A single word woke him.
It was “loud,” though inaudible, and clear, though it was spoken in a language that he not only didn’t know, but had never heard. It sounded harsh and refined like Russian or German but a tongue no one on Earth had ever spoken.
As he reflected, lying there in the darkness, he understood it to be his own name. Somehow.
He quickly suspected his awakening was angelic. He forgot the word, itself, in seconds.
He responded in the same, inaudible manner, but in his own language, “What do you want?”
There was no answer.
It was as if waking him were the only objective and had been accomplished.
He arose and began thinking.
There, in the last days of the year, a great quiet enveloped the week between Christmas and the new year like a blanket of snow.
Something was afoot.
Countless attempts at a “new beginning” had been attempted. A new slogan. A new training program teaching the old things. A new office with new staff. Innumerable new paint colors had been applied to the sepulcher but it all ended up looking like white wash. The nation was sliding, slowly but inexorably and accelerating, a huge shopping mall on a slab of concrete, into the swamp. Its “rescuers” were helpless.
Obama was not the first communist to occupy the White House, but had benefited immeasurably by the takeover of the “opposing” party by totalitarian forces committed to that institution’s defeat. And with that contrived and feigned opposition his administration had successfully prosecuted the destruction of more American freedom than all his predecessors. They sought nothing more than personal power and used it for its own continuance. Their victims sought salvation and deserved recompense. They were all stalked by pervasive economic decay and its sister, hopelessness. Predictably, nothing appeared on the horizon.
The Quiet that covered the country was a kind of collective recognition of a fate from which there seemed no escape but to which there was not yet full surrender. They waited, quietly, without expectations.
There would be no answer unless the Savior brought it, like a gift, to His own birthday party.