Wow, Phil, this is great! I'm saving it for the next installment!
Pardon me, friends, for being so far behind! Lotsa stuff going on
here, and I haven't had as much time for my computer as usual.
IN GOD'S PRECIOUS LOVE,
Reeva Parry.
On Saturday 12/16/2006 04:23 PM, Phil Scovell said and sent:
>I have no idea where this book is going but in the last two weeks, ideas
>have been coming to me. I decided I best start writing things down. This
>is not the final prologue of the book but only a first draft. I thought
>some of you might like to read it.
>
>Phil.
> PROLOGUE
>
>The year is 2022
>
>
>
>
> The man entered the cold quiet barn. Early morning light
>dimly illuminated the now century old barn. He wanted to billed
>a new one but he didn't have enough money and permits were never
>granted for such building structures any longer. He had enough
>acres of trees that he and his two boys could use but something
>told him not to cut those fine tall trees down just yet. Life
>had certainly changed. He had grown up on this farms and it had
>been own by his great great grandfather. They owned a full
>section, 620 acres, but the government had tried everything in
>the book to force them out in the last 20 years. So far, the
>Lord had somehow legally out smarted them all. The old barn,
>though, wasn't going to last too much longer. Maybe, he thought,
>he'd be in here working some day and the thing would fall on him
>and he'd be killed.
>
> Locating the bucket, he washed it out and pulled his stool
>over to the first of the two cows he had left. The rest of his
>milking cows had been mysteriously killed and in some most
>unusual and weird ways. He'd read about it for decades, of
>course, and it was generally called cattle mutilation but that
>myth had been exposed years ago. Still, people chose to believe
>it.
>
> He began milking and he sighed as he thought about how much
>he missed church. They were 55 miles from town. all the land
>all the way around him, except for the road right away to the
>highway, was owned by the corporate farms. There were no more
>government subsidies and there hadn't been for many years. It
>was, he knew, the way the government tried squeezing small
>operations out. It had worked, for the most part, too. His
>farm, however, had been free and clear for over 50 years. Now
>his farm only provided for his family. Actually, they lived as
>royalty, as far as farming was concerned, but you could no longer
>buy parts for the farm equipment and thanks to his God given
>skills and his small machine shop, he was able to manufacture
>just about anything needed to keep most of the equipment running.
>
> His mind went back to thinking about church. The building
>had burned, of course, and the pastor killed in the fire. His
>family, and quite a number of church members had been moved to
>the so called debtor's prison because they could no longer pay
>their bills. They were really FEMA camps, of course, which had
>been built before the turn of the century. He had seen pictures
>and privately made movies of the places, even since some of the
>people had been moved into them to live like cattle. Worse,
>actually, and he wondered how long it would be before he and his
>family would be forced into such camps.
>
>
> He was a Christian, and had been born again since about 7
>years of age. He read the Bible every morning and every night
>and he read, and reread, all the theological books, magazines,
>and newsletters and pamphlets he had collected over the years but
>he didn't feel spiritually capable of really spiritually leading
>his own family. He didn't know why he felt that way but he did.
>He sighed again, leaning his forehead about the animal as he
>continued milking.
>
> then he heard the sound and stopped milking. He had heard
>it before but was so used to focusing on his thoughts as he
>milked, his mind had simply ignored the noise. There it was
>again. He didn't like it and sat up straight and cocked his head
>to listen. The third time he recognized it and rose from his
>stool and walked to the ladder leading to the hay loft high over
>head. climbing slowly, he inched his way higher and higher until
>his eyes were barely above the level of hay. He looked around
>but it was pretty dark. He hung on the ladder for a few moments
>until he was positive of the sound's location. He then quietly
>lowered himself, step by step, until he reached the floor again.
>He glanced at his watch to see how much longer it might be before
>more sunlight might filter into the old barn.
>
> Quietly leaving the barn, and completely forgetting about
>the cows, he moved a ladder, laying on the ground, to one end of
>the barn. He had to stand on the second to the top rung to reach
>the rope hanging down but once he did, he was able to unlatch the
>large barn window which they opened when stacking bails of hay.
>It creaked a lot louder than he would have preferred but it
>didn't take him long to completely lower it.
>
> Leaving the ladder against the barn, he reentered the
>building and climbed the ladder to the loft once again. His ears
>registered the sound as it continued repeating itself so he knew
>he was safe.
>
> Again, he lifted his head barely above the level of hay and
>now he could see the mound clearly. He continued his climb and
>carefully edged his way onto the hay. Standing slowly, he walked
>to the mound in one corner of the barn which lay near the now
>opened loft window. The mound of hay was clearly visible and the
>snoring coming from the man under the hay was clearly heard.
>Using his foot, he wished he'd brought his shotgun with him, he
>kicked some of the hay away until a pair of old shoes were
>visible. Moving to the other end, he did the same and a man's
>head appears. An old cowboy hat covered the man's face and he
>ben slowly down and removed the hat and tossed it aside. The
>man, he guess, was at least 70 or 75 and the way his cheeks were
>sunken, he likely hadn't eaten much for awhile. Joe couldn't
>remember the last time somebody had sneaked into his hay loft and
>slept the night away. Strangers just didn't roam around any
>more. Not without getting arrested anyhow.
>
> Remembering his milking, he figured now was as good as any
>and with his food he gently, at first, nudged the sleeping figure
>in the side. The snoring continued. It was loud enough to wake
>the dead, Joe thought. He nudged the man again. Still nothing.
>The snoring confirmed the sleeping figure at least wasn't dead so
>Joe kick him again and this time none too gently. the figure
>stirred. There was some snorting and coughing and then the man
>touched his face and realized his hat was gone. His eyes snapped
>open and stared directly into Joe's eyes.
>
> "Good morning, sir," the elderly man said. His voice was
>calm, showed no fear, and was steady as a rock.
>
> "What are you doing in my barn?" Joe demanded but
>overwhelmed by the beauty of the man's unusual eyes.
>
> "Sleeping, sir. I'm sorry I didn't ask first, but it was
>about 3 o'clock this morning when I got here so I thought it best
>not to disturbed you or your family."
>
> "Get up," Joe barked.
>
> The man obeyed but he was slow. when he finally got to his
>feet, it was with obvious difficulty. "This hay is difficult for
>me to maintain my balance, sir. I'm sorry."
>
> "I don't want drunks sleeping it off in my barn," Joe said
>angrily.
>
> "I'm no drunk, sir," the old man said calmly. "I have never
>had anything to drink in my life."
>
> "Well, then," Joe blustered, "I don't want any bums sleeping
>in my barn either."
>
> "I understand, sir, and I don't blame you. I'll take my
>leave then, unless, of course, you prefer to report me to the
>authorities."
>
> "I may be mean, mister, but I'm not that mean. I just want
>you out of my barn and off my property."
>
> "Understood," the old man said. "One can't be too careful
>these days. I am not stable on my feet, sir. Would you mind
>handing me my hat and cane?"
>
> Joe had noticed the wooden cane laying where the man had
>been sleeping. "Get it yourself," and Joe stepped back several
>paces in order to be certain the old man could not reach him.
>Even then, Joe realized he had no way of protecting himself if
>the man had a weapon hidden in his heavy coat.
>
> The old man nodded his understanding and slowly picked up
>his cane. He hobbled over to his cowboy hat carefully on the
>uneven surface of hay and bent to pick it up but fell. Putting
>the hat on his head, and hanging the crook of his wooden cane on
>his arm, Joe watched as he crawled back to where he had been
>sleeping. Pushing some of the hay back, he pulled a worn Bible
>into the open and with considerable effort, and using his cane to
>assist himself, he got to his feet. It took him three tries.
>
> "Can you make it down the ladder yourself?" Joe said, his
>voice softened.
>
> "Oh, I can make it down, sir, one way or another. Climbing
>up here, I must admit, was easier than going down but even if I
>fall, I'll at least be down." He smiled at Joe then.
>
> "I'll go down before you and help the best I can," and Joe
>headed for the ladder.
>
> "thank you. That is very kind of you," the old man said as
>Joe made his way to the ladder.
>
> "Ok," Joe called up. "Be careful. Take your time. I'll
>steady you as much as I can."
>
> Soon the old man's legs came into view. "I'm going to drop
>my cane down," the old man said, "so I can use both hands."
>
> "Ok," Joe said in reply.
>
> The cane clattered to the barn floor. Joe bent and stood it
>against the wall.
>
> "Drop your Bible down to me, too, and I can hold it for you
>while you come down." He had no idea why he was even helping the
>old man but a man with a bible couldn't be that dangerous. Joe
>then guided the man's feet to each of the rungs as he slowly
>descended.
>
> When he reached the floor, the man was breathing heavily.
>"I fear I would have never made it, sir, without your help.
>Thank you."
>
> "Come on," Joe said without responding to the man's
>kindness, "it's time to go. I'll carry your Bible for now." and
>taking him by the arm, he guided him until they passed through
>where the cows were.
>
> The old man saw the stool and milking pail and stopped.
>"I'm sorry, sir. I must have interrupted your morning milking.
>I apologize. I'll be happy to finish the job for you. It's the
>least I can do for spending the night in your loft."
>
> Joe shook his head. "It's all right. I'll finish it
>myself," but the man's eyes told Joe he was genuinely sincere
>with his offer. "It's all right, I said. I'll finish it.
>There's no need,"
>
> "I may be old, sir, but I can still milk a cow."
>
> Joe shook his head again. "You need to get going. My barn,
>well, my whole farm, is watched."
>
> "Yes," was the single word reply from the elderly man and he
>started walking again.
>
> Once they had made it on to the dirt lane, Joe continued
>holding on to the man's left elbow. Unstable wasn't the word.
>The man could hardly walk even with the use of his cane.
>
> When they were about a hundred feet passed the house, the
>man stopped. "What is it?" Joe said. "I suppose you want some
>food or something?"
>
> The man turned and said, "No, sir. How far is it into town
>from here?"
>
> "Over 50 miles," Joe replied.
>
> "Thank you, sir. I can make it from here. He turned and
>began walking away alone.
>
> Joe watched as the man slowly moved away down the lane with
>his worn Bible under one arm which Joe had handed him. When he
>was about 20 feet away, Joe felt something. He heard it,
>actually, in his head. That had never happened to him before and
>he shook his head to clear it. He heard it again but this time
>it was louder. Joe quickly looked around but saw no one.
>Looking back at the old man slowly making his way with his cane,
>Joe called out. "Stop."
>
> The old man obeyed and slowly turned.
>
> Joe didn't move but just stared at him. "You'll never make
>it to town on your own."
>
> "I can make it, sir. I've made it this far so I can make it
>the rest of the way."
>
> "Where did you come from?" Joe asked softly.
>
> "I came from one of the camps in western Kansas."
>
> "Western Kansas?" Joe spluttered. "That's a thousand miles
>from here. That's impossible," he concluded with finality.
>
> "It isn't impossible, sir," the old man smiled, "because I
>am hear. A little worse for wear, I admit, but I am hear."
>
> "Who are you?" Joe asked; puzzlement clearly in his voice
>and in his mind. The man's eyes were unexplainable.
>
> "My name is William Curtis. Friends just call me Curt."
>
> "What are you doing here?" Joe questioned.
>
> "If I told you, sir, you wouldn't believe me."
>
> "I don't get it," Joe said shaking his head. "You shouldn't
>be here."
>
> "You are correct, sir, so I'm leaving, as requested." then
>the old man looked at his watch.
>
> "Joe noticed it was no cheap watch either.
>
> "In 6 minutes and 44 seconds, sir," the old man continued,
>"a low level orbiting government satellite which covers this part
>of the country will pass over head. The satellite is one of the
>new Keyhole spy satellites, a KH666 models with The computer
>enhancement imagery, GSP location within a 2 foot grid, and the
>infrared detection. It will recognize you, of course, but it
>will recognize me, too, or at least will flag my image as an
>anomaly to this farm. It won't take more than an hour before my
>image is matched. authorities will come looking for me and they
>will start here. I don't think you want that, sir." Turning his
>head and looking down the main road, he turned back. "I have
>enough time, with a minute or so to spare, if I make it to that
>abandon fruit and vegetable stand I see off yonder. That way I
>can wait a couple of minutes to make certain the satellite has
>passed out of range before I continue my journey without being
>spotted. I bid you a good day, sir, and thank you." the old man
>turned and continued hobbling down the farm lane. Joe noticed he
>tried to increase his pace.
>
> "Hey, Mr. Curtis," Joe said loudly when the man was about 30
>yards away, "come back. You won't make it in time. The man kept
>walking as if he hadn't heard. Joe ran to him, touch his elbow,
>and said, "Come on. Let me help you. Let's get to the house.
>We don't have much time." the old man tried to protest but Joe
>refused to accept anything he said.
>
> They stepped up together on the covered back porch and
>stopped. The old man was breathing hard but he glanced at his
>watch quickly. "30 seconds to spare. Thank you Mr. Capps for
>your kindness."
>
> "You're welcome," Joe said but then realized the man used
>his name. "Wait a minute. How do you know my name?"
>
> "I am an acquaintance of one of your friends, Mr. Capps."
>
> "My friends? I don't have any friends any more." Joe said
>resolutely.
>
>
> "John Calvin Richardson," the old man said casually, "is
>still one of your friends.
>
>
> "John?" Joe said puzzled. He's been gone for two years.
>His farm was about 10 miles down the road."
>
> "Yes," the old man replied. "You are correct. He told me
>where your farm was and that is why you found me in your barn. I
>only planned on staying the night and then quickly moving on."
>
> After a moment of silence, Joe said, "Who are you, sir?"
>
> The man smiled. "Again, my friend. If I told you, you
>wouldn't believe it."
>
> "One thing is for sure, Mr. Curtis, you are staying here
>until you get rested up. My wife, Sarah, will make sure you are
>well fed, you can take a hot bath, we'll find you some new
>clothes, and you are welcome to stay as long as you wish. We are
>Christians, too, and out on the lane, I heard a voice in my head
>for the first time in my life. It said you are a prophet. I
>knew it was God speaking to me even though I've never heard his
>voice like that before. So, are you a prophet, sir?"
>
> The old man grinned. "Old Jesus never gives up," and he
>laughed hoarsely. "I don't know what I'd do without him.
>
> In the house, Joe introduced his new friend to his wife.
>She led the old man to a kitchen table and got him some fresh hot
>coffee.
>
> After he began sipping at the good coffee, she said, as she
>sat down across from him with her husband, "I had a dream last
>night Mr. Curtis."
>
> "Please, Sarah. Just call me Curt. All my friends do"
>
> "Ok," she smiled. "Curt, I had a dream last night."
>
> William waited.
>
> "I think you know the interpretation."
>
> "I do?" he smiled back.
>
> "You do. I dreamed a prophet came to our home today."
>
> William laughed. "There he goes again."
>
> "Sir?" she said.
>
> "I don't know what you believe, Sarah, but I am a prophet.
>Not by choice mind you, but then again, Jesus normally doesn't
>give His servants a choice in what they want to do. Tell me more
>about your dream," he encouraged.
>
> "There wasn't much to it," she said, after getting up and
>pouring two more cups of coffee for she and her husband and
>warming up the new comer's. "I was sitting at this here kitchen
>table in my dream, my husband brought an older man in with a
>cane, and told me he found him sleeping in the barn. In my
>dream, I saw a man in the barn holding a Bible."
>
> "Don't say another word," Joe spoke. "I forgot. I've got
>to run out and milk those cows right now but I don't want to miss
>a single word. You two just chit chat and I'll be back as soon
>as I can."
>
> "Please, Joe," the prophet said, "allow me to assist you."
>
> Joe shook his head. Looking at his wife, Joe said, "You get
>him in the bathtub, put some new underwear and socks out for him,
>he might need help pulling his socks on, and put on some new
>overalls. Get that pair with all those extra pockets I like so
>well. He'll need them eventually. I'll be right back," and with
>that, he was gone.
>
> When he returned, his wife was cooking at the wood burning
>stove, Mr. Curtis was seated at the table drinking another cup of
>black coffee and reading his opened Bible, and Joe came in
>smelling like cows, according to his wife.
>
> "Is that true, Mr. Curtis," Joe asked, "do I really smell
>like cows?"
>
> The man looked up and smiled. "It beats me, Joe. I lost my
>sense of smell 20 years ago."
>
> Joe noticed how different the man looked. He didn't look as
>old as he thought at first. Plus, after his bath, or shower he
>had taken, his thin face was clean and his hair, which was mostly
>white, and seriously thinning, all made him look much better.
>Joe said as much.
>
> "thank you, Joe," he replied. "I feel about the best I've
>felt in many weeks. Your wife has been quite helpful. That bath
>was like Heaven. I feel rejuvenated and like a young man again."
>
> "Those overalls look good on you, too," Joe laughed.
>
> "I like them. Never wore them in my life but I sure like
>them and having this many extra pockets is wonderful, too."
>
> "Good, Mr. Curtis."
>
> "Please, Joe. I know I'm old but just call me Curt."
>
>
> "Ok, Curt. I'll try and remember to do just that. I'm
>going to wash up first. then I'll come and get some coffee and
>we can talk for awhile. I want to hear more after what my wife
>said concerning her dream."
>
> "That'll be fine, Joe. I enjoy the conversation.
>
> Moments later, Joe returned, poured a hot cup and sat across
>from the older man.
>
> "About how old are you, Curt, if you don't mind me asking."
>
> "I don't mind at all. I'm 70 years old. I was born in
>early 1952 in Iowa. Never lived on a farm but my father preached
>in lots of farming communities that never could afford a full
>time pastor. So most Sundays, we went with him and spent the
>afternoons on farms."
>
> "Great," Joe responded. "I thought you sort of look like a
>farmer," he said. "So, you're about 70 years of age, sir?"
>
> Curt nodded.
>
> They drank more coffee in silence for a couple of minutes
>and then Joe said, Curt, what are you doing out hear? I know you
>said I wouldn't believe it but after what my wife said about her
>dream, I have no choice but to believe what you say."
>
> "Well, Joe, I'm heading for a FEMA camp in Montana. At
>least, that's where the Lord told me to go."
>
> "Boy, William," Joe said with amazement, "that's still a
>long piece from here."
>
> "It surely is, Joe, but it won't take me that long."
>
> "I don't understand," Joe said confused.
>
> "It's hard to explain," he said, "but easy to understand.
>I'll explain later," Curt concluded.
>
> "Ok," Joe replied but he didn't understand what the man was
>talking about.
>
> "If you don't mind me saying so, Curt," Joe continued, "your
>eyes are the most unique color of blue I have ever seen."
>
> Curt laughed. everybody says that, Joe. The truth is, I
>was totally blind nearly all my life. Just before the one world
>government started to take over all over the planet, I
>experienced a miracle. My eyes were artificial and one day, when
>I was praying, my artificial eyes fell out and I had brand new
>eyes. My eyes were brown as a kid but I had prayed and asked God
>for blue eyes and this is what I got. The Holy Spirit told me
>this color of blue has never been on earth before. That is why
>they seem so unusual to you, I suspect."
>
> The two men heard a crash and turned to look. Sarah had
>dropped a pan on the way to the sink. She turned and faced the
>two men. "That was part of my dream last night. I dreamed you'd
>have blue eyes and that you would tell that exact same story and
>a voice said that would be the way I would know that you had been
>sent from the Lord to us."
>
> William smiled and made a move to get up and try and pick up
>her dropped pan.
>
> "No, no," she said, "you stay right there, Mr. Curtis. I
>can get it.
>
> Joe finally closed his mouth. "You are right. that is hard
>to believe. No wonder you didn't want to tell me."
>
> "Joe, I cannot prove what I said but let me show you
>something." From around his neck, William removed a chain with
>two objects dangling from the end. He reached half way across
>the table and placed the necklace in front of Joe. "Look at
>these, Joe."
>
> Joe picked up the necklace and held it up. His eyes
>widened. "Well, I'll be," he explained with a hush.
>
> His wife hurried over and stood next to her husband. "It's
>true," she whispered and fell into a chair.
>
> "these are your artificial eyes?" Joe questioned.
>
> Curt nodded.
>
> Joe handed them back. After a moment to collect his
>thoughts, Joe said, "I think, Curt, you better tell us the rest
>of the story. I have a feeling we need to know."
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