by Joe Derkacht
#
Another thousand years have passed since the Twelve discovered Fair Ranar’s emerald throne. I sit here today as I sat here then, the only difference the Twelve themselves. Once supplicants, they now flank the throne, waiting even as I waited for them. Today, yet another race from among Sombrero’s countless tribes of stars will arrive. Like the Mah, these newcomers will have their adventures, before eventually finding their way to the center of Fair Ranar’s purposes. Now, it is the Mah, rather than men or angels, who will be their guides, even as they have been for dozens of others since that first time.
The Mah chatter beside me, a pleasant flow of joyous background noise that reminds me of the streets of Jerusalem. In another thousand years, I will perhaps transport these same Twelve to Earth, where they may glimpse the Heavenly City, true capital of the universe. In the meantime, I let my eyes gaze upon the fading stars; behind me, Ranar’s sun eagerly rises, chasing the night back to the obscurity from which it came. A lesser sun approaches over the western horizon; this new race, the Xoharpa, uses plasma rockets for their ship’s propulsion. As I watch I contemplate forever, as I often have, from the perspective of one who has been mortal and is now immortal.
Time is no more, when immortality reigns. Pain and suffering is no more. Nor will tears of sorrow ever again afflict Adam’s race, long known as Messiah’s seed to some, El Elyon’s race to others. Some thought even the memory of all those things would fade. Instead, the reality is that when Death lost its sting and was banished to the Lake of Fire like everything else that was not of God, all those lost their power to hurt us anymore. When El Elyon, the source of all good and perfect things became our possession, and when we finally knew we were completely and utterly His, how could it be otherwise?
Still, I sometimes think of when I was summoned to YHWH’s throne and the promise He gave to me. Whatever He meant by it, it must still be somewhere out in the illimitable universe, even if momentarily hidden in one of the equally unfathomable ages to come. It will come, of that I am sure. What is delay to someone who lives forever?
“Delay is no more.”
Jesus stood in front of me on the pavement. His voice rolled over me like waves of electricity.
“Well done, faithful friend, brother, and servant.”
Tears of joy filled my eyes. By the time I brushed them away, He was gone. Shen Li stood in his place. He held out a book for me to take, bowed slightly in farewell, and then he, too, vanished.
It was one of the most beautiful books I’ve ever seen. The cover seemed to have been chiseled out of emerald. Gracing the front was a white star, made of diamonds, surrounded by a field of rubies. The snow white pages were gilded with purest gold.
I opened the book and my eyes fell on its title.
JOURNEY FROM HEAVEN
Turning the page, I read,
another life from Heaven’s Annals of the
Order of the Overcomers
Shen Li, Editor, Associate Chief Historian
Smyrna Branch
The dedication page said:
Dedicated to
The Light of All Worlds, Jesus Christ
and to
the further understanding of the Divine Purposes of this, our eternal life
and to
a more intimate understanding of the Pergamum Branch of the Order of Overcomers
I opened to Page 1 and saw a copy of the same heavenly summons Sam Draper once handed to me on this very mountain.
OFFICIAL SUMMONS
ADDRESSEE
Steward John Raventhorst
Member, Whitestone Holders
Order of the Overcomers
Pergamum Branch
ADDRESS
Fair Ranar, Northern Trench, Sombrero Galaxy
ORDERS
Report to Capital City, New Jerusalem
to appear before
HIS MAJESTY, YHWH
Still seated upon Ranar’s throne, I looked up from my reading. Once again I was in YHWH’s presence, His wings folded about me. The vision was nearly as strong as the actual experience itself had been. Was I to find within these pages the answer to all my questions?
I read on, my heart burning like fire as chapter by chapter, the story of my life unfolded. The final paragraph described me seated upon Ranar’s throne, reading this very book. It finished with the words,
THE END
WHICH IN THE ETERNAL REALMS IS NOT TO SAY
THE END
BUT IS BARELY
THE BEGINNING
Deeply humbled and feeling incredibly grateful to the Master for His work in my life, I turned one more page and discovered a postscript. Its single paragraph said:
Feeling deeply humbled and incredibly grateful, he looked up and saw his old friend Leanhar and other angels accompanied by a host of the Redeemed. Leanhar ushered forward someone he’d never met before, whether in Heaven or on old earth—the Xoharpa Homeworld’s planetary steward. She was tall, beautiful, and strong, with hair as red as his own and eyes equally green—in short, the daughter he’d never known. Her smile was like a kiss upon his brow from the Morning Star, and his smile in return shone upon her with the warmth of New Sol. “I love you, Daddy,” she said. Laying the book aside, he stood up to embrace her.
Which is exactly what I did.
*****
Episode Eighteen
In a lonely hospital room on the Oregon Coast, two elderly women stand vigil over a lonelier, bedridden figure. One of the women has skin like tea-stained parchment and hair like steel wool. The other woman is tall and slim, has snow white hair and wears wire-rimmed glasses. In the hospital bed, tubes run in and out of the man’s body from seemingly every angle, and machines beep and glow in non-sentient attendance. Hissing sonorously, one of the machines raises and lowers his chest every few seconds.
The hospital room door swings open. The women turn and see a policeman entering, urging a little red-haired girl to precede him.
“It’s okay, honey,” he says. As if she’s done this before, she immediately goes to the bedside and takes one of the man’s hands in both of her own. Though his hair is red like hers, his is shot with gray.
The policeman smiles faintly, revealing buck teeth. He asks the taller woman, “What’s the word?”
She glances at the little girl before quietly answering, “The doctors say they’ll pull the plug today.”
The policeman shakes his head in resignation. The two women turn their attention back to the man in the bed and the girl at his side. All three adults watch as if expecting something momentous to happen.
The girl, holding the inert figure’s hand, stares intently at his face and massages the hand as if it is her pet kitten.
“I love you, Daddy,” she finally says.
Tears run down the women’s wrinkled old cheeks. The policeman turns away and lifts a shirtsleeve to his eyes.
Outside the hospital room, in the long, dimly lit corridor, figures approach from opposite ends. One emerges from shadow. He seems to be made entirely of non-reflective granite, and wields an equally stony sword in each of his six hands. The other bursts from a ball of light, and seems himself to be made of light. From over his shoulder, between spreading white pinions, he unsheathes a blade of naked flame. The two of them leap at each other, the first exuding a sulfurous smell and eddies of swirling darkness. The other radiates the glee of battle finally met after long delay.
THE END
*****
To the Reader
*****
About the Author
As of this writing, Joe Derkacht lives in Newberg, Oregon, where he is the sole caregiver for his elderly mother. He has lived up and down the West Coast, in cities large and small, and grew up in a small beach community (pop. 247) where he had plenty of time to fantasize about future writing projects. He has been involved in lay ministry for many years and earned a diploma in biblical studies from The King’s Colle
ge in Los Angeles, California: hence his interest in religious-themed literature. He has also written novels and screenplays in the Fantasy, Science Fiction, and Spy-Thriller genres, some of which he may later release as ebooks.