“Sometimes things are too good to be true,” Bubba stated, adding, “But you wish they were. You become so desensitized and unphased by the pain, anguish, and evil around you that you are stunned when a glimmer of hope appears. You may even dismiss the prospect of hope. Take for instance the following chain of events. Did they happen? Would you like them to happen? How would you react?”
Desmond Costner was a grease monkey at Garrett’s Garage and Gas Station for thirty-seven years. He stopped voting in elections when his hard-nosed candidate lost even after claiming the election was rigged. He growled at customers, co-workers, people at the grocery store, and waitresses at the diner. The only thing he was happy with and supported was his own opinions of everything that was wrong “’cuz there ain’t nothin’ right in this world” as he bluntly put it. That attitude was turned upside down when he listened to his car radio as he drove home from work last Saturday night.
“This is Herb Wallman at ZCDF with a Breaking News Story from the Middle East. We have heard radio broadcasts from Jerusalem, Israel of a monumental peace accord reached today with delegations from the West Bank of Palestine, Damascus in Syria, Amman in Jordan, Baghdad in Iraq, and Tehran in Iran. Qatar and Saudi Arabia acted as intermediators to finalize the accord which will go into effect in two weeks. Ground and air defense systems are being dismantled.”
“It is ridiculous for us to hate and kill each other. Nothing good can come from it,” Israel’s Prime Minister Herz said.
“Yes, we are children of the same God,” agreed Syrian President Assa-ri in a joint news conference.
Iran’s President Khamane added, “We have all spent so much time hating and fighting when we should have been working together for the common good.”
“This is Herb Wallman at ZCDF with another Breaking News Story. Stay tuned for further developments.”
Desmond pulled his truck into his carport, walked inside, and got a beer from the fridge. He flopped down on his old recliner and said to no one, “I don’t believe it! Thems people have hated each other since Day One. Why change now?”
***
General Mpho Keita dropped his spoon into his soup and yelled, “Who is there? Who interrupts my meal?”
His aide Ndiaye bolted into the room with his pistol drawn. “What is it, my General?”
The self-appointed ruler of the Union of African Kingdoms screamed, “Someone was talking in this room without my permission! Find him and execute him!”
Ndiaye looked around as he replied, “Sire, you are the only one in this room and I guarded the door from without so you would not be disturbed. No one entered.”
“You lie! Bring Osei to me!”
Ndiaye found Osei under a marula tree drawing in the dirt. “Osei, your Master requires you. Please come.”
The old shaman continued examining the marula fruit in the center of his drawing as he said, “Yes, I know. His evil days are numbered. I have seen it in these fruits that turned black instead of yellow. I also heard the voice from above as he did. Let us go to him for the last time.”
As they entered the Imperial Office of General Mpho Keita, they heard, “Get out, Ndiaye, and close the door behind you.
“You summoned me,” Osei said flatly.
Keita strode back and forth, hitting his leg and tall boots with a riding crop. “Something happened while I ate lunch. I heard a voice – a very emphatic voice – order me to release all prisoners and open all the food storage lockers to feed the people. Can you imagine the unmitigated gall – the absolute impudence – of anyone to say that to me? I have ordered Ndiaye to capture this traitor and execute him on the spot!”
“How may I be of service, sir?”
“Who could have said these things to me? Who?”
“He has many names. In Nigeria, he is called Ondo. In Swaziland, his name is Mkulumncandi. He is also called, Mwari, Akongo, Akuj, Yala, and many more. The common name is ‘God.’”
“Why did God talk to me?”
“I assume it had something to do with his orders about prisoners and food, but there may be more.”
Keita slumped into his throne-line chair. “He said he would have more to tell me soon and I should be eager to hear what he says.”
“Eager?”
“Yes, that is what he said. Eager,” the general slowly said.
“Interesting choice of words.”
“Osei, I am frightened,” Keita responded with a quiver in his voice.
“Perhaps you should be.”
***
Edna Whipple spent half of every day on the Internet reading stories, playing games, and buying things she would never use and would probably return in 30 days. She scanned through news stories and then stopped. What she read made her eyes widen as she learned of a developing reconciliation between two countries who had hated each other for 80 years! The DMZ between North and South Korea was being dismantled including the Joint Security Area at Panmunjom that was erected in 1953. “Well, I’ll be damned,” she whispered.
Pictures showed soldiers of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea (North Korea) laughing and sharing cigarettes with soldiers of the Republic of Korea (South Korea) at checkpoints on the Korean Demilitarized Zone along the 38th parallel north. Soldiers and peasants mingled in the Peace Village sharing food with people from the north. No papers are required for people crossing freely what had been a zone of death to see long-lost relatives.
At the bottom of the Internet report was an additional note to stay tuned for further updates and developments.
“This must be real. It’s on the Internet!” she exclaimed.
***
Texas Border Patrol Supervisor Marcos Ybarra drove beside the fence line on the Rio Grande River northwest of Laredo. He had been cruising the border searching for illegal immigrants for over an hour when he stopped. He used his binoculars to scan the Texas side of the border, the Mexican side of the border, and the river itself. He saw nothing.
He was passing the Camino Colombia Toll Bridge which was usually busy this time of day. The area was also a “soft underbelly” for illegal crossing into Texas and he usually arrested three or four people here. Today he saw nothing.
He returned to the toll bridge and spoke with Jamie Hernandez in the office. “How’s your day going?” Ybarra asked. The answer stunned him.
“We usually see 500 to 600 cars and trucks by this time of the day. We’ve been drinking coffee, reading the newspaper, and playing games on our phones. Not one vehicle has passed headed north or south. Zero. Nada. Cero. Zilch.”
“Well, don’t feel like the Lone Ranger. I have seen no activity along the river.”
“What’s happening?”
The local radio station interrupted the music with a brief report. “Here’s a news flash that we can’t verify. There are reports of no illegal immigrants pushing across the Texas border anywhere along the border from Brownsville to El Paso! In fact, no one is there at all on either side of the river! One push of migrants turned around and headed back to their homelands! Stay tuned for further developments.”
***
The White House Situation Room resembled organized chaos. Aides were running from phone to phone. Military specialists were glued to computer screens. NSA and CIA analysts were huddled asking each other questions without answering anything. President Elizabeth Tanner sat patiently watching each group try to find the answers to this crisis. She sipped her coffee and remained silent until Vice President Jon Cooker ran in and changed the channel on one of the screens. “WPBH Channel 2 has something new to add to the mystery!”
The screen flickered and then showed the image of Arthur Wishmeyer, WPBH’s most respected journalist. “Our most reliable sources are reporting that most or all political prisoners are being released in Russia, China, Palestine, and Israel. We have gathered independent reports in China, Saudi Arabia, Syria, Israel, Japan, and Russia. They all explain similar stories of these releases but offer no reasons why these extraordinary actions are happening. At this time, none of the stories can be verified. Please stay tuned for further developments.”
As the Vice President turned the monitor off, FBI Director Gomez said, “Madame President, we have received dozens of reports of thousands of guns being surrendered at police stations across our country.”
“Are the reports true?” President Tanner asked with growing concern in her eyes. “What cities are the sources for these stories?”
“We can’t find one verified report. It’s as if the report was never made in the first place.”
“I cannot and will not accept that! I want verification if you have to call every police department in the country! I want a thorough investigation and I want results like yesterday!” President Tanner announced. “Jon Cooker, you are now in charge of this joint effort with the FBI, CIA, DNI, Joint Chiefs, DOD, DIA, and any other alphabet group that will help you identify the source and meaning of these stories.”
“Yes, Madame President. What about the Senate and the House?”
“They couldn’t find their butts with both hands and a roadmap. We’ll send them a postcard. Now get to it!”
FBI Director Gomez said, “Madame President, is it possible that this is some sort of hoax?”
“No. Not on this grand scale,” President Tanner replied quickly.
“Then who is spreading these stories? And why?” Gomez asked rhetorically.
Vice President Cooker said softly for all to hear, “Maybe God is telling us.”
***
Reverend Albert Pinchner had a small church in Austin, Texas. His non-denominational congregation was 40% black, 45% Hispanic, 15% white, and 100% poor. They barely kept the church doors open. Donations were scant, the roof leaked, and Pinchner was losing hope. Then Martha Goolsby trotted in yelling “Hallelujah!” and “Praise Be!” Martha was the church pianist, song leader, and Pinchner’s aide-de-camp.
“Ms. Goolsby, what has you in such a joyous mood today?” Pinchner asked with an astonished smile.
“He spoke to me this morning while I ate my bowl of cereal!”
“Who spoke to you?”
“God spoke to me! Hallelujah!”
Pinchner was riveted where he stood and carefully continued, “Did He appear before you? Did you see Him?”
“He spoke through my radio on the counter. It was not even turned on, because it don’t work no more!”
Her bipolar medication is acting up again like last year, Pinchner thought to himself. “And what did God say to you? Is it something you can share with me?”
“He told me something wondrous will happen very soon! He said I should listen to Him when I least expect it. He said you should listen too.”
“Tell me what His voice sounded like!” Pinchner said to draw more information from her.
“He sounded like … well, He sounded like … I can’t describe it. It was soothing yet firm, commanding yet without any malice. I never felt threatened. I felt I was loved,” Martha said as tears flowed down her face.
Pinchner felt his mind awaken, his spirits seemed lifted. For the first time in months, he felt a sense of hope.
***
“Wake up, Dmitri!” Viktoriya Alekseev pleaded with her sleeping husband. “I just had a terrifying dream!”
“Huh? What?” Dimitri stirred under the blanket. “Oh, it’s you, Viktoriya,” he grumbled as he looked at his watch. “Lenin’s dog, Viktoriya! It is 2:15 in the morning! Why did you wake me up!” He sat up in bed, put his glasses on, and turned on the lamp on the side table. He turned to see the ashen face of his wife. Her eyes were as wide as possible with tears on her cheeks.
With a heaving chest, she announced, “God just woke me up with a message!”
Dimitri grimaced and said, “You drank too much Divnomore Cabernet last night. Go back to sleep, my Kotᴎk,” he said as he rolled over and pulled the covers over his head.
She reached into a drawer and retrieved a Russian Orthodox three-beam slanted cross. She kissed it and held it to her chest as she said, “God told me He is coming to eliminate hunger and poverty. I recognized His voice.”
Dimitri exhaled and sat up. “Viktoriya, how did you know it was the voice of God? Do you talk with him frequently?”
“I remember His voice when my mother died. It was an unforgettable voice,” she replied softly as she swayed from side to side. “He is coming.”
“Did he say when?”
“Soon. He told me to stay vigilant as more will be revealed,” she murmured reverently. “Soon.”
“Now?” Dimitri yelled. “It’s the middle of the night!”
***
There were thousands and thousands of similar stories in all languages and every country across the world that day. By nightfall, the planet was hushed. By dawn, every person quietly awaited the next personal message.
They prayed and waited – staying tuned for further developments.