Chapter 1
Abigail Speaks
My first memory is of being in my mother’s arms in a cold and fast-moving river. I was not afraid. It was not until many years later that I remembered the rest of that sunny and peaceful day and the man called John the Baptist.
My next memory was not so pleasant.
I was partly running and partly being dragged through dark streets in a city, my desperate father’s hand on my wrist like a vise. Everything was shaking us to the ground over and over and the buildings were falling all around us. I was crushed, kicked, and stumbled upon by other runners oblivious to my presence. The sweet smell of fear and the terrifying roar from a thousand throats made me numb. Soon, I smelled smoke.
Suddenly, I sensed there were no buildings on the left as we veered sharply over the rubble and scaled a low wall. We fell onto the muddy bank of a canal. My father protected my body by taking the brunt of the fall; however, the relief from the intense noise and confusion was short lived as many of the crowd followed us, trampling and stomping in their mad fury. As we splashed into the cold water of the canal, my father shouted for me to get on his back and hold on tight.
Other swimmers kept pushing our heads under in order to stay on top of the pile of bodies, but we broke out of the clutching melee. Those around us lost strength and gradually drowned one by one until we were floating silently in the utter darkness as the cries and chaos of the city faded away. My father was on his back, and I was sprawled on his chest shivering violently under his protective arm.
I began to hear the sea beat against the shore, and soon we were spit out onto slimy rocks. I do not know how many times we fell as he fought for purchase with my limp body flung over his shoulder. We felt our way to a ledge on the cliff and both of us rested and cried for a time. For my part, it was relief from the cold suffering and fear, and that we had made it out alive. For my father, it was also profound sadness, as he understood a great and blameless man had just been tortured and killed. It would be months on dusty roads, hunger tearing at our guts, before my father understood the full implications of the death of Jesus the Nazarene.
Again, it was only later that I was able to place that event into some historical context: the death of the Messiah after He was crucified. Yes, I remember that long ago event. I remember running and hiding and my dear earthly father’s look of resignation before they took his head. For whatever reason, I was preserved through what is now called The Great Tribulation. One night, years later, as a woman in my forties, I heard joyful shouts and trumpets and saw Our Lord and Savior coming in the sky, bright as day, surrounded by clouds.
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First and Second Jubilees
The Kingdom was officially established. Even though the first hundred years or so were spent cleaning up after the Judgment and finding accommodations for the survivors. They still managed to set some time aside to celebrate the first fifty-year Jubilee. By the time the second Jubilee came along the government was established and fairly well organized with the Resurrected Saints overseeing government bodies.
