Holy Tsunami! “Chapter One”

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Photo by Tim Marshall on Unsplash

Alisdair leaned into the wind and attempted to squeeze his lean six foot three runner’s body behind the umbrella purchased at the airport. The heavy drizzle coming in off of the North Sea quickly soaked his San Francisco Forty Niner’s ball cap and the fleece lined gray hooded sweatshirt that added bulk to his wiry frame. And as hard as he tried the umbrella wouldn’t find a correct angle to buffer the twenty-knot wind driving the drizzle horizontally into his face. At any moment the umbrella would buckle… and that would fit. Just another dreary moment in a life filled with dreary problems. Fatalistic sapphire blue eyes flashed out from a weather-beaten, old too early, leathery unsmiling face, framed by a high and tight haircut long overdue for a trim. The weather felt like one more opportunity for Murphy to kick him in the stomach. Not to mention the cost of the cab ride from Aberdeen Airport to this godforsaken corner of Scotland. “I left this place just for this reason!” Alisdair thought to himself. Standing next to the Foot Dee war memorial, he stared at the drab grey stone building — at the end of a long line of identical drab grey stone Fittie tract homes — where the family Solicitor Henry Drummond had instructed he meet to discuss the particulars of his inheritance.

 

The driving drizzle made getting bearings difficult, just opening his eyes was painfully difficult. Having done the homework expected of any Recon Marine, Alisdair knew this was a historic district – Fittie or Foot Dee – but, wow this was way out of the way. There behind the monument to the soldiers and sailors of the Allied Forces in World War II flowed the River Dee. Next to the monument was a parking lot for a fancy four-star restaurant half filled with patron’s cars. To the left the restaurant itself and an interesting round tower of a building overlooking the river. The only thing Alisdair couldn’t prepare for was this blasted wind and rain.

 

The sun was out there somewhere behind the wind, rain, and clouds, but it was quickly giving way to the darkening sky and wet slippery shadows as dusk approached. Even with the rain pelting him and soaking the sweatshirt, Alisdair stood and allowed the ambiance of the moment to settle into his mind. “Always get your bearings, no matter where you are dude!” The voice of Master Gunny Jingo echoed across his thoughts.

 

Those thoughts were interrupted by the approach of a vehicle moving to park near the monument. The lights of the sedan shimmering on the wet Aberdeen street while the swooshing sound of the tires caused Alisdair to back towards the monument to allow the vehicle into the parking lot. The movement sparked an urgent desire to be out of the rain.

 

“Best be getting on with this before you get soaked ‘Dair.” Alasdair used the shortened name given him in the Marines and walked across the street to the wrought iron gate just a few feet from the front door of his intended destination. “No lights on…” Alisdair thought, “I hope I got the time correct. Of course, that would be the rule, not the exception. After everything that has happened over the last couple of years, should I expect anything less?” Alisdair stood motionless before the front door and hesitated to knock. Then noticed that the door was open just enough to be noticed. “Not good!” Alisdair froze and the alarms went off, and his body went into adrenaline mode. Sensory feelers from his training went out and muscles tensed. Training is essential to reducing crisis to the smallest components, and this moved Alisdair’s hands and feet as he slowly pushed the door open to allow what light was outside to illuminate what it could of the house. Here in the lee of the wind and rain formed by the house itself, he could hear the water cascading off of the roof and into the small paved yard. Nothing was coming from the inside of the house. It was warm as if someone had been there, but there were no lights, even from the upstairs that rose just off of the front door. Off to the right a living area, nicely appointed with knickknacks and comfortable, lived-in furniture was illuminated by the last light of the approaching dusk.

 

Alisdair stood silent — allowing his eyes to adjust to the darker interior — and tensed for anything that could materialize out of the darkened home. The silence broken only by the talking and frantic running of those that had just parked only a few dozen meters away and now we’re attempting to get to their destination – and out of the drizzling rain – as quickly as possible.

 

Finally – gaining a measure of confidence – Alisdair stepped down the hall towards the back of the house making as little noise as a Recon Marine could make. Towards the back of the home, there was the kitchen, small by American standards, but well organized and extremely clean. Except for the kitchen table tipped on its side and the broken wooden kitchen chair strewn about the floor. And, there in the tile floor of the Back Bay window was an open floor safe. And, to the right of the bay window another door. Only this one was wide open with the rain creating a large running puddle inside the house.

 

Alisdair stepped quickly through the puddle, out the door, and into the small back yard. There were the typical backyard toys. Obviously, there were small children that lived here. A shed was tucked into the northwest side of the yard. And, sticking out of the shed a movement, which looked like a human head rolling back and forth on the rain-soaked ground. Instantly Alisdair ran to the man and found the solicitor Henry Drummond coming out of unconsciousness.

 

Alisdair sat the man up in the shed – he was soaked and bleeding from a nasty wound on top of his head.

 

“Mr. Drummond, what happened? I came to our meeting and found your door open….” Alisdair grabbed an old moving blanket off of the small work shelf in the shed to wrap around the shivering unresponsive man. As the blanket settled around Mr. Drummond’s shoulders, he looked up as if finally hearing Alisdair’s voice.

 

“I – I really don’t know… remember getting your fathers will out of the safe and now here I sit cold and shivery and everything’s spinning around. Is that really you Mr. Robertson? I’d hate to wake up to such a painful reality.” Mr. Drummond lifted his hand to feel the lump on his head and looked up at Alisdair. “Help me into the house. Obviously, I have been robbed. It is time to see what kind of damage has been done.”

 

A noise came from the back door, and Alisdair looked up to see the horrified look of a wife and two middle school kids standing in the open back door. “Henry!” The wife screamed and ran to the shed followed by the two kids. She stopped just short of the scene and looked at Alisdair with suspicion. “And, who might you be?” The wife demanded, not looking at Mr. Drummond.

 

“Stop Gwen, this is the Mr. Robertson that I wanted to have for supper. He’s Arthur Robertson’s eldest. The one that left and went to the States. Augh! Help me up off of the shed floor will you, Alisdair? I need a stiff one and some pain killers for this killer of a headache.” Alisdair picked Henry Drummond up off the floor keeping the man wrapped like a burrito in the blanket.

 

“Henry, that blanket is all full of Sophie’s old hairs from the day we had to put ‘er down. You’ll get them all over the house.” The two kids were slowly backing into the house and now I could see that the lights were on. One of the kids – a boy about thirteen years old – was in a hall closet rummaging in a stack of towels. The other – a girl about eleven – was bent over picking up the remains of the wooden chair used to crack Mr. Drummond over the noggin.

 

“Wendy” Mr. Drummond started when we were near the kitchen. “Please, dear, put those pieces back where you found them. The police are going to want to examine the kitchen. We can’t disturb things here until they are finished. Gwen, did you call them yet?” Mr. Drummond moved very slowly, with quite a bit of shuffling, blanket hugging determination towards the living room. And, it became evident where the man was heading. There near an extremely comfortable leather recliner stood a liquor cabinet. Mr. Drummond reached into the cabinet and came out with a bottle of single malt scotch.

 

Turning to Alisdair and Gwen – who was talking on her cell phone – and held out the bottle as if to say, “I’m going to anesthetize my noggin! Anyone care to join me?”

 

“I’ll have some,” Alisdair replied somewhat curious to see which of the distilleries the bottle came from.

 

Gwen entered the room and grabbed a tumbler for herself and reached into the cabinet for what looked like a bottle of Pappy Van Winkle’s whiskey. Then turned to her husband and said, “The police will be here in about twenty minutes.” She turned to Alisdair and remarked. “One of the perks of living out here in the historical Fittie area.” The sarcasm and bitterness causing shivering Mr. Drummond to wince as he handed Alisdair his tumbler.

 

“I am afraid, Alisdair… can I call you Alisdair… …somehow using formalities at a time like this just seems a bit off kilter. If you catch my drift.” Henry plopped, moving blanket and all into his recliner managing to not spill a drop of his drink. Obviously, a much-practiced move.

 

“Of course Mr. Drummond.” Alisdair moved to a small sofa opposite the fireplace, and Gwen sat in a small overstuffed chair on the other side of the fireplace. “Except that my friends – and I think this kind of thing makes us friends – call me ‘Dair. It’s a Marine thing. Marines are all about shortening things, jobs, and names, anything that can be shortened actually.”

 

“I doubt that is a propensity that is unique to the United States Marines ‘Dair. I did my stint in the Royal Navy. And, I am proud to say that short cuts were my specialty. However, they are not all that helpful in the legal trade. There are just no short cuts when it comes to the law I am afraid. And, to get back to what I was about to say when our names got in the way, whoever broke our kitchen chair over my head it seems has made off with what I needed to share with you tonight.” Henry looked at Gwen, “Did you look inside the safe?”

 

Gwen put her glass down on the small table next to her chair. “No, you told us all to stay out of there Henry. Do you want me to go look…Oh, forget it…I’ll be right back!” Gwen jumped up and quickly headed to the kitchen.

 

“Yes, they cleaned us out, Henry!” Gwen announced as she returned to the living room. “Who would do such a thing? How would anyone even know about our safe? And, Henry what was in there that anyone would want to steal? You did take my mother’s necklace back to the bank safety box like you said you would, correct?” She asked with an “I’m going to add another lump on top of your noggin if you haven’t” look.

 

Alisdair was sitting quietly sipping his scotch watching the husband and wife deal with the trauma of the evening when the Police finally showed up and began investigating the scene, and their forensics team was closely dogged by the two children Eric and Wendy. The evening wore on quickly as the Police work and the Scotch seemed to compact time into a disappearing moment. By the time the police left the night was fully fallen and Gwen had had Straw Hat Pizza – from just down the Esplanade – delivered. And, of course, Gwen would take no excuses or put-offs and Alisdair found himself sleeping in Eric’s room while Eric got to sleep on the short couch in the living room. Tomorrow was looking to be an interesting day.

 

 

 

More than Conquerors!

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Photo by J W on Unsplash

(Derek’s Note: A little detour from posting chapters from “The Lewis List”)

“Shall trouble or hardship or persecution or famine or nakedness or danger or sword? 36 As it is written:

“For your sake, we face death all day long;
    we are considered as sheep to be slaughtered.”[a]

37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons,[b] neither the present nor the future, nor any powers,39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Romans 8: 35 – 39

I have been pondering the meaning behind the above verse 37. I believe that in a previous blog post I mentioned something about being more than a conqueror. But, it occurred to me that there was another aspect to this that needs to be said. 

We are made more than conquerors by the Love of Christ, not through something we do. It’s Jesus in us that keeps us and gives us victory. But, what does it mean to be more than a conqueror? How do you go beyond victory? First of all the description of a conqueror fits Jesus to a “T”. He is the Conqueror! He has brought all of creation to its knees and eventually every knee will bow and tongue will confess that Jesus Christ is Lord of all. 

As a Conqueror, Jesus has the right to do anything He pleases with those He has conquered. He can destroy anyone or anything that stands in His way…that is the prerogative of the victor in a war. Unconditional surrender is demanded; and – as the vanquished – you better pray for mercy. Ancient history documents what happened to the losers of battles in great detail. Slavery, torture, crucifixion, and many other gruesome outcomes awaited those unfortunate to be on the losing end of a conflict. 

To take that a step further, Jesus could snap his fingers and everything would be gone. Much like Thanos in the Marvel movie. The only difference is that there wouldn’t be slowly dissolving dark grey flakes drifting on the breeze. There would just be nothing left. No memories of lives gone by. Just oblivion. That is the right of an Almighty God whose very Word sparked a Universe we cannot see the end of. It brings reality to the term the Fear of God.

But, back to the idea of being MORE than a Conqueror. How do you do more as a Conqueror? Is crushing then erasing the remnants of your vanquished foe’s society and culture, all that is expected? Perhaps, if you are a human conqueror. But, Jesus chose to die on the cross for His MORE. An ALL powerful, All-knowing, Omnipresent God can afford to be compassionate. His perspective allows compassion to guide His conquest. Our God is not a Human that He gets offended when we fail. And, it takes diligent and intentional blasphemy to spark retaliation from Him.

Compassion and Love are the benefits of surrender to an Almighty God. When we allow ourselves to be conquered, we gain a Father, a Savior, and a Promise. 

 

 

 

 

 

The Unseen Substance of Faith

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(Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash)

 

Hebrews 11:1 – 3; “Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen. For by it the elders obtained a good report. Through faith we understand that the worlds were framed by the word of God, so that things which are seen were not made of things which do appear.” 

(Derek’s Note: a Whole lot of speculating going on in this blog post. Right up front; I am not a science guy. I love reading about it and it sparks my imagination. But, I couldn’t calculate my way out of a wet paper bag when it comes to math. So if I make some egregious mistakes in this post. Or, cause you to snicker at my ignorance. Please forgive me and gently correct my enthusiastic speculations. Deal?)

 

People, in general, seem to have a problem with faith and prayer due to the “unseen” nature of both. It seems there is a need to take action when answers to prayer are not forthcoming in a time frame we are comfortable with. The most common – and excellent – response to that problem is the written Word. Because it can be seen.

We are an impatient people. We demand control of our lives and the time we are given. And, when anything messes with that we become undone emotionally and find ways to manipulate our circumstances to fit our goals and dreams. There is a good and a bad way to do that. But, that is not what this blog post is about. That was merely an illustration of the way most of us struggle with God’s timing for our lives. Or, put differently, with the things of the Kingdom of Jesus Christ that require us to exercise faith. Ask yourself what it feels like to be told…or suggested…to “Have Faith! It will all work out in the end!”

In the above verse, it says that Faith is THE substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things unseen. The substance of the Unseen.

Okay, I think most of you reading this are familiar with that verse and probably many have memorized it. But, a connection occurred to me as I was going to sleep that I would like to share with you. Please recognize that I am completely speculating here. Raising an interesting series of questions. 

Lately, I have read a number of articles about how astronomers have begun to discover ways of measuring the mass of the universe. Mathematically, things have not added up. So much so that they have theorized that the bulk of the universe’s mass is made up of what they call, dark matter. Problem is, we can’t see dark matter. It supposedly has mass and has been characterized as the stuff that is propelling the universe outward at speeds beyond that of the speed of light.

Perhaps you see where I am going with all this? Dark matter, the unseen substance of our universe. Powerful enough to push our universe at greater than light speed. Invisible, and yet, holding properties similar to the physical world around us. Could our faith/expectation of God actuate this dark matter? As the “New Creation”, do we have access to the unseen properties of dark matter? Could dark matter be what Peter was walking on when he stepped out of the boat? Is science pointing to a basic realization of the heavenly dimension?

Okay, all my science guys out there. What other events or clues in God’s word can we find that point in this direction. Probably a good reading of Hebrews 11 is in order.

 

 

 

 

Chapter Sixteen The Lewis List: Bletchley Park

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(Derek’s Note: Bletchley Park was purchased in  May 1938 by Admiral Sir Hugh Sinclair, head of the Secret Intelligence Service(SIS or MI6). He bought the mansion and 58 acres (23 ha) of land for £6,000, using his own money after the Government said they did not have the budget to do so, for use by GC&CS and SIS in the event of war. The time frame for the Lewis List is during this period of 1938; the buildup towards World War II.) 

 

Night fell as the Lorries carrying the Lewis List – as they were now calling themselves – drove onto the grounds of Bletchley Park in the midst of a downpour. The lorries passed a huge mansion and pulled up in front of a number of bungalows. William Stephenson exited his Austin with Margaret and was met by a large Viking of a man dressed in oilskins followed by a squad of men equally large carrying umbrellas and blankets. The List was quickly bundled into one of the huts where a number of women – WRENs (Women’s Royal Naval Service) – efficiently separated the men from the women and escorted each to a different hut for the night.

Jackie found himself in a hut with Arthur and Tecumseh; Doc, Sherlock, Challenger, and Bass were in a hut next door. Ronald, Hugo, and Owen had stayed behind as their responsibilities required their presence. The three had agreed to cover for Jackie’s absence at the college. The Mother, Margaret, King George, and William disappeared into the large mansion across the road.

Once the men were settled in their hut, Jack’s professorial curiosity took over…with a nudge from his imagination…and the questions began to flow. The three men talked until after midnight. Arthur and Tecumseh explained the unique nature of the Graal Corporation and the Fellowship of Those that Remain, to Jack. How the Two Witnesses of Revelation were supported by the Fellowship’s activities throughout history. The main purpose of the Fellowship is to document the crimes of Satan throughout the Church Age. That Jesus’s mother…The Mother Mary…was the head of the Fellowship along with a core group of the original disciples who have been alive since the beginning, and that Father God periodically added to the ranks of Those that Remain. That many of the events in history were incorrect as Satan was actively in the process of rewriting history to remove the witness of Jesus Christ from the history books.

Jack sat mesmerized on his cot wrapped in two soft wool blankets and listened without more than a few questions about how all this was possible without the general public knowing about it. Arthur explained that Graal Corporation was as busy as Satan was in the world’s most intense Psy-Ops battle to sway the hearts and minds of the average human being.

Eventually, the events of the day took over and the lights went out and the three men drifted off into sleep.

At exactly 02:00 AM an intensely bright light exploded on the footpath that ran along the road bordering the boundary of the Park, the light moved with amazing speed down the path illuminating the raindrops in excruciating detail and casting dark contrasting shadows across the lawns of the park. As the light moved to a point opposite to the door of Jackie’s hut it stopped and an excited voice shouted, “Wee Hoo! What a Joy! Thanks for the lift, Fred! You are still the best! Just remember to return the bicycle to the Magdalen College dormitory. I am sure there will be a consternated student if you don’t!” A quieter, but equally excited voice said, “Talley-Ho!”, and the light launched off of the footpath and streaked through the trees and rain into the clouds.

As the light receded a short individual wearing a dark grey full length hooded cloak stepped through the hedge bordering the footpath and walked to the door of the hut. The man stood for a moment before the door with an otherworldly shimmer and steam streaming from his shrouded shoulders. He seemed to be whispering to himself. Then out from the cloak, a dark and gnarly staff was produced. Nearly the same height as the man it had a large white moonstone agate embedded into the top of the staff and bronze cap over the business end of the staff. The staff hovered before the door as he considered knocking, but realizing the time decided against it.

A strong but wiry hand reached out and opened the door and with the confidence of familiarity walked down the hall and across the room until he stood over the form of Arthur Mac Aeden.

The man set his staff against the wall and then pulled his cloak off; all in complete silence. The only sounds in the room being the gentle snoring of Tecumseh and C.S. Lewis. Standing over Arthur was an unremarkable senior citizen. He had close-cropped reddish hair with streaks of grey. His ears were the ears of a wrestler and painful to look at. His eyes were large, round and green and set in a round jovial face that looked like a Scottish Fold Cat or a cross between a Barn Owl and a Librarian. He stood over Arthur for a few moments with the look of a Father standing over his sleeping child. But, then a mischievous smile spread across the round cherubic cheeks and he held his rain-soaked cloak over Arthur and began to shake the water off and onto Arthur’s upturned face.

“What the Devil!!” Arthur came off of the cot with all the instincts that a lifetime of one thousand five hundred years can give and found himself face to face with the owlish intruder. Who immediately grabbed his staff and knocked Arthur on the forehead with the agate and said. “Sit down Arthur! I would have thought I had taught you better! In times of war to keep a better watch on the gates! It was altogether too easy to find you and your resting place. Why I could have been one of those devils that Judas himself is breeding in the dark dungeons of Baghdad or even a dragon…if those even still exist. Well, you catch my meaning.” The old man started to knock Arthur on the head again as if to emphasize his point. But, Arthur managed to grab the staff and stave off the knocking.

Tecumseh and Jack sat up in their cots to witness the bettering of Arthur King of England by a man two thirds his size.

“Merlin!? What are you doing here? Why do you always have to sneak up on me like that? And, how in Jesus name did you know to find us here?” Arthur rubbed the small knot that was developing where Merlin had smacked him.

Without answering the questions from his ancient and hereditary king, Merlin stepped over to Tecumseh and held his hand out. “It is a pleasure to see you again Tecumseh. It has been altogether too long. I didn’t get the opportunity last time to tell you how much I admired your brother. I think we would have gotten along quite well. His grasp of what Creator originally wanted for the land was profound. Too bad he was a bit of a hot head, wouldn’t you say? Anyway, I am glad that you are along for this ride, to keep an eye on my young charge here.” Merlin nodded in Arthur’s general direction.

Then he turned and leaned close to Jack’s face. “So you are the writer that Fred and The King of Creation have chosen to lead this enterprise. Pleased to finally meet you.” Merlin stuck his hand out and leaned in even closer and with a conspiratorial whisper he asked, “Any chance you could write me into one of your stories? Would love to get to know Aslan on a face to face basis.”

“You’re Merlin?” Jack asked now fully awake.

“In the flesh as they say in all the classic novels. I’m a big fan, by the way! Have all your books in my library at Baker Street. I hear that The King brought Sherlock Holmes to life. Big Fan, Big Fan! I’m somewhat of a sleuth myself. Kind of helps being a wizard and all. Of course, I only get to use my skills when Jesus allows it. But, that’s not so bad. Next to Jesus, there are not many that I call family. Arthur is one, and my oldest friend. We both came into the Fellowship at about the same time. Jackie, is there anything in this hovel to eat? The RAF give you men anything that could be considered victuals?” Merlin held his staff up over his head and the agate blazed forth with a brilliant and glorious rainbow of colors that played over the walls, beds, and windows allowing Merlin to give a visual once-over to the barracks.

Jack looked over at Tecumseh and recognized a look of awe on his face. But, Arthur’s was more a look of exasperation. Similar to when a parent misbehaves in front of his teenage children when their friends are over for lunch.

“Okay, Grandpa!” Arthur sighed. “Let’s go over to the kitchen and see what the cooks have stashed in the icebox. Not everyone can live without sleep like you can. So let’s go so that these two can get some shut-eye. Shall we?” Arthur finished putting on his boots and held his arm out towards the door in an invitation for Merlin to lead the way. No doubt in his mind that he already knew exactly where to find the kitchen.

Merlin grabbed his cloak and expertly threw it over his head and shoulders. “Oh hey Arthur, do you think they’ve got any Haggis?” He asked as the two of them stepped into the now gentle drizzle.

 

 

 

Chapter Fifteen “The Lewis List”: Darkness and Light!

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Photo by Good Free Photos on Unsplash

 

“That is indeed the case gentlemen,” Mary answered Sherlock and Challenger. “I would expect that considering your own situation as newborn creatures, that it would not be beyond understanding that I could be alive at this end of history?”

The group of men mostly followed the logic of the situation and shook their heads as if they understood The Mother’s logic.

Sherlock, however, was not so fast to just accept the non-explanation. “I would agree with you Madam, except I for one have always maintained that you and your Son are as Mythical as I was Fictional. So regardless of the reality I, Professor Challenger, and Mr. Savage there find ourselves in. I must maintain a certain skepticism. Label me a modern day doubting Thomas if you will. But, I find it difficult to the extreme to admit that I have been wrong all these years about something so important. And, yes, I realize the importance of that decision. I just have never been presented with any cogent facts in a precise and convincing manner to change my mind.”

Sherlock looked at Challenger and Doc as if to say, “Back me up here fella’s”! Then continued

“However – again – considering the mounting evidence. I…Did you feel that?” Sherlock turned to look behind him as if there were someone approaching with ill intent. Doc, Bass, and Challenger all turned as well. Then Joan of Arc began to sing.

Her voice was strong as a trumpet rallying the troops. She stood before the door of the pub with her arms outstretched and her face to the sky. Jack realized that she was singing the 91st Psalm in an archaic style that evoked images in Jack’s mind of nuns and monks chanting in St.Paul’s Cathedral in London. And, for a moment Jack caught a glimpse of an army of dark creatures streaming down the street. Emerging from the ground, and falling from the sky like dark and putrid coals of brimstone. His attention, however, returned to the young woman and the boundaries between the natural and the supernatural continued to blur revealing Joan encased in a circle of brilliant light radiating out from her body in all directions. And, as she sang the words of the psalm exploded out towards the creatures hiding in the darkness.

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say of the Lord, “He is my refuge and my fortress,
my God, in whom I trust.”

Surely he will save you
from the fowler’s snare
and from the deadly pestilence.
He will cover you with his feathers,
and under his wings you will find refuge;
his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.
You will not fear the terror of night,
nor the arrow that flies by day,
nor the pestilence that stalks in the darkness,
nor the plague that destroys at midday.
A thousand may fall at your side,
ten thousand at your right hand,
but it will not come near you.
You will only observe with your eyes
and see the punishment of the wicked.

If you say, “The Lord is my refuge,”
and you make the Most High your dwelling,
no harm will overtake you,
no disaster will come near your tent.
For he will command his angels concerning you
to guard you in all your ways;
they will lift you up in their hands,
so that you will not strike your foot against a stone.
You will tread on the lion and the cobra;
you will trample the great lion and the serpent.

“Because he loves me,” says the Lord, “I will rescue him;
I will protect him, for he acknowledges my name.
He will call on me, and I will answer him;
I will be with him in trouble,
I will deliver him and honor him.
With long life, I will satisfy him
and show him my salvation.”

Joan’s words broke the darkness like a strong wind on a foggy day and a sense of peace fell on the street, and the vision changed to one of panicked creatures fleeing from the angels that now appeared behind the words of light.

The vision ended as quickly as it started.

As the peace came over the street it touched the hearts of everyone standing in front of the pub, leaving Sherlock with a profound sensation. For the first time in his short corporeal life, he was clueless as to how to respond. Looking at Challenger as if he might have an answer, he saw that the professor was as lost as he was. Then they heard the trilling sound and turned to look at Doc. The giant bronze man was looking into the sky with that same rapturous look on his face and realized that the strange whistling or trilling sound that was coming from Doc had been harmonizing with Joan’s song. Challenger then grabbed Sherlock and pointed towards where Tecumseh and King Arthur had been standing near Joan. The two men were kneeling and also had the same looks of reverence on their faces.

Challenger looked at Sherlock and remarked, “It seems there is much more to being a human than what our creator has led us to understand. And, considering the fact that Mr. Bronze statue himself seems to understand this, perhaps we should investigate further. Although, I for one despise having to admit my personal conundrum in the matter of spiritual things. I deplore ignorance in any matter much more.”

But, as Joan sang the last verse – and before Sherlock could answer Challenger’s question – she began to run down the street with the butcher’s knife in her hand raised above her head as if it were a sword, her spirit had drawn her attention to the small man at the end of the street holding a cane over his head and chanting loudly.

Everyone except for the mother and the Inklings ran after the young woman. Surprisingly, Challenger caught the teenager and passed her and shouted, “There on the corner! A decidedly evil looking cretin is attempting to flee! After him gents!”

However, as the group arrived at the corner they found their quarry was gone.

“Quite interesting Savage. Don’t you agree?” Sherlock asked. “The man seems to have simply disappeared. Normally, I would ignore such an illogical suggestion. But, considering today’s events, I am disposed to believe that something supernatural may be the most logical conclusion.”

Doc turned to Sherlock and nodded in agreement. “Hard to come to any other conclusion. As there are not any doors near the corner for the man to disappear into, and there are no vehicles on the street in any direction that are close enough to be considered a likely mode of escape.”

Challenger looked at his partners and just shook his head. “I’ve seen some pretty amazing things in my imaginary life. But, this reality business is not what I had imagined life would be…if I had actually been able to imagine.”

Joan of Arc looked at everyone and waved the Butcher knife in their faces. Her petite face glowing with pure warlike aggression. And, since Challenger’s face was the closest to her own, Joan pressed her face up to his and whispered, “He is Devil…Demon!”

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen the Lewis List: The Cowardice of Evil

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(Photo by JR Korpa on Unsplash)

 

The Tilly drove off down St. Giles street with the two Bosniaks under the watchful eyes of the Section D men passing an innocuous-looking character standing on the street about a block away from the action. A small wizened man dressed as a professor stood leaning on an ornate cane topped with a golden apple. His weathered face, sprouting a wispy gray Fu Manchu beard, held small beady eyes shaded by a bowler hat that watched the Tilly drive by. He seemed to blend into the weathered tan plaster side of the building on the corner. If anyone had noticed the diminutive figure they might have mistaken him for an oriental mannequin escaped from a wax museum. His breathing was shallow and controlled as he chanted a quiet incantation. As he chanted; dark forms appeared in his sight, and a powerful sense of superiority rose up in the man’s soul. The demons obeyed his commands to descend upon the group surrounding the King of England.

Imam Sabri Demir imagined himself standing in the place of sacrifice deep underground at the ancient altar built by the hands of Nimrod himself. The most ancient of evils, conqueror of peoples, the hunter of men. Sabri Demir held to the exultation of Satan. He was an adept of adepts. Master of all the channels to the underworld. The Demons answered his beck and call. Isis, Nut, Athena, Minerva, all answered to him. The end would come and he would rule. The ancient rule would again rise up. Hitler was a tool and he would play him like an instrument of destruction. Himmler was his vehicle.

Himmler had been there at the altar in the ruins of Babylon south of Baghdad when the invocations were performed. Himmler believed the ceremony would guarantee the victory of Hitler’s Aryan Empire. But, Demir was following his master’s design and was dedicating Himmler to Satan’s uses. Legion now was Himmler’s eternal partners.

Thousands of years of ritualistic murder and dedication was coming to its conclusion with the wars that were brewing. It was inevitable. Satan would rule this world forever. His power would never be relinquished to that illegitimate child Jesus. Myths! All of the sacred scriptures were myths. The only true power was that of Lucifer the Brilliant One! Demir could hear the war cries of the demonic horde that he had unleashed on the streets of Oxford. The smell of sulfur and the cries of the dammed mingled with their screams of delight as their imaginations played with the thoughts of destruction and death.

As the chant propelled the demons towards the Eagle and Child, Demir raised his cane over his head in anticipated victory. The King of England would die today and his soul would be Satan’s. His exultation continued to rise up and the desire to sing a song of devastation fought with his intention to remain unseen.

As the demonic horde approached the pub darkness began to overshadow the street and as it did, bystanders who had been watching the proceedings began to disappear into their businesses like people expecting a rainstorm.

Imam Sabri Demir began to laugh as his occult trance began to overtake his desire to remain hidden.

 

 

 

Part of A Conversation with Michael…

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(Derek’s Note: Had a long session in the early morning with The Holy Spirit as He downloaded ideas for my current WIP. This is part of what I received. Please take this as tongue in cheek. It seems the Holy Spirit has a sense of humor.)

Michael the ArchAngel: “Lucifer was my equal in many ways. The most beautiful of all Creator’s creatures. His Music soared through the universe, and we all worshipped along with him.

But, then he lied…

The Creator stripped Lucifer of his great power and left only the lie. Now he is the master of lies, of prevarication, of the grey areas between truths. It’s all he has now. Unless his lies can convince you, humans, to give him your power.

Truthfully, the angels all mock him now. Indeed, his nickname is “Lucy”!

He was given one job to do, the highest honor. He chose to Lie.”

 

 

 

Holy Pollination

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Photo by Zac Durant on Unsplash

(Derek’s Note: Will post another chapter of “The Lewis List” later today)

Yesterday, as I was on my prayer walk, I walked through a part of the street – about two blocks – where the houses all have the same type of tree in their yards. I have no idea what kind of trees these were, but they were all attracting bees.

They were good-sized trees (30 – 40 foot high), and since yesterday was the first day of fall here in Northern California, the leaves are all still green and lush. And, the trees almost formed a tunnel over the street. As I walked into this part of the street, the sound of the bees was profound. It was loud enough to be the only thing I was thinking about…like hearing a jet taking off from a distance. I was fascinated. I could see that they were attracted to what looked like very small flowers at the apex of where the leaves sprouted from the branch, and thousands of tiny brown petals were raining out of the trees and covering the sidewalk and street.

Beyond the fact that this was the end of summer and the beginning of Fall, it seemed strange for bees to be this active pollinating these trees. And, I remember thinking, “Every bee in Butte County has to be here!”

Then The Lord began to speak.

He said that the act of prayer is like pollination. That as I walked the street and prayed for the people living in the homes, I was pollinating them with the hope of Jesus Christ. That just like the bees transferring pollen from flower to flower fertilizing them. As I prayed over the people in those homes, God would begin to move over their lives pollinating their destiny, potentially producing fruit. I may not be the harvester. But, fruit would be produced because someone prayed/pollinated for them.

I was given a vision a few months back that I blogged – “Changing of the Guard…or saving the Prayer Orphans. – about the prayer orphans. That was actually my purpose yesterday, to pray over the prayer orphans. Those families/people that used to have someone to pray for them, but now they don’t, because that person (Grand Parent, Parent, Aunt, Uncle) has passed away. These people are flowers that need their pollination to be finished.

The Lost need Holy Pollen! Without it, fruit won’t be produced for the Kingdom. As we pray we are storing up treasure (Honey) in Heaven. Golden Holy Honey!

 

 

 

 

 

Evil Incarnate

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(By Harald Köster, Bochum, Germany – Own work, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=539611)

(Derek’s Note: The above picture is one of the sites where Heinrich Himmler indoctrinated his SS troops into his ideology. The Wewelsburg was the most important site in Himmler’s pseudo-Germanic religious doctrine.)

 

Chapter Seven

Evil Incarnate

 

Heinrich Himmler held the jewel-encrusted chalice in his left hand, his forearm draped with a red and black trimmed towel depicting a black eagle clutching a black swastika inside round wreath. His adjutant Hermann Gauch followed behind with a tray with five brand new Totenkopfrings. Lined up in front of Himmler stood five of the largest “Aryan” officers Gauch had ever seen. Each of these new officers was hand picked by Gauch himself. Prime specimens, pure Aryan genetic examples of Nordic superiority. And, now each would take the blood oath and vow fealty to the Fuhrer, even unto death. Herman noticed the zeal with which Himmler was imitating the role of a priest in administering the cup of blood for the five initiates. Holding the chalice just so that the initiate’s lips could reach the cup, but not allowing them to grasp it. As each of the initiates leaned forward to sip the blood Himmler would rotate the cup and wipe the cup with the towel. The initiates all towered over Himmler and needed to bend down to the chalice. And, to a man these men kept their eyes fixed on Himmler. Their gaze one of adoration and expectation.

Gauch, watched as each man enthusiastically vowed to give his life in defense of his Fuhrer. The level of fanaticism exhibited on the faces of these men – each so physically similar as to seem brothers – a testament to the efficacy of the indoctrination these men had gone through over the last few years. But, these five were different. They had been selected at an early stage of their development. Each had risen through the ranks of the Hitler–Jugend and their development monitored personally by Gauch. These men were the continuing realization of a dream. The creation of an elite team of assassins within the ranks of the already elite Schutzstaffel called the Einsatzgruppen.

Sitting in the main ceremonial hall against the wall near the huge blazing hearth, were the special invitees for tonight’s ceremony, family members, and party functionaries. Plus, three men, mostly unknown to many in the leadership of the Nazi Party, from Turkey. Standing partially hidden in the rear of the room, they watched intently as the men were given their rings. These three men were Nizari’s. A sect of Islam most considered extinct. But, now reborn amidst the chaos of a coming world war. This ceremony was not so different from their own. The same level of devotion and intensity existed in the eyes of these young men as in the eyes of their troops in Syria.

Herman Gauch had encountered the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem on one of his expeditions to retrieve archaeological artifacts in Iraq. Himmler’s effort to prove the validity of his theories of Aryan history in Eastern Europe and the Middle East resulted in extensive travels for Gauch over the last few years. The Grand Mufti of Jerusalem Amin al-Husseini had prophetically realized the need for the tactics of strategic elimination of his enemies. In essence, the need became apparent for a specialized team of assassins, whom the three in shadows was an example of. Husseini understanding the value of calling upon history to supply inspiration, decided to resurrect the infamous Azeri Ismaili sect early in his tenure as the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem. “Once in Power, Never to relinquish!” Husseini reminded himself every morning at dawn prayers. He intended to not only stay in power but to be the instrument for the removal of every vestige of Jewish influence in his Palestine. Gauch recognized an asset with similar goals as his mentor and boss Heinrich Himmler. Although Husseini had declined the offer to visit Berlin, he had sent the three assassins to Berlin as a gesture of future good relations. These men were led by a man they were calling their Imam; Imam Sabri Demir. The other two – Salah Khan and Hilal Cady – were ethnic Bosniaks, and Imam Demir was a Syrian.

Gauch kept his eyes on the Imam. The Imam seemed an enigma and exhibited a one track anti-semitic mind. The Bosniaks hardly spoke and allowed the Imam to do the communicating. Gauch was impressed by the level of training the three Nazeris exhibited and grateful for the subtle skills of infiltration and quiet death they had taught the Einsatzgruppen trainees. But, still there existed a mutual distrust as the understanding became more and more apparent that only their mutual hatred for the Jews was keeping this alliance together. His thoughts were interrupted by the realization that the Imam was staring back, and as their eyes locked a darkness descended on the fringes of Gauch’s peripheral vision. Darkness with movement, as if there were something behind the darkness. And, a coldness that brought a shiver to Gauch’s already darkened soul.

Imam Sabri Demir held Herman’s gaze and smiled.