O, Autumn, come! Come early if you can. My storm-loving sensibilities are missing you.
I am so ready for the wind to gather up the leaves again. Storms, you must promise to pummel hard and shout with those thunderous voices you are so well versed in. God’s voice has sounded like your thunder. My God is bigger, though. Bigger than you, Storms—louder than your thunder, stronger than your winds, fiercer than your lightning that you cast upon the earth.
I cannot wait for autumn’s storms—they so remind me of the God I love. Artwork: An Autumn Wind by unknown
“She is gone?”
“Yes. Her soul is now in heaven, with us.”
“It is that demon prince that did it, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that principality that they call ‘Allah’. Always at war with the Lamb and His saints—”
“And always working through the blinded ones who follow it.”
“Yes, since the 7th century when it was raised up as a god."
"Their moon god?"
"Their moon god. Chosen from the 300 false gods that they worshiped, chosen to become their only god.”
“Well, the time is getting closer when the True One shall return. Then this counterfeit shall fall.”
“This counterfeit has already begun its fall. A kingdom divided against itself cannot stand. It is devouring itself through the violence and hatred that it breeds . . . but there is hope in the midst of it!”
“You mean more shall turn and call upon His name, the name that saves? As she did?”
“Millions more! More than can be counted. More than can be stopped.”
“That demon prince will scream—blood will flow thicker!”
“Yes . . . but that is because it knows that it is doomed.”
Artwork: St. Eulalia, detail by Waterhouse
