A Photo of My Beloved

THE FINAL BATTLE IS ABOUT TO BEGIN

“Picture yourself standing in front of a small, dirty, paint-cracked mirror. The mirror is standing on a shelf not much larger than the mirror itself but large enough for the purpose at hand. About one hour before, you were given your orders to advance to the front line. Your unit has been charged with spearheading an attack on a strategic sector of the enemy’s line of defense. The mission at hand is one you may not return from. You eye the small Blue Key hanging off one corner of the mirror. It gives off a momentary glint as the light from the small bulb behind your head reflects the secret life that is held within it. You reach for the Key and take it from its resting place. This is the Key of obedience. You place it in your shirt pocket and secure the button.

You cast a look at the cheap clock hanging on the wall just behind and a little above the mirror– the hour is almost upon you. The war has been long and costly. Gone are the days when you lugged that weighty rucksack to the front line of battle. It was full of useful but not absolutely-necessary-to-the-battle items. Now you are down to the few remaining, very-dear-to-you things; these barely fill your pockets. You reach in and begin pulling these items out one by one and placing them on the small shelf –your small Bible, a photo of your dearly Beloved, as well as a small, creased and barely recognizable picture of your earthly love. There are a few other pieces, but not enough to half fill the small shelf in front of you.

You were told that you were not to take anything into this battle that may connect you to your previous life. You reach out and set aside all but your Bible and the picture of your dearly Beloved. A small tear enters the corner of your eye and you carefully wipe it away as you place your Bible and the picture of your Beloved back into your pants pocket. Your finger gently touches the small photo of your earthly love as you turn aside and start for the door of your tent.

As you duck your head at the flap of your tent, you feel the cool morning air on your face and shoulders. You pass through the entrance and stand erect to find another commander standing in front of you. Her name is Joan. You are friends, and your relationship goes back to the days of boot camp. She was commanding another unit, but now and again you’d meet, just like on this occasion, right before a major push into enemy territory.  You greet and touch shoulders as you turn and walk out into the gray morning mist which came swirling into camp about one hour before. Its presence gives the atmosphere and your heart a premonition of what is coming. Without thinking, you touch the Key that you placed in your shirt pocket earlier as your mind finds comfort in thoughts of your Beloved.  

At this point, and it always seems to come at this time, a flood of insecurity and vulnerability floods your mind. This before-battle-blues skirmish with the enemy of your mind is one you have fought many times and up till now have always won. So you do as you have done numerous times in the past. You pull out your Key, and in your mind’s eye it morphs into a flaming sword. The fight always begins in your mind first. However, this morning the mind battle seem more fervid, and without warning an enemy’s dart hits you. You feel the presence of your comrade in arms walking beside you, and you wonder if she will be there when you really need her. You shove all disparaging thoughts aside as you set your mind on the Designer and Maker of the Keys. The oft-quoted line soothes your thoughts: The Keys, My Word and I are your vital companions in this Endtime battle. Your mind is directed back to the the mission at hand as you walk on into the awakening dawn.

My loves, the final battle has begun. I have called you out of your tents for the last time. Push from your minds all thoughts that distract you from the mission at hand; this is the last hour. Team up with those that I have led you to. If you are alone, trust Me that you are exactly where I want you to be. Push all lying vanity from your minds. Set you heart in array, for the final stand is before you.

“Those that remain, My Gideon’s band, those whom I call My elites because of the life they live for Me, because of their choice to raise the banner of David even higher, will now take their place at the front of the battle. These little ones are called and chosen to represent the forces of David within My greater army of the End. I tell you plainly: the purging and making white of these called-out ones was the Reboot years from 2010 until the breaking of this covenant. It is done, My loves. Take your places. Those that will remain, those who have chosen their place with the “greater army” or with the world, go now because My Kingdom has just gone into war economy. All efforts are now focused on the front line of battle. The horn has been blown; dash out those camp fires. Take your last bite of camp rations and mount your steeds of the spirit in preparation for My soon arrival. To war beloved. The final battle is about to begin.” (end of prophecy)

Wanderers?

Most people at one time or another have had the conviction (or perhaps only the uneasy sensation) of not feeling quite at home in this world. This happens to you even when you are at home and even when home has all the coziness imaginable. I think everyone knows what I mean. You can come at this experience from two angles: the negative experience we all have of missing out on some important thing that we can’t put our finger on, and the positive experience of feeling that, beyond all reason, something very important waits somewhere for us. The sense of the first is conveyed by Charles Dickens in a letter to a friend: “Why is it,” he wrote at the pinnacle of his career, “that… a sense comes always crushing on me now, when I fall into low spirits, as of one happiness I have missed in life, and one friend and companion I have never made?” And Huxley wrote, “Sooner or later one asks even of Beethoven, even of Shakespeare, `Is that all?‘”

C.S. Lewis described the positive aspect of this desire as well as anyone has. He called it “the inconsolable longing.”

You have never had it. All the things that have ever deeply possessed your soul have been but hints of it–tantalizing glimpses, promises never quite fulfilled, echoes that died away just as they caught your ear. But if it should really become manifest–if there ever came an echo that did not die away but swelled into the sound itself–you would know it. Beyond all possibility of doubt you would say, “Here at last is the thing I was made for.”

The joy of which Lewis speaks is not the joy of fulfillment or satisfaction, but rather the joy of unfulfillment: a glimpse of something farther off, “news from a country we have never visited.” Whatever is there is gone as soon as it is found. Yet it bears down upon us the sense that we are living as exiles. For a moment our amnesia is lifted. Wherever home is, we feel we have not yet found it–and strangely we are glad. (from Christian Digest #6)

“Those that remain, My Gideon’s band, those whom I call My elites because of the life they live for Me, because of their choice to raise the banner of David even higher will now take their place at the front of the battle. These little ones are called and chosen to represent the forces of David within My greater army of the end.”