The opening song was Awake, Ye Saints of God, Awake. I realized my skepticism was growing when I took particular note of the line: Or, saith the Lord, Ye are not mine!
Brother Charington stood and introduced himself. He gave a long and somewhat pretentious resume of his qualifications as though he was running for office. He paid particular attention to his academic and governmental honors, standing, and service. He then heaped praise heavily upon the congregation. They were the ones prepared to move ahead. They were the ones who could read the writings. They were strong and righteous. They should be rewarded for their faithfulness.
So much for the butter. . . .
Then it was time to talk of the higher laws. Those laws that the chosen had always been expected to rise to. Not for the weakest of the saints. Not for the average saints. Only for the very elect. The valiant would recognize the call. Had not the chosen always lived the higher principles? Could the regular saints be expected to rise to the standard? Were we willing to grab the banner of truth and march on ahead?
Next came the warnings. Cast not these pearls at swine . . . .
“RUUUUN!!!” was the shout from the crowd.
And run they did–into, over, and through each other. Everyone was running.
The Lakes headed for the jeep. They got in but the jeep was pinned in. Doug tried to back up but in the rush to escape the trailer jackknifed and one of the ATV?s toppled off. They couldn?t move. The gasoline spill was only feet away.
“Run. Run. Run!” screamed Janet. Doug lost his shoe jumping out; but he ran. Soon with each step he was counting down like a bomb would go off.
“10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3….”
WOOOOOOFFFFFF. Not a bang. More like a slow flash–but searing, consuming, expanding. They toppled headlong then immediately jumped up and ran some more. Janet stopped and turned to look. She froze in the moment. Doug grabbed her hand and jerked her with him, snapping her gaze and twisting her shoulder. Ten more steps and they felt the next flare. This one did go bang. It was the jeep. They stood in horror as the heat washed over them again. Now things were falling out of the sky. They ran again just as the first ATV blew.
James took a long pause. He knew the vulnerable spots in the county and most of the cities. He felt duty bound to keep his secrets. His words were measured.
“We will see human nature here just like everywhere else. Self preservation unglues all societies. The unprepared will turn to the ones with oil in their lamps. Even if the saints were perfect, there are enough here with no other aspirations than survival. And we know the saints aren’t perfect. I have no reason to believe that God won’t visit us with the same cleansing and sorting scourges as everywhere else.
“Our water comes as snow from God. We get our allotment every year. There will be sufficient. Many have still been putting the extra water on our lawns. Of course we can return our lawns to the desert they were meant to be. Distribution will be another problem. Fuel will dry up including firewood and the hills will be raided. Food will depend on personal stores. You will have to have it, and then you will have to protect it. Lawlessness will prevail because when the more part of the people ignores the rule of law, enforcement will fail.
“Those are the generalities. I know what systems might fail first but the overall answer is be prepared for both your temporal and spiritual salvation.”
“What about earthquakes?”
“I was talking about earthquakes.”
When Glenn brought her the newborn wolf cub, Angie had plans in the back of her mind. When he mentioned that a sheepherder had found the cub following a ewe in a high meadow and it couldn?t be coaxed away from its new mother, Angie moved her plans to the front of her mind. This cub was brought to the shelter because it would not take milk from a bottle, and Angie happened to have a cheviot ewe with a broken leg already in the clinic. Specifically, a new mother sheep that had just given birth to a lamb. The mutual attraction was immediate. This was going to be an adoption that would be hard to break. She named the wolf pup Paul, and his “brother” the lamb, Peter. Apparently “Mom” loved them both equally.
Angie made every effort to provide a loving nurturing environment for the boys. They played together in grassy fields and fed on their mother’s milk. They were held and loved, nursed and nurtured. They had no needs or wants. As they grew, Angie tried to shield out the evil and mistrust that encroached on her project. . . .
We came over the hill into Utah Valley just as light was breaking. There were fruit orchards and the large lake before us. Kind of a peaceful feeling to be home free. Home? We had never lived here. But we had visited often and it seemed like home. I even found some country music on the radio. There were a few more cars moving freely on the roads. Julie was stirring and she awoke to the empty road ahead. She wondered what day it was. I didn’t have a clue. A fire truck went by headed south. By the time we got to Springville, there were even more vehicles on the road. And it was very early. We didn’t have a phone to try since we left them at home when the EMP fried them both. I got off at the first Provo exit and there was a station that looked like it was still in business. . . .
. . . . I motioned for Julie to get back in and I turned to a side street, found a dirt drive behind a tree, and told Julie my plan. She seemed reluctant but followed me to the back. I asked her to get a blanket while I got charcoal out of the bag, The hard part was getting her to get down in the dirt and roll around with me. We stood up and brushed off a little. I rubbed charcoal on my hands and began applying it to her face and arms and clothes. She copied me and did the same to my face. The worse we looked the more we giggled. The last thing I did was to add more dirt to the rear of the car to make sure the dirt really covered the license plate. It and we were a work of art. We got in and put the blanket over Julie’s legs.
. . . .”How did we get here? Where are we going? I thought we were heading into a millennial-like state. Now I’m not sure. Is the millennium more or less technical? Will we have more or less devices? We have had all this technological inspiration with new mechanical and scientific wonders. Is paradise filled with technical wiz bangs, or is it lambs and lions sitting under a tree? Are there even vehicles? Didn’t Isaiah say that we would build houses, plant vineyards and eat the fruit? [Isaiah 65:21-22] Do we have to pull weeds? So do the houses have plumbing with plastic pipe? Is there electricity? Does God have an IPOD?
“Was the Liahona just a GPS with an LCD? Do we have LCD?s in heaven, or even in paradise, and is there email or do we just use telepathy?”
“You?re making my brain hurt. Hopefully, we make the cut for the first resurrection and we will get your answers.”
Rocks were now moving everywhere. They kept tumbling down the hills. They were bouncing across the road. Rocks were moving back and forth like in a giant sifter–rolling back and forth with the larger chunks coming to the top. It was all being sifted–frightening and yet unreal–almost detached. Shake. Shake. Shake. Yes, actually everything was being detached. Huge pieces were falling off the cliffs. I didn’t know where to, but we were sliding.
From inside the car it was mostly silent. We had lost the last radio station over an hour ago. We were now having trouble just dodging increasingly larger rocks. Rips and tears in the road were growing and it was getting more and more difficult to continue. . . .
Once you clear North Las Vegas the trip is uneventful to Mesquite. Uneventful until the lightning. Just out of Glendale it started to rain. Then the lightning bolts started trying to hit us. Aiming for us. I didn?t know whether to speed up or slow down. Cars are supposed to be safe with steel cases and rubber insulators, but whoever was throwing these bolts was really good. One landed less than 100 feet directly in front of us. It was bright yellow-white and the size of a fat telephone pole. The strange thing was that just as it reached the ground, it splayed out in all directions with turned up spikes. Most electricity we’ll ever see at one time (without dying from it). They were striking everywhere. Some drove into the ground. Some seemed to bounce on impact.
She hurled. (An appropriate word considering the velocity and trajectory) It was just from the fierceness, the grossness, the intensity of the onslaught. Now the smell of the vomit added to the weird stink of the locusts. We knew we were about to perish. We gritted out teeth and tried to squint. We didn’t want to see anymore but I needed to stay on the road.
The brown storm intensified briefly and then in a moment it was over. The cloud moved on. We kept moving to clear the stragglers, but we had been plastered with carcasses. They coated everything.
Relieved but still shaking, we both started to pray aloud. It was a duet of gratitude. Soon Julie was voice and she was begging desperately.
“Please Father; help us now to find a way to go on. Please help us find a way to recover and reclaim our journey. We thank thee for not allowing us to be consumed in this plague. Please take us forward. Please….”
Famines have always been geographical. So have plagues.
The world wide calamities of today are a thoroughly modern phenomenon. Aids in Africa flashes around the world. A corn shortage in Iowa breeds hunger in South America. Bird flues are born on the winds faster than the flight of birds. Modern medicine conquers age old infirmities and then is baffled by an outbreak of salmonella. A pestilence of flies swarms in the face of pesticides. The more control we think we gain, the more the Lord displays his reach.
We didn’t get to wait as long as we would have liked. It came in the night as a thump and a grind. It wasn’t violent but it was wrenching. We woke in the middle of the straining, squeaking and grinding; rolled together onto the floor, and just hung on to each other. I said it sounded like a bulldozer was pushing on the corner of the house. Screeching, grating, popping and snapping. It could have been worse. Things were falling off the shelves and walls but not off the ceiling. . . .
Jill had gone into the face of this evil with a mixture of courage and naivete. She would be different. She could make a difference. She had never seen bloodshed except in surgery. She had never felt hate or violence. There were children to be saved and a testimony of Christ to be delivered. God bless her. She could have never anticipated the aftermath of nuclear devastation in Iran. I recall clearly the kitchen conversation the night before she left: “Just be valiant.” Julie counseled. “We are in the end of days. Only your faith and integrity matter anymore.”
Julie always had the clarity and apparently the courage.
“Mom you know I’m scared, but you know I know my trade and things being as they are, where else should I be?”
“They wouldn’t send you to Iran after all the radiation, would they?” I choked on my words when I realized that I had just vocalized her greatest fear. Even now I wish I could pull them back. Anyway, that killed the conversation. The next day she flew off into the blood and fire and vapors of smoke.
Last summer the devastating fires in California combined with severe fuel shortages and nationwide rationing of electricity had caused unprecedented restrictions. Of course, the inability of utilities to deliver water, or electricity, or other services where needed made everything far worse. Los Angeles County had outgrown its gridlock simply because there weren?t that many cars on the freeways anymore. Outrageous fuel costs already had everyone trying to stay home when the most severe brownouts started. Recreation was the first to suffer as theme parks and all entertainment endeavors like movie theaters were severely curtailed. All entertainment and even common social gatherings suffered.
Misinformation, stupidity, greed and self-preservation were overtaking the masses. Worse, there simply wasn?t enough water or water pressure to help fight and suppress the fires; and flames spread throughout hundreds of subdivisions and towns. Fire hoses ran dry and trucks ran out of gas. Refugees wandered the roads by the tens of thousands. Charitable operations had been overwhelmed and overrun. The supply of emergency food was devoured in a matter of weeks. The problem of several hundred thousand homeless was turning the main population centers like Los Angeles and San Francisco into burning, writhing ghettos with wailing and shouting, looting and shooting, and hiding and hoarding.
