where all of our part of the world can see him at once.
Dad has jumped back. The ground has opened up. There they go! It really is Rooster and Scopi! They have just sailed off -- no flapping of arms or wings, no looking back, no words: just pulled up to Jesus as if He were a super magnet.
Dad shouts, "We‘re next!"
Good-bye readers, if there are any. I’m sticking my whole pile of papers under this log. When we come back, to take over the earth, maybe I’ll· be assigned to this area and I . . .
This small story is made up from things prophesied in the Bible. The details may not all be accurate, but the message is true: Jesus IS coming. "And when these things begin to come to pass, then look up, and lift up your heads; for your redemption draweth nigh. " Luke 21:28
About the Author:
Mary Rice Somerville wrote this book for her six sons, to capture some of the memories of their old home place in Boone County West Virginia. Its plot is set in the future, which of course we do not really know, and is written from the viewpoint of son Jim who is an Eagle Scout, with badges in the trunk, each one bearing the motto:
BE PREPARED!
She was born in 1933 in Asheville, North Carolina, and has always been a homemaker.
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