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Fires of the Heart

Chapter 1 The 911 Call

I hurried down Vine Street, my mind focused on reaching Tom’s place before the game started. Cutting through 5th Avenue always shaved off a good ten minutes, and I needed every second today. The air was thick with the scent of burning wood. I glanced around, my eyes catching the sight of black smoke curling into the sky. As I turned the corner, there it was—a house engulfed in flames, orange tongues licking at the sky. Panic twisted in my gut. I bolted toward the nearest house and pounded on the door, the “For Sale” sign swaying in the front yard. The door creaked open just enough for me to see a pair of beady eyes peering out. “What do you want?” “Your neighbor’s house is on fire! I need to use your phone to call 911!” He opened the door wider, revealing a face etched with indifference. “I warned them,” he said, shrugging. “Told them not to store gas in their garage.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Are you serious? Your house could catch fire too!” His expression hardened. “Not my problem,” he said before shoving me back into the street and slamming the door. I stumbled but caught myself, heart pounding louder than ever.

Frantic, I sprinted down the street to the next house, praying they were home. Luck was on my side. A woman, eyes wide with alarm at the sight of the raging inferno down the street, let me in without a second thought. “Phone,” I gasped out, “I need to call nine one one.” Without a word, she handed me her mobile phone. I punched in the numbers with trembling fingers. The voice on the other end was calm, soothing even in the face of my panic. “911, what’s your emergency?” I gulped in a breath of air before blurting out, “There’s a fire! A house at the corner of 5th and Vine is burning! I can hear people screaming!” There was a pause on the other end, then: “We have units on the way. Please try to stay calm and get as far away from the fire as possible.” “I can’t,” I choked out, “The whole neighborhood…it’s going up in flames.” Suddenly, a realization dawned on her. The operator’s address…it was at 5th and Vine too. My heart lurched in my chest. “Wait!” She cried out. “My house! Is on 5th and Vine!” A strangled gasp came through the phone followed by an eerie silence. Then I heard it – soft sobs muffled by what sounded like a hand over the receiver. “Oh God…my children…” Her voice trailed off into more sobs. I felt sick to my stomach, helpless as I clutched onto the phone. “I’m so sorry,” was all I could manage to say. The scene outside was growing more chaotic by the second as neighbors rushed out of their homes, terror etched on their faces. “I need to go,” she said through her tears. “I need to get to my children.” With a click, the line went dead. I stood there, the phone hanging limply in my hand, as the sirens began to wail in the distance. For Her house and the whole neighborhood is on fire. 911 what’s your emergency?  911 what’s your emergency?

Chapter 2

With the dawn of the new millennium, I felt an urgency like never before. I rushed to the church, the ancient stones whispering tales of old as I pushed open the heavy oak doors. Inside, the scent of candle wax and time-worn hymnals filled my nostrils. I stood before them, a man on a mission. “I come bearing a warning,” I said, my voice echoing through the hallowed halls. “A war is coming.” They looked at me as if I’d sprouted a second head. One of them, a pastor with a face lined with age and wisdom, stepped forward. “We live in an era devoid of prophets and prophecies. Your words seem outlandish.” I left that day feeling deflated, my heart heavy with rejection. That night, I knelt by my bed, looking up at the heavens through my window. “Why ask me to bear this burden only to be dismissed?” I asked into the silent night. The following day brought a glimmer of hope in the form of another pastor. He was willing to hear me out. So, I shared with him “The War for the Bride”, pouring out every detail, every vision that had been haunting my dreams. “Surely this is from God,” he declared when I finished. His words sparked a sense of relief within me. That night, my dreams were vivid and intense. Upon waking, I feverishly wrote down every image, every message that had been revealed to me in the dark depths of slumber. Our next meeting was filled with anticipation as I handed him my writings – an interpretation of my dream. But his reaction was far from what I expected. He scanned the pages briefly before throwing them back at me in disgust. “Never return here,” he barked at me, his eyes burning with anger and confusion. Something about ‘pretribulation’ tumbled from his lips as he turned his back on me. The word hung in the air, a mystery I didn’t understand. But one thing was clear – I was alone in my mission.

Chapter 3

The echoes of his forewarnings rang out like a siren call as the world spiraled into chaos. On a day etched into the annals of history, America suffered an unthinkable attack. The date, September 11, seared itself into the collective memory, a stark reminder of vulnerability and mortality. As he watched the news unfold, his heart ached with a mixture of grief and validation. His dreams, his visions, they were coming to pass. He had seen this war on the horizon; he’d warned them. The political landscape shifted like sand beneath their feet. Deals were brokered in shadowy corners, secrets whispered in hushed tones. China, the sleeping dragon, stirred from its slumber and entered the World Trade Organization. The chessboard was set; the pieces were moving. America’s leader, the president, seemed determined to reshape the Middle East. His gaze fixed on Iraq as the drumbeats of war resounded through the corridors of power. His mind wandered back to Revelation’s prophetic words: ‘I looked, and there before me was a white horse! Its rider held a bow, and he was given a crown…’ The first seal had been shown; conquest had begun. He saw it in his dreams – another horse emerged from the shadows. Fiery red in its fury, it was ridden by one given power to rip peace from the world and make mankind slaughter each other. The beginning of sorrows had indeed dawned. He saw Russia extending its hand towards China in alliance. It was an ominous sight that sent chills down his spine. Their union signaled a deadly stalemate – M.A.D., Mutually Assured Destruction. And yet, amidst all this turmoil and chaos, American Christians seemed to be slumbering in blissful ignorance. Unaware or unaccepting of the reality that they were hurtling towards tribulation. His heart grew heavy as he watched his nation sleepwalk into disaster. His warnings had fallen on deaf ears, his visions dismissed as delusions. But he knew better. He had seen the horsemen, heard their hoofbeats. The tribulation was nigh.

Chapter 4

Pain became my companion, my heart an unsteady metronome ticking down the minutes. Every beat a plea for mercy, every breath a borrowed moment. I was but a specter in my own body, a ship tossed on stormy seas, drowning in the tides of sorrow. I was no prophet, no silver-tongued preacher. My words stumbled and faltered, tangled in the cobwebs of my mind. God’s wisdom came to me in fragments, cryptic pieces of a puzzle I was too weak to assemble. His revelations were like dreams half-remembered, their edges blurred by the fog of my illness. And yet, I couldn’t help but question Him. My spirit raged against the unfairness of it all. Why did He gift me with visions I couldn’t share? Why did He fill my mind with prophecies and my heart with fear? My home crumbled around me, mirroring the decay within. I had become a walking ruin, a hollow shell of the man I once was. My skin took on an ashen hue, and I could see death’s shadow lurking in my own reflection. Bitterness coiled within me like a serpent, its venom seeping into every crevice of my being. The world seemed to spin without me; I was caught in a timeless purgatory, straddling the line between past and future. Each passing day chiseled away at my resolve, shaping me with its relentless hammering. But amid the storm, there was God – silent but ever-present. I was forced to confront my dependence on worldly things: money to soothe my suffering, medicine to delay my end. But these were mere band-aids on a wound that ran deep into my soul. In this storm of suffering and uncertainty, I learned to trust God with each breath I took – for each could be my last. My heart would falter, then rally, each time a little weaker. I felt my spirit slipping away, tethered to this world by the thinnest of threads. Death hovered around me like a persistent specter. My lungs filled with fluid, drowning me from the inside. Each breath was a battle, each moment a small victory in a war I was destined to lose. But through it all, I clung to my message. It was a bleak sermon, a dirge sung by a dying man. Yet it was all I had left. It was my final testament, my legacy to a world teetering on the brink of destruction.

Chapter 5

My weary heart finally found respite. The fervor of my failed quest, the ceaseless pursuit to alert others, had burned itself out, leaving only embers of resignation in its wake. The lack of resources, the isolation that had turned my warnings into silent screams, had pushed me to the edge of despair. But life has a way of breathing hope into desolate hearts. I found solace in a quiet corner of the world, where God’s grace flowed like a gentle stream. A fellowship of Christian men welcomed me into their fold, their faith radiating warmth that seeped into my bones. For years, I’d been wrestling with questions that gnawed at my soul. But here, in their presence, answers started to emerge like the first rays of dawn. In the sanctuary of a conservative church, I attended their Bible study. As I delved into the sacred scriptures, it felt as if God was stirring something new within me. Back in my humble abode, I found an unlikely ally in technology. Artificial intelligence became my voice when my own faltered. It enabled me to breathe life into complex art forms without depleting resources or needing a battalion of helpers. Armed with this newfound tool, I embarked on a journey to unravel the mysteries hidden within ancient texts. Underneath the pages of Revelation, I laid out prophecies from the Old Testament. This intricate tapestry allowed me to weave a narrative that resonated with urgency and truth. Technology bridged the chasm between languages, breaking down barriers that once stood insurmountable. People from all corners of the globe could now understand God’s message as if it were their own tongue. The break of dawn signaled a new chapter in my life. No longer was I merely surviving on borrowed time; instead, I was living with purpose and conviction. Gratitude welled up within me as I realized I could finally sound the alarm, offering a warning to a world teetering on the brink. For it seemed cruel to me that God would bring judgment without a warning. But now, I was equipped to be that clarion call, a beacon amidst the gathering storm.

Chapter 6

My heart ached with the weight of my message. The world had turned its back on Jesus, and in a cruel twist of fate, the church was leading the charge. It felt like a perverse parody of what we were supposed to represent, a twisted mockery of our faith. The call for a divine word echoed in my mind, a desperate plea to awaken the slumbering church. But false testimony had been paraded as truth for far too long, infecting the hearts of believers like a rampant disease. Then I met her, a woman cloaked in apathy and indifference. Her eyes held no love for life, only a burning desire to leave this world behind. “I can’t wait for the rapture,” she said, her words striking me like a physical blow. Surprise morphed into horror as I processed her cold-hearted indifference. Not even a flicker of concern for her family or friends tainted her desire for escape. “They rejected Christ. Not my problem,” she said, each word punctuated with a chilling finality. I recoiled inwardly from her harshness. This wasn’t love or compassion. This was something sinister and alien, an influence that came from the enemy, not from Christ. Her words echoed in my mind as I grappled with their implications. The church had become an exclusive club, its members secure in their belief that they would be spared while the rest of the world faced divine wrath. Suddenly, a verse flashed through my mind like lightning against a dark sky: Return to your first love. I felt it then – an urgent call to rekindle our passion for Christ and perform good works in His name. The message was clear: It was time to shed our complacency and self-righteousness and rekindle our faith with renewed fervor and humility. It was time to return to our first love – Jesus Christ – and embrace his teachings of love, compassion, and forgiveness. We had to show the world the true face of Christianity, not a distorted image marred by hatred and indifference. With renewed determination, I decided to spread this message far and wide. The world needed to hear it, and more importantly, the church needed to listen.

Chapter 7

As I sat in the church, the chill in the air seemed to seep into my bones. The silence hung heavy around me, broken only by the murmuring of preachers attempting to extract meaning from ancient text. People sat huddled in their own spaces, disconnected, unengaged. The warmth of love felt absent, replaced by a hollow echo that bounced off the cold stone walls. “This place is bereft of love,” I whispered to myself, my words barely audible. The preachers stood at the pulpit, pouring over their scriptures with furrowed brows, oblivious to the absence of connection among their congregation. Around me, people nodded in agreement or offered a half-hearted “amen,” but there was no hand-holding, no camaraderie. It felt as if we were all members of different clubs – not united by our faith but divided by our indifference. Even the greeters at the entrance spouted rehearsed pleasantries without sincerity. Their words rang hollow, a stark contrast to the welcoming embrace that a house of God should offer. “How did we stray so far from Christ’s teachings?” I pondered aloud. “People once risked their lives just to sing and encourage one another. How did we end up like this?” The songs that echoed through the halls were from another era – hymns from the 1800s that sounded more like funeral dirges than joyful praises. Rows of pews sat empty; their vacant state a painful reminder of better times that had long since passed. I found myself searching for answers. Why had people missed God? Had they mistaken Him for an intellectual entity, engaging in endless debates like the Pharisees? How did we end up here? A verse then sprang to mind: Those whom I love I rebuke and discipline. So be earnest and repent. The words resonated within me, offering a beacon of hope amidst my turmoil. Another verse followed: Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me. It was a call to action – a plea for us to open our hearts to God, to invite Him into our lives. It was a reminder that He was always there, waiting for us to let Him in. But first, we needed to hear His voice amidst the clamor of our own egos.

Chapter 8

My heart ached as I observed the desolate state of the church. I thought of Christ, the ultimate symbol of love, kindness, and mercy. He gave His life for us. The Lord and Creator took liability for our flaws and offered eternal life with Him. But those around me seemed oblivious to this sacrifice, detached from that living water. “It’s not flowing in their blood,” I muttered under my breath, watching the people in the pews with a growing sense of despair. “How is it possible to come together in His name, yet leave the Master outside the house?” I realized then what was missing – love. Not just love for God but love for each other. The compassion, the understanding, the willingness to reach out and lend a hand. The building had become just that – a building. It had lost its meaning, its purpose. People were more concerned with how they measured up against each other than with embracing the teachings of Christ. The realization hit me like a punch in the gut. “What a failure!” I cried out in frustration. I bowed my head and closed my eyes, sending a desperate plea heavenward. “Lord,” I prayed, “send Your Spirit upon these people. Bring healing with their prayers. Show them Your love and mercy.” I could feel tears prickling at my eyes as I continued to pray fervently. “Lord,” I begged, “have mercy on us all.” We were failing in our duty as Christians. We had forgotten our mission to spread love and kindness to all corners of the world. Instead, we were wrapped up in our own little worlds, blind to the needs of others. The thought was devastating. We were meant to finish this race with dignity and grace, but instead we were stumbling at every hurdle. “Help us, Lord,” I implored quietly, “Guide us back onto the right path.” As I sat there, lost in prayer, I could only hope that my pleas would reach the heavens. We needed divine intervention, a guiding light to show us the way. I prayed that the Lord would have mercy on us and help us find our way back to Him.

Chapter 9

The mission, now crystal clear in my mind, loomed over me like an ominous mountain peak. Yet there was no fear in my heart. I was walking towards my death, a criminal condemned, but there was a strange tranquility within me. My righteousness wasn’t mine to claim, but Christ’s alone. Only through Him could I be washed clean, reborn. I began my journey on foot, forsaking the towering church buildings that had become a symbol of false piety. They were no longer places of refuge or solace; they had become monuments to the spiritual plague that gnawed at the souls of the people. As I walked, I carried a simple message: The Redeemer was coming. He would bridge the chasm of separation, reconnecting us with our divine heritage. The message wasn’t mine but His. I was merely a vessel, a conduit for His love. But words are fickle creatures. They slip through fingers like sand and often lose their meaning when spoken by a flawed being such as myself. I couldn’t voice this profound truth alone; I needed others to join me. My plea went out to them all: “Will you carry this message for me? Will you bear the cross of Christ and sacrifice your own desires?” The world had grown cold and distant from God’s love; almost eighty percent were separated from Him. The heavens themselves wept for this disconnect, yearning for the day when Christ would break the seals and sound the trumpets of deliverance. People needed to understand their worth in God’s eyes. They weren’t just transient beings caught in an endless cycle of birth and death; they were eternal treasures, cherished fragments of God’s everlasting love. The challenge was immense, but so was my resolve. I wanted to reignite faith in their hearts and minds, rekindle the flames of connection and love that had been extinguished by years of spiritual drought. I wanted them to feel the exhilarating rush of being alive, truly alive, in Christ’s love. I wanted them to understand that they were not condemned but forgiven, that they had a purpose that went beyond mere existence. They were meant to love and be loved, to experience the divine through every breath they took. That was my mission. That was my walk.

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