Last Light Falling

by J. E. Plemons

  “I do believe she’s got the right idea,” Father Joseph agrees. “Come and sit, Arena, I have much to tell you both.” I can tell by the determined look in his eyes that what he is about to share with us is of great importance.

  “About sixteen years ago, I was devoting my time to the seminary, discerning the Lord’s call. There was a day when we were supposed to give witness to our conviction that God had brought us here. Before our time had come, I met a young man in the community who helped me when I was struggling to understand my faith. That man became a lifelong friend who I have trusted to this day. That man was your Uncle Finnegan,” says Father Joseph.

  “Finnegan was called to be a priest?” I say, looking a little distraught.

  “No, but he was called to do other things to serve our Lord and advance the Kingdom. Before the Lord called me to further my participation in the priesthood, your uncle had left the seminary and became a deacon in the military. He has since changed his profession, as you know, but his faith has never changed.”

  “Did you know our father?” Gabe asks.

  “I did, through Finnegan’s relationship with your mother. Every so often, I would visit Finnegan and his sister, your mother, and that’s when I met your father. I first met him on the day your mother went into labor.

  “I was there at the hospital when you two were born. I remember that day very well, pacing the halls, praying over your mother. She was having severe complications during labor. Later that evening after you two were delivered, your mother asked me to pray over you both. She looked very distraught and so transfixed upon you two. I didn’t think anything about it and just assumed she was weary from the delivery, but there was something else that was on her mind, something that almost seemed to frighten her.

  “Several days went by before I got a call from your father. He told me that your mother was crying ever since she left the hospital and that she wanted to speak with me. When I went to see her, she had a glow about her; her eyes were piercing through me as if I was invisible. She sat up and asked me if I ever had a vision from God before, and if I could interpret the one she had after the two of you were born.

  “At that time, I’d never had a vision, much less the ability to interpret someone else’s. I’ve spoken to and heard from the Lord on many occasions, but what she shared with me that day even took me by surprise,” says Father Joseph, as he gazes deep into our eyes.

  Now I’m a little frightened, but too curious not to ask. “So what did her vision reveal?”

  Father Joseph is trying hard to hold back tears, but he recovers quickly and places his hands on our shoulders.

  “Your mother was very strong in the faith, and she always accepted what life arranged for her. She kept a secured covenant with the Heavenly Father to do His will and that she would be blessed beyond the realms of this Earth. She stopped crying and peacefully looked into my eyes with solace, as if God Himself was looking upon me as a father would do with his dying son, and she said to me, I see a man standing next to my children who are grown. Two angels descend from the clouds. One covers the children with a shield, while the other stands next to them with a flaming sword. The man is dressed in black with markings on his shoulder, seven black stripes covering a blood-red stain. People are covered with fire, and children lay silently on the ground, starving to death.

  “She stopped and couldn’t say any more. It seemed too much of a burden for her to carry on with her vision, and I never received any more than that from her, nor did I feel the need to. God had revealed enough. She did, however, tell me one more thing before I left, and to this day I still have a hard time understanding it, yet in a strange way it has strengthened my faith. She told me that she would never get to see her children grow old and that—”

  I put my hand on his arm and shake my head. “Please … don’t, I can’t …” My lips shake, as my face is wet from tears. Gabe looks down, and hides any pain he has been suppressing for the last six years while I walk over to the target range. I stand there for what seems like an eternity until my knees give way, and my will to rest on my feet breaks. I fall to my knees, burying my head into the ground, and cry uncontrollably.

  Has my time to grieve ended? It’s been six long years, and I have yet to find the strength to stop mourning the loss of my parents.

  I have not lost faith in my Father, but I’m beginning to lose interest in my fate. Though devout in my faith, I’m still human, and I just can’t seem to find reason in my parents’ death. My mother and father were deeply rooted in their faith with God and they raised us to be as well. Regardless of our Christian walk, I understand we are to face struggles in our lives, but sometimes it’s just too hard to keep a level perspective when your heart is hardened. I just pray I’m given the strength to endure this pain, and that peace will soon follow.

  Father Joseph lets us have our time of grievance. After a moment, I pick myself up, walk over to Gabe, and put my arms around him. “I’m sorry.” I say, my lips quivering

  Father Joseph grabs our hands. “There is no shame in weeping, my child. It is your weakness that shows your strength. We must be reminded to surrender to the strength that God provides, for His strength is made perfect in our weakness,” he says, hovering over us.

  “Your mother was a very remarkable woman, so much that God gave her two remarkable offspring. I knew there was something extraordinary about the two of you that day at the hospital. The glow in your mother’s eyes, your father kneeling down and praying over you both for hours that night, and one of the most unusual traits that the doctors had ever seen from twins—two identical birthmarks. But it wasn’t necessarily that you both had identical birthmarks in the same place, as extremely rare and special as that is, it was the silhouette of them—perfectly shaped crucifixes, as if God Himself had drawn them and placed them there on the back of your necks.”

  Gabe and I glance at each other and feel the back of our necks as if this is new information to us, even though we are fully aware of our markings.

  “You both have been special to me from the moment you were born, and I have focused and devoted my life to protect you and make sure you would never be separated,” he says.

  “It was you,” I say, “you were at the Foster Care Center that day, arguing with the director.”

  “Since you had not been adopted in over a year, the foster-care coordinators were about to make a very hasty decision in separating you two because there was a couple who eagerly wanted to adopt Gabe. They had no intentions of adopting two children, and I wasn’t going to allow that to happen,” he says.

  Father Joseph leans against the table. “I fervently prayed all day for that paperwork to fall through, but even still, I knew I had to convince them to terminate the adoption at all costs,” he says.

  “I’m indebted to you for your gracious determination. I wouldn’t have been able to survive without Gabe in my life,” I say with a hint of sadness to my voice. I stare at the ground, then look over at Gabe. I can’t even begin to think that we could have been separated. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Father, but why were you sent to keep us together?”

  “Because God had other plans for you, and that is why I’m here with both of you today,” he says.

  Now I find myself sitting attentively upright, curious behind the real reason why we are here. I can barely control my nerves.

  “After the revelation your mother had shared, it was clear to me at that moment that I was chosen by God to guide and protect the two of you,” Father Joseph says.

  “So why didn’t we ever see you during our childhood?” I ask.

  “As you know already, religion has been in a constant state of flux in this Godless nation since the regulation of the church tax that was created ten years ago by the federal government. Those tax burdens caused an uprising from the church and believers began to rebel against the government,” says Father Joseph.

  “How?” asks Gabe.

  “A percentage of the money that was
given to the church by the people was transferred to the government as a subsidized payment. In return, the government would only allow those churches that contributed to assemble in a place of believers. People stopped giving and boycotted federally owned companies. Church assemblies were banned, leaving vacant buildings to wither. Those who directly rebelled were convicted of sedition because of their disloyalty and hatred for the government, and for that, they were sentenced to labor farms to rehabilitate, or in this case, brainwashed,” he says.

  “Being of the clergy, we were no longer of value unless we were directly appointed by the federal government, and our presence among the youth was forbidden. The government was afraid that we might be persuasive enough to change your ideology, causing a new rebellion. I had to stay hidden, yet close enough to protect you.

  “This is no longer a free America; it has become a restricted nation that will soon plummet to its demise. Freedom of religion died the day most of this country put their trust in the government and its economical endeavors. No longer can people go to church to worship, so as our Father has taught us many times, I take the church to the people,” says Father Joseph.

  “So, you have been watching over us all these years like … some bird of prey, and we’ve been clueless of your existence? So why come to us now and reveal yourself?” I ask. I feel a slight sense of rejection in my heart toward Father Joseph, yet I feel compelled to restrain my emotions because he kept Gabe and me together. I know it sounds absolutely absurd to think he could have somehow changed the fate of my parents’ death if he was there, the day of the crash. Maybe it could have altered the unfortunate event, but it really doesn’t matter anymore, and I can blame no one for their death. I can’t justify my hasty reaction. My heart slowly succumbs to God’s grace and this ridiculous notion that I feel resentful disappears.

  “On the very day of the car crash, God had spoken to me. I felt so numb after what had happened, especially knowing what your mother had predicted. I could barely hold myself together to believe it, much less understand it. The only thing I remember clinging to that day was the taste of whiskey … and then it happened.”

  “What?” I dare to ask.

  “That very evening, an angel came to me in my dreams and revealed the very purpose of your existence in this world. I was chosen to help fulfill that existence. I was given complete and clear instructions to make sure that you two were not to be separated at any time at all costs, and that on your fifteenth birthday, I would come and deliver the message that God had shared with me to give to you. This vision was meant for your eyes to see,” Father Joseph says with conviction.

  At this point, my anticipation is wearing thin, and patience has become my enemy, and it’s all I can do to keep from screaming.

  Father Joseph looks directly into our eyes with authoritative intentions, and says to us slowly and clearly, “You two were chosen by God.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Gabe has lifted his hands from his face and looks across the room at me. “Chosen to do what?” I attentively ask.

  “Chosen to do His will, to expose the wickedness of this nation and of this world by exterminating the very evil that tempts your heart. You will seek out the one who starves His children from Him and lead those who accept His name as their Father. You were born into this world to help lead the children of God away from evil. Many will follow, but most will deny His existence and die unmercifully.

  “They will be free to make their own choices, but it’s up to you to lead them when they do. He has extended His grace far more than we deserve … and now we must answer. May God have mercy on us all,” Father Joseph mightily states.

  With my back to the wall, I slowly slide down to my bottom and grab my knees tightly. I just stare at Gabe with disbelief. I’ve become numb and speechless to the idea that I’m supposed to do what Father Joseph asks. How can I be chosen for something so inherently pure when I battle my sins on a daily basis? I feel sick to my stomach, and I want to just crawl in a hole and die. After a few minutes of being disconnected to the world, I slowly get up and try to contemplate this lunacy. I’m not sure what’s real anymore, and I’m growing ever-more eager to dismiss this madness. I’ve become less reticent and slightly pissed.

  “I’m not saying I don’t believe you or that my mother had these visions, but listen to what you’re saying. This is absolutely ridiculous. We’re fifteen years old. I know nothing about killing a man, much less thousands. What the hell do we have to offer?” I ask.

  “We’re all born into this world with uncertainty, but each one of us has a fate, and it’s up to you to blindly accept it or not. You two were chosen to do His will, and I have been chosen to make sure you carry out His wrath,” he asserts.

  There is nothing but silence in the air as his words hang heavy. My body is numb, and all I can feel are the little hairs on my arms standing up. I just stand there and wait until my mind stops racing and slows down enough to comprehend what just happened. Just when I think everything in my life begins to settle, I’m pulled into another season of uncertainty. I suddenly feel so void of anything that’s real that I start to subconsciously giggle inside.

  Gabe speaks up. “Assuming you are correct and this vision was purely from God and not your subconscious, why, of all the people in the world, would He choose two ordinary people who can barely get through a day of school without being pushed, punched, ridiculed, snickered at, or made to feel totally invisible?”

  “Why indeed would God choose to do His bidding by empowering common, ordinary, everyday people with supernatural gifts and abilities? Because He is God and everyone has value to Him. It’s what people least expect.”

  “You’re clearly insane, you know,” I simply say, frustrated with this ridiculous conversation.

  “If your mother was here today, would you question her sanity?”

  Now I’m irritated. “My mother is not the issue here.”

  “From what I know of her, I believe she’s more than that.”

  “Then you’ve clearly misinterpreted the message.”

  “I didn’t ask for any of this any more than you did, but I hold true to your mother’s faith. She’s the true reason why you’re here … and deep inside I believe you know that.”

  I move away from his cold stare and briefly disengage from the conversation. I stand there wondering what my mother would say to me right now, as I painfully search for a moment of clarity.

  The truth is, I only came here because of his ties with Finnegan. Anything else is a departure of my better judgment to come here whether or not I dismiss his prophetic claims.

  “I’m only fifteen years old,” I whisper.

  “And David was just a boy, but his courage did not go unnoticed when he challenged Goliath. Why should you be any different?”

  “Maybe because this senseless debate is absolute madness, and you’ve subjected yourself to believe it. The only thing I can take from this conversation is that your sanity is now in question.”

  “I wasn’t expecting you to just simply accept this without a hint of incredulity, but I know your mother taught you better than that.”

  “Has she? And what would you know of that? Were you ever around to see it?” I ask, aggravated now.

  “I didn’t have to, but I knew your mother well enough to know that she stood by her convictions without a hint of hostility. I see so much of her in you, and in that respect, I at least deserve a civil tone from you.”

  I feel dejected. “I, didn’t mean to—”

  “I know,” he says softly. “Arena, I’m not here to hinder you.”

  “Then don’t.”

  “Look, I understand the burdens that you and your brother have had to carry all these years, but eventually you’re going to have to let faith decide your choice to believe or not … your mother had to.”

  “And if I choose not to?”

  “Then humility will decide for you.”

  I suddenly feel a slight sense of guilt shower
over me while I muse over the selfless nature of my mother’s faith. I may have been out of line with Father Joseph, but I just can’t entertain the idea of this conversation … not right now, anyway. “Suppose what you are saying is all true, in a relative sense. How are we to know who is evil, who to forgive, who to lead?” I ask.

  “Call on Him and He will guide you. Listen to Him and He will show you. You will know your enemy, and the time will come when you will have to slaughter him. Those who listen will follow, and God will forgive all who ask.”

  “Did the sixth commandment suddenly divorce your moral conscience? You know, Thou Shalt Not Kill?”

  “There’s no escaping death.”

  “So what the hell are you suggesting—that Gabe and I just pick up a gun and go on some killing spree? Have we not been taught to love one another?” I ask.

  “Indeed. But you two are extraordinary children in extraordinary times, and God Himself has called you to do both,” he says as he clings to his rosary.

  “Children, in the past two years, I’ve seen things so wickedly frightening—the kind of things you only read about in books—that would make your skin crawl from your bones. Believe me, this is very real, and you will soon know it. The world is a wicked place now, and the enemy is out there waiting to devour you like a lion ready to pounce on his prey,” he says.

  “And just how in the hell are we supposed to survive this?” I ask, still unconvinced of this insanity.

  “No man shall kill but by the hand of God, and He has His hand wrapped around yours. Keep your mind clear, meditate on Him, and you shall see for yourself,” he proclaims. His face softens as I stand there and wonder how much validity there is in his words, or if he’s truly crazy. Whether or not I’m privy to his thoughts, my mind struggles to believe any of what he’s saying.

  “If you’re so assured of our safety, then why were you sent here to protect us?” I ask.

  “My part in this is not finished.”