I want to hear the end of the story. I want to read more of the book when
you're done, Phil.

Cecily

-----Original Message-----
From: The Electronic Church [mailto:[log in to unmask]] On
Behalf Of Kathy Du Bois
Sent: Saturday, December 16, 2006 3:40 PM
To: [log in to unmask]
Subject: Re: end Of Time Prologue

Phil,
I know who the prophet is.  Keep writing brother!  Awesome!
Kathy



At 05:23 PM 12/16/2006, you wrote:
>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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