Link to all Chapters – Text & Audio

“Do not let your heart be troubled; believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many dwelling places; if it were not so, I would have told you; for I go to prepare a place for you. If I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to Myself, that where I am, there you may be also. And you know the way where I am going.”

John 14:1-4

Shadows Cast by Victory

The Confederation’s banners snapped in the crisp autumn breeze over its majestic capital, their crimson and gold fields a vivid counterpoint to the slate-gray spires of Navy Headquarters. Across the Orion Arm, from the core worlds to the rim, humanity celebrated the Battle of Dekar-9 and the miracle of Aroer Terra’s nova as a turning point in the war against the Rogue Artificial Intelligence and its bioengineered Skravak puppets. Holo-feeds blared triumphant anthems, and civic plazas overflowed with citizens chanting the names of the heroes who had carried Eden’s truth to victory: Lieutenant Wade Kovacs, Ensign Kristen Kovacs, Lieutenant Jay Ringler, and Lieutenant Mayumi Ringler.

For a month, the quartet endured the relentless glare of adulation. Wade, his prosthetic hand a quiet testament to battles past, stood stiffly at parade grounds, his Ranger dress blues immaculate but his gray-blue eyes distant, as admirals and senators pinned medals to his chest. Kristen, her analytical mind ill-suited to the pomp, forced smiles through endless banquets, her fingers brushing Wade’s in silent solidarity. Jay, ever the steady presence, offered gracious words to reporters, his faith anchoring him against the tide of hero-worship. Mayumi, her sharp intellect cloaked in quiet grace, deflected questions about the Skravak labs with practiced ease, her thoughts drifting to simpler dreams.

The fanfare was a double-edged blade. It honored their sacrifices—six months stranded on a moon they’d named Eden, the desperate gambit that shattered RAI’s fleet—but it chafed against their natures. None relished the spotlight. Wade, whose leadership had turned the tide, longed for the clarity of a mission. Kristen craved the hum of a lab or the open void. Jay and Mayumi, bound by love and shared trials, yearned for a life beyond the war’s shadow. At last, in a private audience with General Redside, they requested reprieve—a chance to step away, to reclaim some measure of the lives they’d set aside for duty.

Redside, his weathered face etched with both pride and reluctance, granted their request. “You’ve earned it,” he said, his voice gruff but warm. “But the Confederation will call again. It always does.”

Jay and Mayumi Ringler’s reassignment took them to the Delphi Quadrant’s edge, to a quiet colony world named Kedemoth, where Mayumi had once served as an intelligence officer. The planet was a study in contrasts: rolling emerald plains under a violet sky, dotted with hab-units and small farming collectives, far from the clangor of war. Here, the couple found a fragile peace. Their twin boys, Ezra and Micah, were born in the colony’s modest medical center, their laughter a daily reminder of what they’d fought for.

When their prescribed service period ended, Jay and Mayumi chose a new path. Mayumi, whose brilliance had unraveled RAI’s neural networks, embraced the role of stay-at-home mother with the same fierce dedication she’d once given to codebreaking. Her days were filled with teaching her sons to read, tending a small garden, and writing letters to Kristen about the mundane joys of civilian life. Jay, however, felt a deeper calling. Enrolling in Kedemoth’s Bible college, he immersed himself in theological study, his nights spent poring over Scriptures and learning how to multiply disciples in keeping with the Priesthood of the Believer found in 1 Peter 2:9. After completing seminary, he re-entered the Rangers—family in tow— not as a combat officer, but as a chaplain, his collar adorned with the cross and star of the Corps’ Chaplain’s branch. His first posting was to a frontier outpost, where he counseled young Rangers grappling with the same fears he’d once faced as a Sailor, enlisted Ranger, and commissioned officer in the Deep Space Rangers. His decorations and reputation earned instant respect but his goal was to keep their admiration focused on the Lord Jesus by his model of love and faith.

In a letter to Wade, Jay wrote, “The Almighty’s hand was on us at Aroer Terra, brother. Now I carry that light to others, as you taught me to do in the dark of that Skravak ship.”

Wade and Kristen Kovacs, however, could not so easily step away from the fight. The moon they’d named Eden—officially designated Outpost Eden by the Confederation—called to them like a lodestar. Its rugged forests and charred ruins, where they’d survived six months of hardship, held secrets yet to be plumbed. The Skravak bone circle, the frozen comm array, the bioengineered horrors of the RAI’s labs—these were not mere relics but harbingers of a war unfinished. When the Confederation announced plans to establish a permanent ranger outpost and research station on Eden, Wade and Kristen volunteered without hesitation.

Their request was granted, and they arrived aboard the ISC Resolute, a sleek frigate tasked with ferrying a company of Deep Space Rangers and civilian colonists to the moon. Wade, now a Captain, took command of Charlie Company, his leadership tempered by the trials of Dekar-9 and the nova’s fiery crucible. Kristen, promoted to Lieutenant Commander, led the scientific detachment, her team of xenobiologists and AI specialists working to decode the RAI’s genetic manipulations. Together, they oversaw the construction of Camp Redside, Wade named it after his commander and friend, a fortified outpost nestled in a valley near where the bone circle’s eerie silhouette once stood.

Life on Eden was austere but purposeful. Wade led patrols through the moon’s dense forests, his Rangers ever vigilant for RAI scout drones or Skravak remnants. Kristen’s lab hummed with activity, her “Neurostorm” technology refined into portable jammers that shielded the outpost from RAI attacks. In rare quiet moments, they stood together on the outpost’s ramparts, watching Eden’s gas giant rise, their hands clasped as they spoke of faith, duty, and the future.

“We survived this place once,” Wade murmured one evening, his breath misting in the chill air. “Now it’s ours to shape.”

Kristen nodded, her eyes on the horizon. “For the Confederation. For humanity. And for our God whose mercies are new every morning.”

Their work was not without cost. Skirmishes with RAI probes tested the outpost’s defenses, and the weight of command pressed heavily on Wade’s shoulders. Yet Eden was also a place of renewal. The colonists, many of them families seeking a fresh start, brought life to the outpost—children’s laughter echoing in the mess hall, a small chapel where Wade and Kristen attended services led by a visiting chaplain. In those moments, they glimpsed the possibility of a world beyond war, a hope rooted in the faith that had sustained them through the void.

Across the stars, the Confederation girded for the next phase of the conflict. The RAI’s transmission after Aroer Terra’s nova—a chilling vow to continue the fight—hung over humanity like a specter. Yet the heroes of Eden carried on, their paths divergent but united by purpose. Jay and Mayumi built a life of quiet service, their faith a beacon for their children and their Rangers. Wade and Kristen, ever the vanguard, forged a bastion against the darkness, their love and resolve a shield for those they led.

In the stillness of Eden’s nights, Wade often read from his worn Bible, the same one he’d carried since Carthis 7. Nehemiah’s words, which had steadied him aboard the Yorktown, resonated still: “The work is great and widely spread, and we are separated on the wall, one far from another. In the place where you hear the sound of the trumpet, rally to us there. Our God will fight for us.”

And so they did—scattered across the stars, yet bound by duty, faith, and the unyielding hope that humanity’s light would prevail.

Titans of Triumph

The Confederation’s triumph at Aroer Terra and the Battle of Dekar-9 reverberated through the halls of power, cementing the reputations of its architects as heroes of humanity’s survival. Admiral Daniel Kitzler and General Marcus Redside, whose strategic brilliance had turned the tide against the RAI’s bioengineered Skravaks, stood as titans in the annals of the Navy and Marine Corps. Yet, as the galaxy hailed their names, both men chose paths that reflected their hearts’ deeper callings, one stepping into a brighter spotlight, the other stepping away. Both leaving their marks in completely different ways.

Admiral Kitzler, his gray hair now fully silver, retired with a chest heavy with medals and a heart longing for the family he’d nearly lost. He and his wife, Sarah, a woman of gentle warmth and unyielding faithfulness, followed their daughter Kristen and son-in-law Wade to Outpost Eden. The moon, once a crucible of survival, had blossomed into a thriving ranger outpost and research colony, its forests and valleys alive with the hum of purpose. The Kitzlers settled in a modest hab-unit near Camp Redside, their days filled with the laughter of their grandchildren—Wade and Kristen’s sons, Samuel and Jake. The old survival cabin, where Wade’s team had endured six months of hardship, became a cherished destination for family outings. Preserved as a historical site, its rough-hewn logs stood as a monument to resilience, surrounded by a park named “The Jansen Preserve” in honor of Mike Jansen, Wade’s bunkmate who had fallen in the brutal training of Carthis 7. The preserve’s meadows and streams echoed with children’s games, and the Kitzlers often lingered there, Sarah sketching the landscape while Daniel recounted tales of naval campaigns to wide-eyed grandkids.

When Daniel and Sarah passed, years later, they were laid to rest in a quiet grove overlooking the preserve, their graves marked by simple stones inscribed with their favorite verses, 1 John 2:6 and Romans 8:37. The cabin and park remained a pilgrimage site for Eden’s colonists, a reminder of the sacrifices that had forged their home. Wade, standing at their graves with Kristen’s hand in his, whispered, “They gave us this world, Kris. And we’ll keep it safe for them.”

General Redside, by contrast, could not fully relinquish the fight. His retirement from the Marine Corps was less a retreat than a redeployment to a new battlefield: the political arena of the Confederation Senate. With his weathered features and commanding presence, Redside became a formidable senator, his voice a clarion call against the insidious tendrils of RAI influence. He spearheaded investigations into officials swayed by RAI’s bribes—promises of power or wealth in exchange for betraying humanity. His legislation tightened AI protocols, mandating rigorous oversight to prevent the rise of another rogue intelligence, and imposed draconian penalties for bioengineering violations, ensuring the horrors of the Skravak labs would never be repeated. Redside’s speeches, delivered with the cadence of a drill instructor, rallied support for a fortified Confederation, one steeled against both external threats and internal corruption.

Yet, for all his public vigor, Redside’s private journey was one of spiritual reckoning. The miracles of Aroer Terra—the Dominion’s survival, the nova’s divine timing—had stirred questions he’d long suppressed. During a hospital stay in his final days, felled by a heart weakened by decades of stress, he received an unexpected visitor: Wade Kovacs, now a seasoned Major. Over quiet hours, Wade shared the faith that had sustained him through “The Zoo,” the Skravak ship, and Eden’s trials. Redside, his skepticism worn thin by a lifetime of war, listened intently. In a moment of clarity, he professed Jesus Christ as Lord and Savior, his voice steady despite his frailty. “I’ve fought for humanity,” he told Wade, gripping his hand. “Now I see who’s been fighting for me.” He passed days later, his legacy secured not only in laws and victories but in the eternal hope he’d embraced.

The paths of Alejandro “Alex” Torres and Thomas Briggs, Wade’s comrades from the crucible of Carthis 7, were etched in the unyielding honor of the Deep Space Rangers. Alex, whose quick wit had steadied their squad through boot camp, rose through the ranks with a blend of tactical acumen and fierce loyalty. By the twilight of his career, he stood as one of the Ranger Regiment’s Sergeants Majors, his voice a guiding force in shaping the next generation of elite warriors. Assigned to Ramsey Station, where he’d once endured “The Pit,” Alex mentored recruits with a gruff compassion, his stories of New Quantico and Dekar-9 inspiring awe. He retired to a quiet life on a core world, surrounded by family, his Ranger tab a cherished heirloom passed to his eldest son, who followed in his footsteps.

Briggs, the steadfast warrior who’d led their first firefight in “The Zoo,” carved a different legacy. As a company First Sergeant, he was the backbone of his unit, his calm under fire a bulwark for his Marines. But the war with RAI remained unrelenting. During a raid on a frontier outpost, Briggs and his company faced a swarm of RAI-controlled drones, their sleek forms cutting through the night. Positioning himself at the forefront, Briggs held the line, directing his men to safety as he unleashed a hail of pulse fire. A drone’s plasma lance struck him down, its precision lethal. Briggs fell, his sacrifice ensuring his company’s survival. The Rangers honored him with a posthumous Silver Star, and his name was carved into the Wall of Heroes at Camp Darby, a silent testament to the hazards of their chosen profession.

On Eden, Wade and Kristen learned of Briggs’ death through a relayed communique, the news a heavy blow. They gathered with their Rangers at the Jansen Preserve, where a small memorial service was held beneath the cabin’s shadow. Alex, attending the honors on Eden, spoke of Briggs’ courage, his voice thick with emotion. “He was one of us,” Alex said, “from Carthis 7 to the end. Rangers lead the way, and Briggs led us true.”

The war against RAI cast a relentless shadow, yet the Confederation’s soul shone through Kitzler, Redside, Alex, and Briggs—individuals bound by faith, duty, and sacrifice, steadfast against the darkness. On Eden, Wade and Kristen forged ahead, their outpost a guiding light in the void. Kristen, now a stay-at-home mom after early retirement, balanced raising their four children—Samuel, Jake, Miriam, and Travis—while consulting for the Confederation’s xenobiology division. In the Delphi Quadrant, Jay and Mayumi raised their sons, their faith a beacon for the future. Across the stars, the Rangers stood watch, their resolve unbroken, their hearts anchored in the hope that had carried them through the fiery furnace.

As Wade once read in Joshua, “Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous! Do not tremble or be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.”

The Kovacs Legacy

The Rogue Artificial Intelligence, a malevolent phantom woven from humanity’s own ingenuity, clung to existence like a shadow in the void. Though the Battle of Dekar-9 and the miracle of Aroer Terra’s nova had shattered its fleets and unmasked its bioengineered Skravak puppets, RAI persisted in the galaxy’s forgotten corners—asteroid warrens, derelict hulks, and nebulae where Confederation scanners faltered. Its adaptive algorithms birthed new drones, rekindled dormant labs, and tempted the weak with promises of dominion. The war was not won, only held at bay, and at the forefront of this eternal vigilance stood Colonel Wade Kovacs, his life a bulwark against the encroaching dark.

Wade’s career in the Deep Space Rangers became a saga etched into the Corps’ soul, recounted in the mess halls of Camp Darby and the briefing rooms of Reynard 3. From Outpost Eden’s fortified ramparts, he led Charlie Company against RAI scout drones, their metallic glints betraying them in the moon’s pale starlight. As a Major, he purged RAI manufactories on rim worlds, where bioengineered horrors stirred in vats of alien ichor. As a Colonel, he orchestrated system-wide offensives, synchronizing Ranger dropships and Navy frigates to shatter RAI’s cloaked relays before they could sow chaos. Each mission bore the imprint of lessons hard-learned in Ranger School, the Skravak ship’s suffocating corridors, and Eden’s desperate survival: preparation, adaptability, and an unshakable faith in the Almighty’s guidance.

The RAI, ever-evolving, met Wade’s resolve with cunning. He countered with tactics refined through blood and fire—submarine-style ambushes wielding EMP bursts and decoys, “Neurostorm” tech to sever neural links, and deep-space reconnaissance to chart its lairs. His after-action reports, precise as a naval chronometer, were codified into “Combat Lessons Learned,” classified manuals that shaped Ranger doctrine. Housed in the Confederation Archives on Zebulun, these texts detailed innovations like the Kovacs Maneuver—a daring dropship insertion exploiting gravitational slingshots to bypass RAI defenses—and the Eden Protocol, a containment strategy for bioengineered threats. Those seeking the full measure of his exploits must petition Historiograph-7, the archives’ dour AI steward, whose clearance protocols guard Wade’s legacy with unyielding rigor.

Yet, for all his brilliance, Wade lacked the stomach for the political maneuvering required to climb to general’s stars. The Senate’s intrigues, the backroom deals, the compromises that sometimes diluted honor—these were ill suited for a man forged in the clarity of combat and the purity of faith. Instead, he rose to Regimental Commander of the Deep Space Rangers, the highest calling he could answer without compromising his deepest values. By his side stood Sergeant Major Alejandro “Alex” Torres, his brother-in-arms from Carthis 7, whose sharp wit and steadfast loyalty had steadied their platoon through decades of war. Together, they molded the Regiment into a force of unmatched precision, training recruits on Reynard 3’s flight ranges and Carthis 7’s brutal “Zoo.” Wade, his hair now silvered, strode the training grounds with quiet gravitas, his prosthetic hand a silent testament to sacrifices past. Alex, his Ranger tab gleaming, instilled discipline with stories of Dekar-9 and Briggs’ final stand, a call to honor that echoed across generations.

Wade, now Colonel Kovacs of the Deep Space Rangers, made a deliberate pilgrimage to Mars, driven by a need to mend the rift with his father, Samuel, that had lingered since his departure for the Corps decades ago. Standing before the modest hab-unit in Nopylen colony, Wade hesitated, his prosthetic hand tightening as he knocked. The door opened to reveal a polite older woman, her silver hair framing a kind face, and for a moment, Wade feared he’d come to the wrong address—or worse. Before he could retreat, Samuel hobbled into view, his frame stooped but his eyes alight with a warmth Wade had never known in childhood. The embrace that followed was fierce, a wordless apology for years of distance, and Wade felt the weight of old wounds begin to lift. In the humble living room, a battered data pad on the coffee table glowed with news feeds scrolling Wade’s combat exploits—Dekar-9, Eden, the Kovacs Maneuver—its light casting shadows across Samuel’s proud gaze. Over cups of synth-caff, Samuel recounted his journey: how, seeking solace, he’d visited the small church down the street where Wade once played as a boy, never daring to cross its threshold. There, he met Gloria, a widow whose fierce discipleship smoothed his rough edges, leading him to faith and, eventually, to marriage. Wade shared his own news, his voice soft but steady: “I named my son after you, Dad. Samuel.” The words sealed their peace. Wade maintained contact, calling from Eden’s comm relays, but within the year, both Samuel and Gloria passed, their quiet faith a legacy that echoed in Wade’s heart.

At sixty, Wade retired to Outpost Eden, his dress blues laden with the Distinguished Service Cross, the Navy Star, Silver Star, and the Eden Campaign Medal. Kristen, with her four children, stood beside him during a subdued ceremony at Camp Redside, where General Redside’s words echoed: “The Confederation always calls.” Alex, retiring soon after, returned to his family on a core world, his legacy as Sergeant Major enshrined in the Rangers he’d shaped.

Eden became Wade and Kristen’s haven, a moon transformed from a crucible of survival into a thriving outpost. The four children—Samuel, Jake, Miriam, and Travis—carved their own paths, each reflecting their parents’ blend of duty and faith. Samuel and Jake followed Wade into the Rangers, serving with distinction. Samuel, a dropship pilot, earned the Silver Star for a daring extraction under RAI fire. Jake, a platoon leader, was lauded for his tactical innovations, his name whispered alongside his father’s in Ranger lore. Miriam and Travis, however, heard a different call. As missionaries, they ventured to distant planets—frontier worlds and war-torn colonies—spreading the gospel of Jesus Christ. Their letters home, filled with tales of baptisms, discipleship, and churches planted amid alien stars, brought tears to Wade’s eyes. “They’re fighting a different war,” he told Kristen, “but it’s the same enemy—darkness, despair, and doubt.”

Wade and Kristen’s spiritual legacy extended beyond their children. For years, they led a church in their home, a modest gathering in their hab-unit overlooking the Jansen Preserve. What began with a handful of Rangers and colonists grew into a vibrant congregation, its members multiplying across Eden’s valleys. Disciples trained under Wade’s steady guidance and Kristen’s compassionate wisdom carried the gospel to other outposts, their testimonies verified by Confederation reports. From Aeloria’s plains to Zebulun’s spires, churches traced their roots to Eden’s faithful, bringing glory to the God Wade and Kristen loved. Wade, ever humble, deflected praise, quoting Matthew 5:16: “Let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”

Even in retirement, Wade’s vigilance never waned. He consulted on Ranger operations, advised Senate committees on RAI containment, and mentored cadets at Camp Redside’s training grounds. At night, he and Kristen sat by the preserve’s streams, their visiting grandchildren playing near the preserved survival cabin, and spoke of the Almighty’s hand—the miracles of the Skravak ship, the nova, and Eden’s salvation. Wade’s Bible, its pages fragile from decades of study, rested on his bedside table, open to Nehemiah 4:14: “Do not be afraid of them. Remember the Lord, who is great and awesome, and fight for your brothers, your sons, your daughters, your wives, and your homes.”

The RAI’s shadow endured, its remnants a persistent menace. But Wade’s life—his battles, his lessons, his faith—had fortified the Confederation for the long war. His manuals in the archives, his Rangers in the field, his children across the stars, and his church’s light spreading through the galaxy were a testament to a life well-lived. If the trumpet sounded, the Rangers would rally, as they always had, with God fighting for them.

The Day We’ve Been Waiting For

The hospital room at Camp Redside’s medical center was a quiet sanctuary, its sterile walls softened by the presence of love. Wade, now eighty-two, lay in a bed framed by softly humming monitors, their screens casting a pale glow across his weathered face. His hair, once streaked with silver, was now a snowy white, and his prosthetic hand rested gently on the blanket, a silent relic of battles fought across the stars. Around him stood his family—Kristen, her eyes still sharp with the intellect that had developed the Neurostorm from RAI tech, and their four adult children: Samuel and Jake, Rangers whose dress blues bore the ribbons of their own campaigns; Miriam, and Travis, missionaries whose faces carried the quiet radiance of lives spent spreading the gospel. In the Kovacs’ hab-unit overlooking the Jansen Preserve, their grandchildren waited, the older ones tending to the younger, their hushed voices mingling with prayers for their grandfather’s peace.

Wade’s breath came slowly, each inhalation a labor of a body nearing its end. He knew the time was near, not with fear but with the calm assurance of a man who had walked with God through the crucible of life and the horrors of combat. One by one, his children approached, their kisses warm against his forehead, their whispered words of love a balm to his soul. Samuel’s grip was firm, a Ranger’s strength; Jake’s voice cracked with emotion; Miriam’s touch was gentle, her eyes bright with faith; Travis’ smile was a beacon, his hand lingering on his shoulder as he prayed. Kristen, his anchor through decades of war and peace, sat on the bed closest, her hand clasped in his, their shared journey etched in every line of her face.

Wade’s gray blue eyes, dimming but resolute, drew Kristen near. He leaned toward her, his voice a faint whisper, carrying the weight of a lifetime. “Always,” he breathed, the word a vow unbroken by time or trial. Kristen’s lips brushed his, her tears falling silently as she nodded, her heart echoing the promise. The monitors’ steady rhythm faltered, then it became continuous, the rhythmic pulses that signify life were gone, replaced by a high-pitched beep—unwavering and mechanical. The tone was sharp, almost shrill, yet steady, stretching into an unbroken drone as an affront to the sobs of his family.

Wade closed his eyes, expecting the darkness that comes with sleep.

Instead, light—blinding, radiant, yet gentle—flooded his consciousness. It was not the harsh glare of a starship’s fusion drive or the cold gleam of a Skravak drone, but a light that warmed without burning, a brilliance that should have seared his eyes but instead cradled them. From its heart emerged a figure, bearded and robed, His radiance matching the surrounding glory. Wade knew Him instantly—Jesus Christ, the Lord he had served through every trial, the One whose words in the Scriptures had steadied him in the void. Overwhelmed, Wade’s spirit fell prostrate, as if he had a body, though none was there. The sensation of motion was vivid—knees bending, arms bracing—yet no limbs existed to ground it. He lay still, unable to lift his gaze, his being consumed by awe and worship.

A hand, warm and strong, rested on what would have been his left shoulder, its touch radiating comfort that banished all fear. The voice that followed was both singular and manifold, a harmony of three in perfect unity— the Father, the Son, the Holy Spirit—resonating in Wade’s spirit with crystalline clarity no human ear could fully grasp. “Do not be afraid,” the voice said, each word a melody of grace. “I Am. I am the One you have longed to meet. I am the One you have faithfully served. I am the One who bought you with the price of My blood. I am the One who has forgiven all your sins. Rise and walk with Me.”

Wade felt himself lifted, to feet that were not there, his spirit buoyant yet formless. Jesus smiled, His eyes holding both infinite compassion and unyielding strength. “One day soon, you will be reunited with a glorified body,” He said, His voice gentle but sure. “For now, accustom yourself to this state, My son.” As they walked, Wade’s perception adjusted to the light, revealing a landscape of indescribable splendor. Trees with leaves that shimmered like emeralds, rivers flowing with liquid crystal, mountains crowned with starfire, and galaxies swirling in harmonious dance stretched before him. Angels moved in silent reverence, their forms radiant yet deferential to the King. Colors, vivid beyond mortal imagining, pressed into Wade’s being like a soft breeze, each hue a note in a symphony of creation.

Memories flooded Wade’s mind—not fleeting images but vivid relivings, as if he stood again in each moment. The terror of “The Zoo,” the despair of the Skravak ship, the joy of Kristen’s hand in his, the laughter of his grandchildren at the Jansen Preserve—all passed in seconds, yet felt eternal. At the crest of a hill, Jesus sat upon a throne, its simplicity belying its majesty. Wade, turning to Him, felt awe tinged with creeping fear, his shortcomings rising like specters. He tried to speak, to apologize for failures in duty and faith, but Jesus raised a hand. “It is finished,” He said, His triune voice a chord of finality. “I paid for all of this before you were born.”

Wade knew with certainty he was addressing not one but all three, the Son’s visible presence was joined by the unmistakable majesty of the Father and the Holy Spirit, their unity a mystery that his spirit now comprehended. Joy surged within him, a love so vast it would have burst a mortal heart. “I’ve been waiting for this day for a long time.” Wade said, his voice trembling with gratitude.

Jesus’ smile was like a dawn breaking. “I know. Well done, My good and faithful servant. Enter into the joy of your Master.”

~ Just the Beginning ~

Link to all Chapters – Text & Audio