#the way they treat each other's words with such reverential importance

[eyreguide]

A recap of the Brontë2020 Virtual Conference

On Friday the very first virtual Brontë conference was held and included a program of various talks and presentations by people knowledgeable on many different aspects of the Brontës. And reader, I had a wonderful time.  

This post is just a brief overview of the event, with some commentary on the different topics and comments that were discussed and that I found interesting. This conference was held as a way to help support the amazing Brontë Parsonage in Haworth as they are going through a difficult time with the impact of Covid-19. If you are able, please donate whatever you can to the Parsonage by visiting this site. Help them reach their goal!

I live in the United States so I wasn’t able to attend all the panels - I decided to make my first one the discussion with Sandy Welch (screenwriter of the 2006 Jane Eyre adaptation) which was 5 am my time! I was so excited to hear what Sandy had to say about writing Jane Eyre that I was wide awake by the time her panel started.

Special Guest: Sandy Welch

First off, I didn’t realize Welch had also written the screenplay for North and South (one of my absolute favorite period dramas!) so I was pretty much in awe of her talent, even though the 2006 Jane Eyre isn’t exactly my favorite. If you read through my reviews of all the adaptations here. I have a few issues with the scenes after the failed wedding where Jane and Rochester are on her bed. And also I felt like the dialogue and added scenes did not always feel true to the novel. But Welch talked about her approach to adapting Jane Eyre and I agreed with all of her comments. Jane is a modern woman in that she is making her own way in the world, and that her thoughts and prose in the book are direct and clear to the reader. And Welch was glad to give more time to the conversations between Jane and Rochester so that the humor and intelligence that connects them shines through. The emotions were allowed to develop and we can see how Rochester changes with Jane.  

There was some discussion about the character of Rochester and how the audience needs to see that they deserve each other and are equals. So you see more of Rochester’s vulnerabilities and emotions in this adaptation. It’s important to remember too that Charlotte made Bertha irredeemable so that Rochester could not make his situation better, but he tried his best to take care of her.  

A question from the audience did bring up that scene where Jane must say goodbye to Rochester and they end up on her bed - I was very keen to know what Welch would say. She acknowledged that it was a bold choice, but there is that sensuality in the book, and Rochester wants to “impress” himself on Jane, and throughout the novel, Jane is very passionate. It seemed natural to Welch to have that shown on screen. It’s a bit of artistic license that still doesn’t sit easily with me, but I am glad to know the thought process was grounded in trying to take a realistic approach to how that scene would develop.

Another question also asked about the addition of the twins and the doubles theme in the adaptation. Welch included that to give Jane an opportunity to participate in the conversation around her since she is intelligent and able to hold her own. And to show that not all of the people in Rochester’s party are horrible. It also gives a little foreshadowing to the call across the moors between Jane and Rochester near the end.

The last topic I want to mention is when someone asked what the difference was between approaching Margaret Hale’s character (from North and South) and Jane Eyre. Welch worked to make Margaret more sympathetic and Thornton a little less so, so that they were equals in the story - much like Jane and Rochester already are.

A Day in the Life of the Parsonage

I was very excited about this next panel, where Ann Dindsdale, the collections manager of the Parsonage, and Rebecca Yorke, the communications manager, talk about what it is like to manage the Parsonage day to day. It made me long to be able to work there myself! Just think how lovely it would be to be up early in the morning at the house, preparing for the visitors that day.

On my last visit to the Parsonage, I was able to take the VIP tour (which I talked about here) and I have to say seeing a glimpse of the place behind the scenes and led by a knowledgeable docent was amazing. They do wonderful work there!

The two talked about the work that goes into maintaining the house - especially during the month-long closure in January where they clean every book and check every piece of furniture! When asked how they decide what to display, Ann said she puts out “what she likes” (lucky!) but it was also good to rotate everything regularly.  

The Parsonage feels it is important for guests to “engage with the Parsonage” - a wonderful way to describe how the guests are made to feel when they visit - as a part of the experience. And with social distancing right now due to the pandemic, visiting the Parsonage couldn’t be a more personal and intimate experience. I so wish I could make the trip across the pond right now and visit!

Author Roundtable: The Brontës, the 21st Century and Us

This was a fascinating panel with talented authors. I’ve read some of their books so I’ll link to my review of their work when possible. The panel was moderated by Rowan Coleman (The Vanished Bride) and included Finola Austin (Brontës’ Mistress), Syrie James (The Secret Diaries of Charlotte Brontë), Sarah Shoemaker (Mr. Rochester), Julie Cohen (Spirited), Lucy Powrie (The Paper Hearts Society) and Nikita Gil (a well-known poet, although unfortunately I am unfamiliar with her work.  

The conversation was dense and thought-provoking. The authors touched on many topics and ideas beginning with how each author felt about the Brontës’ work. Their books are about identity and who we are as people - we can live by their ideals, said Lucy. Sarah said that women are still not equal to men in how they are treated today and she loves how Jane does not hesitate to tell Rochester that she does not think him handsome - it’s an unconventional answer, the unexpected one, and it shows how they are opening up to each other and on their way to being equals. Syrie is fascinated by the almost mythical story they lived in their little place in the world. And how you can feel their rage against patriarchal societies in their work. Nikita pointed out that patriarchy erases the role of women, but the Brontës have endured in spite of that.

In their approach to writing stories that revolve around the Brontës and their work, they try to be as reverential as possible and stick to the facts because so much of their lives are known, and their stories can be very autobiographical.  

Julie talked about how we read the Brontës to find out about ourselves. With Villette especially there is a sense with Lucy Snowe that she is hiding a part of herself from the reader and people can relate to that.

The talk ended with thoughts on publishing bias - how women may not need to publish under pseudonyms today, but there is still a bias against what a woman writes and against race, sexuality, and many other things. We as readers need to show that we are interested in reading about a variety of lives and experiences.

In Conversation with Adam Nagaitis

Adam Nagaitis played Branwell Brontë in the film To Walk Invisible and talked with the organizers about his role. They opened by asking him trivia questions about Branwell to see how much he remembered from his research. Adam mentioned that he is still in touch with the actresses who played his sisters which I think is wonderful. They seem to all have gotten along very well.  

Adam read all the classic works on Branwell to prepare, but he also dived into documentaries on alcoholism and it’s gruesome realities to understand Branwell better. Branwell wasn’t mature enough to deal with the vicissitudes in his life - with his relationship with Lydia he was excessive and consumed. He thought that turned her off from him, and that started a cycle where he blamed himself for the failed relationship and his failures in his art.  

Because he was always surrounded by the people who knew him best, he was always reminded of his failure. Adam’s approach was very sympathetic to Branwell and tried to understand him mentally. Adam also talked about how he felt Branwell was never free as an artist. He always needed to work for the family or money but he could have been a brilliant newspaper satirist - something that might have been more along with his interests since he made wonderful biting cartoons.

In Conversation with Sally Wainwright

The last panel of the conference was a talk with Sally Wainwright - the writer and director of the superb Brontë biopic To Walk Invisible. Sally was approached to write this back in 2010 but she didn’t have time until 2016 which coincided with Charlotte’s bicentenary. It was a tough shoot for her as she felt she didn’t get all the shots she wanted, but the set was fantastic. They recreated the Parsonage as accurately as they could, resulting in a place that is bleaker and more isolated than the actual Parsonage today.  

Sally also mentioned something that I found interesting - that she felt like the “Victorian” speak that people use today in period dramas probably didn’t really exist. We have constructed people in our period drama adaptations to speak in a particular way. And that the inclusion of curse words in her program showed that the characters were very like us - of course Branwell would curse and say the F-word.  

Her approach to adapting the story was always to show it as realistically as possible and she wanted to show how the family was an interdependent team. For people who felt that Branwell was featured too much in the story - it’s important to remember that he was the leader of their gang as children and that when they were older, living with an addict affected their work as can be seen in The Tenant of Wildfell Hall and Wuthering Heights.  

And speaking of Tenant of Wildfell Hall, apparently, Sally is working on a screenplay for the story, although it is on the backburner at the moment. She is having a hard time empathizing with Helen - especially because it is difficult today to empathize with a character who behaves in a certain way solely because of their religious beliefs. I do hope we get to see her adaptation of Anne’s work someday soon though!

#Brontes #Jane Eyre 2006 #Sandy Welch #Sally Wainwright #Adam Nagaitis #Jane Eyre #Wuthering Heights #Tenant of Wildfell Hall #To Walk Invisible

[goldentailedmermaids]

Let’s be Danes: Opening ceremony: Aethelrik edition! (for @ceridwenofwales and @aethelrik)

I can’t sleep. Can I stay here?

Erik stood, basked in the dim moonlight of her stifling cell. Her pale complexion lit by merely the night granted her the allure of an enchantress, an elf even, such as there was back home, as her hair rippled on her narrow bed from which she awoke in haste, fearful of any rape or abuse. The last time, she managed with a stool and a night bucket to repel the men who tried their way with her and was saved only by Erik’s coming and rampaging. Her fear dwindled as she recognized his tall figure in the dark, a mighty tower of muscles and wit, cunning enough not to let the door ajar, wise enough to know the value of secrecy.

“I can’t sleep.” his deep voice echoed softly into the room. “Can I stay here?” he took his breath, awed at the way she moved. She was a princess. Every twitches of hers were proof of it.

She frowned. “Do you wish me to sleep on the ground?” her voice was hoarse and soft. Erik shivered.

“For fair lady, dirt is no fair bed.” he said and felt his heart flutter as she smiled. He was too much of a scald not to flatter her. “I will sleep on the ground. It is nothing I can’t take.”

He was about to set himself down her bed, sleeping below her grace when she clasped his hand. “Erik.” she whispered bashfully. “I can make space.”

He choked on his breath but tried to give it the ring of a satisfied groan. “You are a lady.” his words meant hesitation.

“You are my captor. You could do whatever you please. You could have your way with me. Why so hesitant?” her words reeked of bitterness. She tested the limits of his will.

“You are precious. I cannot.”

“Your men had less concern than you. So precious I am, it does not prevent my husband’s hand to land on my cheek.” She smiled a faint one. “Others are not so reverential, let alone considerate. What is to say, then, about my worth?”

“You are cunning and witty.” Erik’s voice rang with a smile. “It makes you all the more precious. If your husband is so blind as not to see you are an indispensable asset, then your father must. Now I see our fortune in capturing you. You are indeed a priceless leverage and any king would do well to make you their counselor. It is a wonder you must be Saxon. Christian women aren’t usually as shrewd and fierce. Had you been a Dane or a Norse, I would have claimed you are Freya incarnate.”

“You flatter me.” she said, drawing him to set himself on her bed. “I am cold. Take me into your arms.”

He gave a faint smile, hardly visible in the dark. “My fists still bear the blood of your husband. I wouldn’t dare to soil you with this turd’s shit.”

Aethelflaed hid a smile, laughing silently. Suit him well, she thought, to abuse women. Her pride was avenged and if she could, she would have taken Erik’s place. “Wash your hands, then. I will not abide by your sleeping on the ground like an animal. Your words hold too much poetry for you to lower yourself to that.”

“I am a scald enough to sing beauty where there is one.” he said, pleased with himself as he complied to her orders.

“Twice.”

Erik frowned. “What are you counting, lady?”

“Your flatteries and the compensation.” she said. “Is that not the way it is with you Danes?”

“Is that what Uthred has taught you?” he was a bit jealous of the man but respect beat it with all the might of a shieldwall. Uthred was important enough for his name to be spoken with acknowledgment. None in England - rather, Saxland - ignored his feats and swordsmanship.

Aethelflaed nodded. “I have heard about weregild and laws of hospitality. You see, I have studied them with Uthred as a teacher. I am quite fond of the tings, I must say.”

Erik gave a soft gasp. “You are a queen, lady.” he sat by her side and cupped her chin as to delve and drown in her blue eyes. He brushed her cheek and placed a kiss on her forehead. “A queen in a country lorded by blind men. Let us hope that your father has at least one eye open. Wisdom from Odin would do him well.”

“Under the yoke of your gods, no good can befall him.” she grew cold and aloof. “I suppose that is why he must cast you Danes out of Wessex and East-Anglia. Why did you all came here? Why not go back?”

“Would you wish me to go?” he sounded hurt and vexed and if one listened closely, one would hear his sobbing. He took her hand in his and kissed her warm, soft palm; a princess’s hand, fair and pristine. “Lady, do you wish me away?”

She shook her head.” No.” she breathed. She brushed his beard, smiling. “I wish to understand. That is all.”

Erik sighed, his shoulders brought down by the weight of the world, his world. “Too many kings burning. To many kings rising. Too many kings battling. Too many kings fleeing. Too many kings. It feels like wealth has turned piss and mud and there is none anymore, not even for jarls. Here, there is wealth. There is land and they say anyone can be a lord or a king, why not try our chance there?”

“A king does not slaughter those he lords.” Aethelflaed said. “Besides, if so many kings died, why not try your fate there?”

Erik laughed as he slipped under her bedsheet. “You misunderstand me. Many king dies for others to rise. There is talk of a king in Norway that shall unite the whole of it. Word has it that he has already set it in motion, burned some petty kings in their halls, taken their lands, given them to his allies while other kings prefer to sail to Iceland to avoid war. Not that our Dane king Hardaknut is any better. Three high kings rise, crushing others in an iron gauntlet.” he gave her a look, smiled as he noticed how close her mouth was to his. “High kings, just like your father.”

Aethelflaed set her jaw. “My father does not-”

“He does. Ask your husband. Ask kinglets around and they’ll tell you the same.” Erik groaned as he let go of the spell of her moon-like face. “The old days of legendary kings, of raids, of Ragnar Lothbrokar seems so far away now. The kings of old are dead, the sons of the boar vanished, the barrows of our ancestors stand low, halls burned for town to grow. Everything changed. New lands sprang out of the ocean’s mist, new deeds are begging for songs while we are sailing to warm lands south. The world is bigger than ever and not to be lost we choose to come here and settle where we know what we did took roots. Our ancestors roamed those slopes, those plains and forests. When lost at sea, cling to a rock; that rock is your anchor. It is everything; your world.”

Aethelflaed gulped and nodded. “I wish I had been there to see you punch my husband into the mud.”

Erik laughed. “He whined. He looked like a fancy boy whose father would have slapped. Your father chose his ally well, lady, but I think it a poor choice of a husband. He reeks weakness.” there was mockery in his voice, protectiveness of the most uncontrolled, wild way. It pleased her as much as it frightened her.

“Women have no say in the matter. I did what I did for my father and for Wessex. I am a princess. I must abide by it, no matter the insults, the slaps, the pain; no matter the cost.” mechanically she rose her head high. “I will not let it unpunished, though, and if I must, I will do what I need to keep my pride. I am the daughter of a king and I will not be treated like a whore.”

Erik set his jaw, gritty. “Good.”

She nestled in his arms, coiled hers around him, relishing his warmth in the cold of the night. His chin rested on the top of her head and she smiled, hearing his heart so close, feeling his breath, so fresh, smelling the satisfaction on his lips; satisfaction that she had smitten her the way she had him. Had he had less respect for her, he would have taken her here, now and be done with it, but there was something about her he couldn’t name; she was a treasure, a most prized hostage and had been raised to many as almost divine unseizable as she was. She was a gilded statue standing amidst a throng of barbarians who would recoil from fear of her and her might.

Erik almost wanted to sing her that song; a lullaby most sweet for the infatuation to meet. He gulped, afraid to break the silence reigning in the room. She was close, so close to him, but it felt as normal as if they had been man and wife. In other time, if she was someone else, he would have wed her and they would have had sons and daughters, but she was married and he owned his brother his life and more. He could not betray Sigfried. At least he hoped he would come to understanding and acceptance.

“Had you any choice, who would you be?” he croaked.

She stirred in his arms and shifted as to see his face. “I would be me.”

“You would be chained.”

“I have been my whole life and now it seems I have taken a liking in those. My mother taught me well.”

He chuckled. “If she knew what you were doing, what would she say?”

“She is not here. Here is you and here is me. That is all I need to know.” she rested her head on his chest again. “If you could be anyone, who would you be?”

“I would be me.” he shifted as to see her. “I would wage war and conquer. I would make a kingdom for myself and my brother and I would take you and make you my queen.”

“What of my husband?”

“You would ask for annulment. He has not given you sons or daughters to bear. Isn’t it that way with you Christians?”

She smiled. “It is. But my father cares too much about this alliance with Mercia to let me annul this.”

“Then I will be your man. I will follow you everywhere and swear my oaths to you and you only, and when the time is right, I shall rise a lord.”

“What of your brother?”

Erik gave a pained smile. “I shall conquer for him and when we are done, I will bid him farewell.”

“I am sorry.” she breathed.

“Don’t be.” he kissed her hands again. “A parting in peace is better than a lifetime of quarrels and battles. Brothers should never fight each other.”

“Sons of kings do.”

“Then power corrupts the best of bonds. It is that way with kings; they sever everything they can, turn brothers against brothers. There is something about crowns that do not meet family. Is your brother really your brother if he seeks you dead? Is your mother truly your mother is she prepares you to be obedient? Is your father really your father if he marries you off to some wife-beater, as fair as his white royal arse is?”

Aethelflaed stiffened. “Please, don’t.” she shook her head. “I need not hear that. I know my duty. I am loyal to my family.”

“That is what you say, and they know it.” he sighed. “I am satisfied, though, that I got to see your husband’s fearful face. A pretty boy, your husband; a boy still.”

She laughed. He loved her laugh.

She moved as to face him and was welcomed by his satisfaction to see her so close. She could not make out his eyes, not his fair rough features in the dark but still, he bore that usual calm, as though everything was planned all alone. He did not recoil, he did not blushed, he did not set his jaw; he was calm as summer, letting only a soft gasp or a quiet sigh when awed by her. It was all Aethelflaed needed; someone calm, someone whose silent was eloquent, someone who kept his wild strength, his bloodlust at bay until battle or necessity arose. Real power wasn’t boisterously boasting, it wasn’t noise, but that silence; a silence that told of confidence. Had he been king, Aethelflaed would have married him.

But she had no choice in the matter. “Should I be something more, I wish I would be strong enough to wield a sword.”

Erik gave a groan of agreement. “It suits you, lady.” his lips spreaded into a faint smile. “The stool and night bucket were but play-swords.”

“Could you teach me?” she asked.

“If I can read, you can fight.”

She smiled, thinking of him learning the craft of monks with a much reverential care when it came to words. Erik was a fast learner. She wished she would learn half as much as he did.

“Remember never to turn your back on a foe, defeated or not. Remember to be wary of any threats and remember to keep your ground. With any luck, when this is all over, I shall come to you and give you a Frankish sword.”

“That advice is good enough.” her smile grew softer. “It fits queenship.”

“Your husband is a poor king, indeed.” his voice was cold, as always when Aethelred was brought up. “He does little but plot and scheme. I have never seen him leading his army through us. He is a man-lender and that is all. It does him well having you as his queen. You seem to be the strong one. With your wit and your fierce spirit, you could conquer kingdoms ruled by gods.”

“Again, you flatter me. Are you singing to lure me into your arms, when I already am?” Aethelflaed giggled. “He is no king and I no queen. He is a lord, abiding by my father, and I am but a lady.”

“A lady with a moon-like beauty.” he added. “After this, when I will be lonely and crave for you, a glimpse at the moon will help me remember you by.”

“Crave for me? What if I long for you?”

“Then call, and I shall ride to you, lady.”

“Erik.” she whispered. He hummed a ‘what’. “Call me by my name, please. Just this once, just here. Call me.”

“You are a princess. I can’t.”

“Then I order you to.”

Erik gave a smile, pleased with himself. He felt her tense, yearning for his answer and left her hanging for a calculated time. He could feel her breath, her heart, her breasts. He had never desired her with such eagerness.

“Aethelflaed.” he said, her name a weird pleasing spell with his foreign accent.

“Say it again.” her mouth whispered, grazing his.

He cupped her face, brushing her lips, groaning a low moan at how soft they were. His touches were light, so light it looked like a feather was caressing her. How odd for a man with such calloused blood-soaked hands.

“Aethelflaed.” his voice went deeper.

“Again.” her lips grazed his.

He could almost feel her warmth. He pulled his mouth closer, closing the gap between them, feeling her flutter and startle as his lips brushed hers. “Aethelflaed.” a whisper, barely a thought.

“Again.” she was panting, gripping his hair, knuckles white as the whole of her body seemed to have been set aflame.

Erik groaned as she drew him closer, holding tight on his hair like she was some kind of wildling; a wildling with the face of the moon. “Aethelflaed.”

She kissed him harder, with all the hurry of an army and Erik drew her closer, roaming her lips with his tongue, with his fingers, feeling her kiss the whole of his hands until he was hard enough it made him sore. “Aethelflaed.” he groaned again, removing her skirt as she hastily removed his breeches.

“Erik!” she moaned.

“Say it again.” he growled in her ear.

“Erik!” she cried.

With a quick move, he was over her, quickly removing his shirt as to see her dazzled face as she saw his bare chest covered with markings and scars. Her hand traced the lines of his former battle in awe that he survived them all. Erik was strong, she knew it. Erik would survive anything.

He gave a quick glance at her dress, asking with his eye a question only she knew the answer. She nodded. He removed her dress, recoiling at her nakedness. She was a hostage and a princess, he suddenly remembered, and grew cold. She was to be worshipped, not humped like some common whore.

“Lady..” he was out of breath.

She went up to him, taking his chin in her hand, reaching for a kiss. “The first compensation.” she kissed him again. “The second.” and again. “The third. All your praises have been met.” she smiled. “Now kiss me, love me. That is compensation enough for my nakedness.”

Erik grinned. “I will love you lady.”

“Call my name.” she set her lips between his, hoping to entrance him again, relieved to notice he was hard for her.

Erik moaned. “Aethelflaed.” a whisper, a moan, a spell for desire.

“Erik.” a whisper, a cry of ecstasy.

She trailed kisses on his lips, on his neck, on his eyes, he roamed her waist, her hips, her legs with his hands, claiming her throat with his lips as her breasts pressed against his chest. Erik was sore already, but she wasn’t wet yet. He laid her gently on her back, kissing her, pressing her tits, hering her gasp and breath for air as low groans of pleasure seemed to burst from her chest. He circled her clit with two fingers while the others were busy easing the path of his cock inside her.

She cried as he slid his fingers, but he tried as much as he could to make it good for her, kissing her again, on her throat, on her eyes, on her lips, on her ears, until she relaxed and gave but low moans of delight, responding to his own groans of pleasure. He bit her hard nipples as she gripped his hair, clinging to him, begging him to continue, so far from release.

“Erik.” her voice a plea. “Please.” her eyes glimmered with brewing tears, as her back arched, her groin reaching his. Her whole body waved, increasing Erik’s volume.

He grabbed her arse, drew her to him, straddling her as his hands grasped her waist seemingly about to break it, holding tight on it as though his life depended on it. He stopped for a second and she fluttered to him, biting her lips, crying out of a sore cunt.

Erik gave her a pleading look, showing a weakness he had never shown to any women. She was the first he fucked face to face.

“I love you, lady.”

She rose her groin closer. “Call me by my name.” she bit her thumb sultrily. “Call me.”

Erik gave a sharp breath, sliding inside her with a low moan of pleasure. “Aethelflaed.” he cried as he saw her breasts bounce. “Aethelflaed.” he said again, thrusting, relishing her moans and gasps of ecstasy. “Aethelflaed.” harder. “Aethelflaed.” louder. “Aethelflaed!” on the verge of coming.

Her breasts bounced with every moves of his. She moaned and gasped and arched her back, nipples hard, lips red, face magnified by the pleasure of his body, scratching, gripping in sheer pleasure as she was rewarded with his crying her name, coming and devotion to the tone of his voice. She pulled herself to him, clinging on his neck, relishing his soft eyes before she jerked her head back screaming her name at the same time he came.

The rythme grew slow. They fell back on the bed, Erik, covered in new scars and sweat that would be hard to explain, Aethelflaed, whining and smiling.

“By Freya, lady, you love like you fight!”

“Did I hurt you?” a hint of pride filled her voice.

“Never.” he panted. “There is no hurting me. There is no killing me so long as I am with you.”

“Then stay with me.” she said.

Erik closed his eyes. “You love like you wage war.” his voice grew sleepy. “Moon goddess… so fair a sight, you crying out for me. I hope Sigfried will not be mad.”

“I know he won’t. Even so I’ll negotiate with him and if he does not want to, I will fight him. I will levy men and you will be with me always.” she touched her womb. “You were gentle, Erik, gentler than the best of Christian men. You are fairer than the sun itself.” she nestled around him. “Love is gentle and kind. I want you to be that love.” she waited for an answer by was only given a calm soft breath, brewing to a snore.

She chuckled, and tucked a strand of his hair behind his ear. His hair was gold as summer wheat. She kissed his sea-eyes, his forehead, almost feeling him smile. Her hand roamed his features, carving them in her mind never to forgot who he was, how fair he was, how gentle he was. Even if their path separated one day, she would always bear him close, though she wished to live as long as he did, to savor his presence some more.

She coiled herself around him, savoring the quiet of the night, his moon-lit beauty, thanking him for the freedom he had given her as a hostage, following the lines of his scars, hoping never to find any more, praying to God to spare him in battle so that she would see him smile some more.

“How good must it be, Erik, to sleep a lifetime in your arms.” a whisper, a prayer.

#my writing #let's be danes: opening ceremony #the last kingdom #aethelrik #aethelflaed #erik thurgiilson #aethelflaed x erik

[sending-the-message]

I Think North Korea Might Have Already Attacked US by JayGetsHazy

My name is Doctor Albert Sheeler.

Assuming names and titles still mean anything at the time of your reading this, it’s important that you know that.

It’s important, because, for the last twenty-one years I was a specialized doctor of neurology, board-certified in clinical neurology, clinical neurophysiology and EMG at UC Medical Center.

And I was the doctor on call the night Otto Warmbier arrived.

I was there the night the world ended.

<><><><><><><><>

It was a little after 6:30 in the evening when I got the call.

June 13th according to my notes.

“Hey, Albert its Fred. How quick can you get over here?”

I set down my cigarette and groaned inwardly at hearing the voice of the hospital CMO on the other end of the line.

“Jesus, Fred can’t it wait? We’re just about to have dinner, here.”

“Yeah, I know you’re not supposed to be in tonight, but, you’re gonna want to get down here.”

“Can’t Rasmussen handle it, whatever it is?”

“Rasmussen is the one asking us to call you. Look, Albert, it’s a mess down here. DOJ boys arrived a few hours ago with Otto Warmbier. Fresh off the boat from Pyongyang.”

“The Koreans let him go?”

“State worked out some kind of deal, I guess. We haven’t been told anything ‘cept that North Korean officials provided Mr. Warmbier with ‘humanitarian medical care’ and that we’re to treat him here on out.”

“What’s this got to do with me?” I asked.

Fred sounded strained. “Four hours ago, this kid walked into the hospital with his parents under his own power. Little knocked about, little malnourished--but communicative and ambulatory.”

“And now?”

“He’s been moved to ICU. He’s slipped into a—a coma or—“ he trailed off. “That’s why Rasmussen wants you down here. He’s in over his head.”

I checked my watch with a sigh.

Fuck.

“Give me twenty minutes.”

<><><><><><><><>

Hospitals always smell like disease.

You know what I mean. That cloyingly familiar stench of sick and rot underlying the heavy aroma of bleach and chemical cleanliness.

No amount of tasteful design—no soothing whites and beige; no pristine lobby or sanitized nurses station—can ever truly mask what we know deep down a hospital is.

A sick house.

A germ depository.

Plague and death and artificial sterility abutting one another in an endless struggle.

All these thoughts swirled in my mind then, as I stepped through the automated sliding glass doors and into the vaulting monochromatic lobby. An infinite expanse of squeaky linoleum, boring floral prints and ugly uncomfortable chairs stretching as far as the eye could see.

“Albert, over here,” a voice called from across the busy space.

I was met at reception by Dr. Rasmussen, MD, a short somewhat stooped man with watery eyes and a wispy moustache.

“Hey, Paul,” I said, as I approached.

Rasmussen thrust his hands into the pockets of his white coat. “Walk with me.” He seemed to be sweating profusely.

“What’s so wrong that you had to have Fred call me in on my night off?” I asked.

“I don’t—it’s the damnedest thing, Albert. I’m not sure,” he wiped at his damp forehead with the back of his sleeve. “I’m not sure what’s happened, here. Government suit-types dropped the boy off with his parent’s a while ago. Brought him straight from the airport, I guess.”

“Fred filled me in. Where’s the kid now?”

“Upstairs. ICU. He seemed ok, at first. Talking. Walking slowly but unassisted. Nurses took his vitals. They were somewhat—erratic. BP one-thirty over eighty and respiratory rate less than twelve per minute. Given his ordeal, I’m surprised they weren’t worse, to be honest.”

“What the hell happened?”

Rasmussen shook his head. “We don’t know. Like I said he seemed fine. Had a bit of a fever but nothing crazy. A nurse found him collapsed in a bathroom about an hour ago. Unresponsive wakefulness, looks like.”

We stepped into a shiny steel elevator at the far end of the lobby and began our ascent to the ICU.

“Was there evidence of any pre-existing brain trauma?” I asked. “What do we know about his medical treatment in North Korea?”

“Not a damn thing,” said Rasmussen. “State fellows didn’t say a word. I’m trying to schedule him for an MRI upstairs, as we speak.” The elevator dinged and the doors slid open with a well-oiled whoosh.

“C’mmon, he’s in room 1411.”

I followed Rasmussen deeper, into the still--reverential silence--of the ward.

<><><><><><><><>

He was a lot taller than he looked on the news.

Thinner too. Almost emaciated. I guess the Communist news outlets didn’t want to showcase that part during all those trials.

Wasted, was the word that came to mind.

Long arms—pale and slick with sweat—rested neatly atop the thin starched hospital sheets. A paper ID bracelet dangled loosely around one wrist.

Warmbier, Otto

The slow, irregular, rise and fall of his chest beneath the blankets was the only clear indication of life.

“He’s breathing on his own?”

“For now.” Rasmussen handed me the patients’ medical chart. “We’re waiting on the parents to authorize intubation. Just in case. He’ll need a G-tube put in, too.”

I glanced around the empty room. “Where are the parents?”

“Went home to rest. Collect some things for him.”

I nodded absently as I flipped through the nurse’s notes.

Non-Verbal

Lack of Decerebrate Posturing

Nothing I hadn’t seen before.

I set his chart down and pulled on a pair of latex gloves from the dispenser by the door.

“Hello, Otto,” I said loudly; the way you might speak to someone hard of hearing. “My name is Dr. Sheeler. Can you hear me?”

The patient said nothing.

“He’s un-responsive,” said Rasmussen.

I ignored him.

“Move your fingers if you can hear me, Otto.”

The patient just stared blankly at the ceiling tiles.

“Can you tell me what day it is Otto?” I shone a small pen-light into each eye and watched his faintly golden pupils dance. “Can you tell me who’s President of the United States? Blink if you understand what I’m saying.”

Silence.

“Do you know where you are?” I snapped my fingers a few times for emphasis in front of his face—then repeated the process beside his ears.

His eyelids fluttered. But that was all.

“Paul,” I said, “see if you can find me a suture needle. Try that drawer. Thanks.” I took the small, freshly unwrapped, needle from him and held it up to the light. “Otto? I’m going to test your motor responses now. See how you react to noxious stimuli. That means painful. So, if this hurts, do try and let me know.”

I buried the needle in his upper arm. Fast and hard. Just a few inches above the left radial collateral ligament. A smooth and practiced puncture--an artisans cross stitch.

"This isn't exactly an approved method of neurological examination," Rasmussen sounded nervous.

I stuck the needle into the patients purlicue, next. "Oh, please," I said, watching closely for any type of reaction, "he doesn't even register a 2 on the Glascow Scale."

The needle slid free with a slight sticking tug and I turned to toss it into the waste bin.

"You said he was walking earlier? Curious. Damage this severe usually--"

"Jesus, God! Look!"

Rasmussen was pointing frantically toward the bed, his eyes wide.

"It's just a little blood, Paul," I said following his gaze.

I froze.

Brackish yellow-black puss was weeping in a steady trickle from the dual pricks in the patient’s skin. A thin pool had already begun to collect on the bedsheets.

"That--that isn't blood," said Rasmussen. "Oh, God, it stinks."

It did stink. The sickly-sweet smell of rancid meat--putrific offal-- stung my nostrils as I approached the narrow bed.

Otto's eyes continued to stare past me.

"I think we need to move that MRI up to now. Go get somebody."

<><><><><><><><>

"Take a look at these, Fred," I said a few hours later, sliding the para-sagittal MRI of Otto's head across the cluttered desk of the CMO.

Fred frowned and held the scan up to the light.

"See all the dark areas? The brain is eaten up with cysticerci," I said nervously.

"You think its parasitic?"

"Neurocysticercosis maybe. Some kind of tapeworm--Taenia solium or something in that family would be my guess. But, I'm gonna be honest, Fred. This, uh, this isn't like anything I've ever seen before. The kid is, uh, leaking. His blood is, um…his blood it’s black, Fred."

"Black?"

"Like some kind of pus. Or mucus. And it smells septic. I'd almost think it was gangrene but there's no wound."

"Jesus," said Fred, wearily pinching the bridge of his nose. "This is the last thing we need--for this kid to have picked up some Asian bacterium. What a nightmare."

I tossed the patients chart onto the desk as well.

"His fevers gone up too. Clocking in at just under 115--indicating damage to the hypothalamus--and febrile seizures have begun."

"And we have no idea what's going on?"

I shook my head. "I think we need to seriously consider quarantining the entire ward."

“Fuck.” Fred rubbed a hand across his face. “Let me make some calls”

I left the office and hurried back down to the ICU.

Room 1411 was empty and the bed had been stripped of linens when I entered.

I ducked back out into the hall and grabbed a passing nurse. “Hey, where’s Warmbier? They move him for more testing?”

Nurse Perky-Tits looked frazzled and tired. “Dr. Rasmussen was trying to find you. The patient coded while we were running his panels. They took him downstairs.”

Fuck.

“Why didn’t anybody page me?” I demanded.

“I—I don’t know, Dr. Sheeler. It happened so fast. They worked on him for twenty minutes. I think—”

But I was already walking away. Hurrying down the blue and white corridor toward the nearest staff elevator. “Page Rasmussen,” I shouted over my shoulder.

I didn’t have to go very far to find him.

When the elevator doors opened in the morgue basement he was there, leaning against a vending machine and puffing furtively on a cigarette.

“What the hell happened?” I asked.

“He had another seizure,” said Rasmussen. “Flatlined. Gone. I had to pronounce it.”

“Have we told his parents? Anyone?”

Rasmussen shook his head. “No. Coroners on his way. I wanna know what happened to him, first, before the media gets wind.”

“Are you gonna observe?” I asked with a nod toward the morgue doors.

He shook his head.

I checked my watch. It was a little after eleven. Stifled a yawn. “I’ll witness if you want. Page me when the coroner is ready.” I mashed the elevator call button with my thumb.

“He spoke to me, you know,” Rasmussen said softly as the elevator doors pinged.

“Who did?”

“The patient. Otto. After he went into arrest I had him hit with the paddles. He—he came out of it. Just for a second--but he was conscious right at the end.”

“What did he say?”

Rasmussen shrugged. Stubbed his cigarette out on the spackled linoleum and ground it under the toe of his shoe. “Gibberish mostly. I don’t think he really knew where he was. Kept trying to push the nurses away. Mumbling something,” he paused, trying to remember what he’d heard and sound it out phonetically. “Nan…e…un. Pog…tan-ida. Something like that, anyway. Must have picked it up in Korea.”

“Go home, Paul,” I said as the elevator doors began to creep closed. “You look dead tired.” That was the last time I ever saw him alive.

<><><><><><><><>

Forty-five minutes later, I stood over the slab; a daub of menthol salve smeared under my nose and a surgical mask fixed over my mouth.

I watched quietly as the pathologist performed his ablutions.

The body lay on its back. Stripped of clothes and dignity it seemed somehow more vulnerable. A sick and waxy looking mannequin under the too harsh wattage of the overhead fluorescents.

The brain sat in a large stainless steel bowl of formalin a few feet away.

"You ever seen anything like this before?" The pathologists brows were knitted in consternation above his green face mask.

I stared down at the deceased's brain floating in preservative. A wrinkled grayish-blue mass with the consistency of a soft jello--some kind of profane dessert--shot through with pulsating veins of pale gold and black.

"No," I shook my head and gently prodded the cranial tissue with the tip of one gloved finger. "It's--it's like some kind of foreign webbing."

"I--I wouldn't--maybe don't touch that thing, Doc. We don't know what it is."

"It looks almost like naegleria fowleri. Look at this hemorrhaging. Frontal cortex is necrotic. See how it's pulsating?"

The pathologist was making hurried notes. "Do you wanna call the CMO?"

While the pathologist worked, beginning the Y incision in abdominal trunk, I used the morgue phone to call upstairs.

"Fred, it's Albert. This kid was infected with something. His brain--it's--I don't know what this is."

"I know, Albert. I've been on the phone with the government boys at the CDC."

"What do they say?"

"They are sending someone over. Just stay there. Get me the autopsy report ASAP. I'll call you if I hear any more. And Albert? It's going to be alright."

The line disconnected.

Had he sounded upset?

I sat the phone back in its cradle and turned back to the examination table.

The pathologist had gotten the chest cavity opened and was working to remove the ribcage with a tool not dissimilar to pruning sheers.

"My God," he gasped suddenly, dropping his rib cutter and jumping back from the table. "What is that?"

I approached and peered cautiously down into the gaping bloody maw that had formerly been Otto Warmbier's chest.

There--nestled among the organs; seemingly growing off the side of the left lung--was some kind of quivering black and gold bulb. About the size of a closed fist, it pressed itself intimately against the heart.

"It's moving," the pathologist moaned. "Jesus Christ whats going on?"

"Someone from the CDC's coming," I assured him. "We'll let them handle it."

"This guy's a biohazard. Shit. What're we dealing with?"

"Photograph it," I said. "I'll get with Fred."

"Don't bother." The unfamiliar voice spoke from the doorway, causing us both to turn.

A tall man with thinning hair and a football players build compressed into a plain dark suit stood in the morgue, surveying the scene.

"Greg Thompson. CDC Medical Officer. Which one of you performed the autopsy?"

The pathologist pulled his gloves off and waved them at the man. "That'd be me. You boys got here fast."

The CDC man didn't say a word.

Just pulled a sleek black pistol from under his jacket and fired it in rapid succession. Twin crimson roses bloomed for a moment against the verdant green of the pathologist's scrubs before he collapsed to the tile floor.

"Fuck!" My voice echoed dully around the room. "What the fuck?!"

"Don't move!" The gun swiveled smoothly in my direction. "Keep your hands where I can see them! Don't move!"

My back hit the edge of the metal examining table as I lurched back. "You shot him!"

The CDC man kept the gun leveled as he approached. "Shut up! Don't move, man!"

"What is going on?!"

"He'd been exposed. Was infected. You probably are too. Anyone who's been in contact with him. So don't fucking move." He backed me toward the morgue filing cabinets as he neared the exam table.

"Exposed to what? What happened to him?"

"A little gift from Kim Jong Un."

I glanced toward the body. "Oh my God. You--you know what it is?"

"Shut up! How much contact have you had with the deceased?" He stopped beside the body and looked down briefly at the throbbing abnormality inside. It seemed to be beating arrhythmically, now.

Faster and faster.

"Look, whatever this is--" but the CDC man cut me off.

"We can't let this get out."

"What is this?"

"Quarantine. Containment." He pulled the slide back on the gun with a hollow click.

The black and yellow bulb burst with an audible PFFT and the air was filled with a fine reddish-black mist.

"Fuck! Spores!" The CDC man staggered back, hands clawing at his own face as the liquid particulate rained down.

The gun went off again; the bullet zinging off a freezer door.

I bolted then.

Shoving past him, I sprinted across the room; closing the gap to the doors faster than I'd moved in years.

That dingy cream colored hallway was probably only fifty feet long but in that moment it seemed to stretch for a thousand. I ran the whole length; my shoes scuffing across the linoleum. My heart was pounding in my ears as I strained to catch the telltale sounds of pursuit.

I rounded the corner to the bank of elevators and skidded to a stop.

Paul Rasmussen's body lay sprawled at the base of the elevator doors. Blood and bits of bone and brain matter formed an irregular sticky pool around his head.

Fuck.

I punched the elevator call button frantically. Watched the floor numbers creep slowly downward.

The doors slid open slowly and I threw myself against the far wall.

"Stop!"

The CDC man was at the other end of the hall. Running toward me.

"You can't! You're infected!"

The doors slid shut and the elevator began to rise.

I chocked back a sob as soothing musical played over the loudspeaker.

In the lobby I hurried past reception and out into the parking garage. I left my white lab coat and hospital ID in a trash bin.

<><><><><><><><>

Officially Otto Warmbier died at 2:20 p.m. on June 19, 2017.

Six days after I saw his corpse laid out in the morgue.

I never went back to the hospital after that.

Because I think I figured it out.

Forget the media hype. The bombast. Forget the threat of nuclear war.

What if North Korea has already attacked us?

With a bomb that walked and talked and breathed. One that we brought into the country with open arms.

A bomb we didn't even know was killing us.

How many people did Otto infect? How many government handlers and doctors and nurses? And how many of them took the infection home on their skin or their clothes and passed it on to their friends and family?

Who knows, even you may already be dead.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

[focusontheeasternlightning-blog]

Coming Home

By Muyi, South Korea

Feb 27, 2018

“God’s love overflowing is freely given to man, God’s love is around him. Man, innocent and pure, without a care to tie him down, lives in bliss in the eyes of God. … If you are a person of conscience and with humanity, you will feel warm, being cared for and loved, you will feel blessed with happiness” (“How Important God’s Love for Man Is” in Follow the Lamb and Sing New Songs).

 Every time I start to sing this hymn of the word of God, it’s hard to keep down the emotions stirring inside me. That is because I was once far astray from God and went against Him. I was like a lost sheep, unable to find the road home, and it was God’s steadfast love that led me to return home. In what follows, I wish to share my experience of returning to God’s house with both those brothers and sisters who are part of the Lord as well as those friends who have not yet turned to God.

Because my mother and father were always fighting, I was living my life in fear every day. I felt that I had no purpose in my life, but I was also afraid of dying. I didn’t know why people were born and die, but I also intangibly felt there was a pair of hands pulling the strings of my life.

After I graduated from high school, my mother began to believe in the Lord Jesus at the urging of a neighbor, and I followed her into the church. From that time on, I knew that God is the Lord of all created beings, and that to redeem mankind from sin, the incarnate God Himself was crucified on the cross to become a sin offering for man. How great is God’s love for man! With the inspiration of the love of the Lord, I resolved to believe in the Lord in earnest and to recompense the Lord for His love. Because of this, I had direction and purpose. After that, I frequently attended gatherings, read the Scriptures, and gave praise to the Lord. I began to become happy. Especially when I saw in the Bible that it said that in the last days the Lord would come again upon a cloud and welcome us into the kingdom of heaven, my heart was filled even more with hope. On top of that, the pastor often explained the scripture to us at gatherings: “You men of Galilee, why stand you gazing up into heaven? this same Jesus, which is taken up from you into heaven, shall so come in like manner as you have seen him go into heaven” (Acts 1:11). I was even more convinced that the Lord Jesus would descend upon a white cloud to welcome us into the heavenly home!

In 2005 I met a Korean boyfriend and followed him to Korea. Because of the language barrier, I never found a church of Chinese expatriates, so my spirit grew weaker. Without knowing it, I grew distant from God. Once we got married, there was no way we could continue living together because the cultural difference was too great, so we got divorced after not too long. The setback in my marriage was a great shock to me spiritually, which was quite painful. On top of being in a foreign land without any friends or family, I felt even more all alone. All I could do was pray silently to God and relate my internal suffering to Him. I sought for God to guide me to a Chinese church and return to the house of God.

A year later I found a religious service for Chinese in a Presbyterian church, and at the time I was extremely happy. Finally, I was able once again to give praise to God in church. But what disappointed me was that whenever we held a gathering the pastor would just read passages of scriptures to us and explain a little to us about the literal meaning. It was totally devoid of any light or anything to enjoy. It didn’t supply anything at all for our lives, and the gatherings just started to be a way of going through the motions. There were people whispering to each other at gatherings, some people playing games on their cell phones, some sleeping, some looking for girlfriends or boyfriends, and there were even some people putting their arms around each other. I thought: “The church is a temple, a place to revere God. We come here, but come without hearts that are reverent to God, and God has to be looking upon us with contempt! Wouldn’t the Lord abandon a place as sordid as this?” But the pastors and preachers acted like they didn’t notice at all and paid no attention.

Living in this huge dyeing vat of evil that is the world, I gradually began to become immoral, and would often go out drinking with friends in my free time, never seeing so much as the shadow of anyone who believed in God. However, whenever my heart grew especially distant from the Lord, the words of God would appear in my mind: “When the unclean spirit is gone out of a man, he walks through dry places, seeking rest, and finds none. Then he said, I will return into my house from where I came out; and when he is come, he finds it empty, swept, and garnished. Then goes he, and takes with himself seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and they enter in and dwell there: and the last state of that man is worse than the first” (Matthew 12:43–45). The Lord’s words restrained and guarded me, and stopped me from daring to get too far away from God or doing anything too extreme, out of fear that I would anger the Lord and meet with God’s anger. I was afraid to be abandoned by the Lord and to fall into the hands of the unclean spirit.

At Christmas in 2016, to raise the church’s spirit, the church got a group of talented artists to put on a show. There was a sister whom I had never seen before who sang to us a song in praise of God: “The scene painted in the Bible ‘God’s command to Adam’ is both touching and heartwarming. Although the picture contains only God and man, the relationship between the two is so intimate we start to feel wonder, wonder and admiration. God’s love overflowing is freely given to man, God’s love is around him. Man, innocent and pure, without a care to tie him down, lives in bliss in the eyes of God. God takes care of man, and man lives under His wings. All that man does, all his words and deeds, are bound up with God, can’t be apart. From the first moment God created the human race, God had them in His charge. What kind of charge is that? It’s for Him to protect man and to watch over man. He hopes for man to trust in, to trust in and obey His words. This was the first thing God expected of the human race. … Is there love in His heart? Isn’t there care and concern? God’s love and care is something that can be both felt and sensed. If you are a person of conscience and with humanity, you will feel warm, being cared for and loved, you will feel blessed with happiness. When you feel these things, how will you act towards God? Will you cleave to Him? Will reverential love, will reverential love not grow in your heart? Will your heart draw close to Him? From this we see, how important God’s love for man is. But even more important than this is that man can feel and comprehend God’s love” (“How Important God’s Love for Man Is” in Follow the Lamb and Sing New Songs).

With each word of the hymn, my heart began to get more and more excited and my tears of emotion would not stop running. I felt I was in a beautiful picture accompanied by God, enjoying God’s love and all the things He bestowed upon creation. The air, light, and water alike were all brimming with God’s love! Enjoying everything that God has bestowed upon us but I had grown distant from God, and how saddened God must be by this. I especially felt that the words “If you are a person of conscience and with humanity, you will feel warm, being cared for and loved, you will feel blessed with happiness” were God calling out to my heart and spirit. In 2007, when my husband and I decided that we could no longer live together and I had no place to call home, God arranged a female emigrants’ safehouse for me. They provided food and housing for me there and found me a lawyer. They took care of the legal proceedings for me at no cost. When it was time for me to apply for naturalization, God moved a minister from the Presbyterian church to serve as my sponsor. Normally, Koreans won’t agree to vouch for someone, especially since I was a foreigner as well as the fact that I had only gone to that particular church three or four times. I knew this was all made possible through the hidden help of God. There was also the fact that foreigners applying for naturalization have to have 30,000,000 won in fixed assets, but I didn’t even have 3,000,000. The Immigration Office asked me to provide proof of employment to demonstrate that I was able to provide for myself, and they didn’t make it difficult for me at all…. God always produced miracles for me when I was most in need. This is God’s sovereignty! God’s love is vast and deep, but I was too rebellious. I had forgotten God and broken His heart. This hymn touched my spirit, and I determined to regain my faith and never again descend to the state of doing harm to God.

On February 19, 2017, because my head and eyes were in pain, I went to the hospital but they couldn’t treat what I had. Sister Li, who was in our church, introduced me to one of her friends who knew Chinese traditional medicine and said that the treatment takes a course of only one week to be effective. I went along with her to get treated. That day we met a brother named Jin, who was a friend of the one who knew Chinese medicine. I did not expect that I would meet a brother in the Lord, and I thought it must have been arranged by God. I got to talking about the Bible with Brother Jin. Brother Jin read to us the parable of the ten virgins from the Bible. He asked me, “Sister, are you looking forward to the Lord’s return?” I said, “Of course!” The brother said, “Then how will the Lord return?” I said without hesitation: “The scripture says He will descend on a cloud!” The brother said: “You know what? The Lord has already returned.” I was startled to hear that, and said: “Mark chapter 13 verse 32 says: ‘But of that day and that hour knows no man, no, not the angels which are in heaven, neither the Son, but the Father.’ No one knows when the Lord will come. If you’re saying that the Lord has returned, how could you know?” Brother Jin didn’t give me a straight answer but found some passages in the Bible about the Lord’s return. Luke 12:40 says: “Be you therefore ready also: for the Son of man comes at an hour when you think not.” Luke 17:24–26 says: “For as the lightning, that lightens out of the one part under heaven, shines to the other part under heaven; so shall also the Son of man be in his day. But first must he suffer many things, and be rejected of this generation. And as it was in the days of Noe, so shall it be also in the days of the Son of man.” Revelation 3:20 says: “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.” John 10:27 says: “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me.”

Once he was done reading, Brother Jin said: “The Lord asks us to be awake and waiting because no one knows the day on which He will come. But according to what the prophecy says, when the Lord comes again it will be in the form of the Son of man. The ‘Son of man’ is God become man, which means the incarnate God. Even though we don’t know the exact time the Lord will come, we will know Him by God’s voice because the sheep of God hear God’s voice, and when they hear it, they follow Him….” I thought then about my pastor who had said that any testimony that said the Lord Jesus had returned in the flesh was false. I could no longer listen to what Brother Jin was saying, so I sent a text message to the pastor: “Someone is telling me that the Lord has returned incarnate. What kind of church do they belong to?” The pastor said, “They are from Eastern Lightning.” He wanted me to leave right away and not to have any contact with them again. He also wanted me never to read their books, and went on to send me some lectures on how to guard against heresy. I thought that whatever the pastor said must be correct. I decided not to listen to what they fellowshiped ever again and not to pay any attention to them.

Who would have known that on the afternoon of the 20th, Brother Jin and his sister would come to the place where I was getting treatment and tell me so much about the work of the Lord’s return. However, because that morning I had just received news of my mother’s passing, as well as having some doubts about what they were saying, I just couldn’t listen to anything they said. This went on for three days, and it seemed like Brother Jin never gave up spreading the gospel to me. But because of my inward turmoil, I told him to get lost. I said, “Let it go. If you keep talking to me, then if you don’t go, I will!” Brother Jin saw that I really wasn’t listening and had no choice but to leave. I thought he wouldn’t be back around. I didn’t expect that the next day Brother Jin would bring someone named Brother Cheng along with him and continue to preach the gospel to me. I thought to myself: “How could he still not be finished?” To save face, it was better for me just to deal with it, but I didn’t take the initiative to talk with them. Although I didn’t care too much, Brother Cheng kept patiently talking to me. He said: “The Lord has already come incarnate into the world to do the work of judgment and chastisement.” He also read to me a passage of God’s word: “It is My hope that the brothers and sisters who seek the appearance of God will not repeat the tragedy of history. You must not become the Pharisees of modern times and nail God to the cross again. You should carefully consider how to welcome the return of God, and should have a clear mind of how to be someone who submits to the truth. This is the responsibility of everyone who is waiting for Jesus to return with the clouds. We should rub our spiritual eyes, and not fall prey to the words full of flights of fancy. We should think about the practical work of God, and should take a look at the real side of God. Do not get carried away or lose yourselves in daydreams, always looking forward to the day that the Lord Jesus suddenly descends among you on a cloud to take you who have never known Him or seen Him, and do not know how to do His will. It is better to think upon practical matters!” (Preface to The Word Appears in the Flesh). Even though I hadn’t heard much of the word of God, I took note of the patience and kindness he had in speaking with me, and that he didn’t mind going to all the trouble. I thought, “The people in our church are weak. Their faith and love have grown cold. Why is it that the faith and love of people who believe in Eastern Lightning is so great? What power is it that supports them in persevering with their efforts in spreading the gospel to me? If it weren’t for the work of the Holy Spirit, it’s impossible for this to be done through reliance on human strength alone!”

In this period, there was another brother named Yang who also investigated Almighty God’s work in the last days together with me. I had always had a careless and absent-minded attitude, but Brother Yang was earnest in his studies. Brother Yang said that he had rejected the gospel of Almighty God when people had preached it to him before but that hearing it again today must be an opportunity granted by God! He wanted to investigate it. Brother Yang saw that I was only interested in listening to the pastor’s words and not investigating with an open mind. He found a passage for me, which was Matthew 5:3–6: “Blessed are the poor in spirit: for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. … Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. Blessed are they which do hunger and thirst after righteousness: for they shall be filled.” Reading the word of the Lord, I wondered: Why is it that I can’t seek tranquilly in the presence of the Lord? If the Lord were really to return by some chance, and I did not listen to Him or investigate it, would I not be left behind? I should also learn some humility, and I must not blindly come to conclusions based on my own imagination. Just when I had decided to settle my heart to investigate it sincerely, a missionary of the church gave me a call out of the blue and asked me if I were still with the people from The Church of Almighty God. I said that yes, the missionary again reminded me to cease contact with them. The missionary’s words dispelled the thought that I had just been wanting to investigate. I thought, “The pastor and missionary have a much better understanding of the Bible than I do, and none of them acknowledges that the Lord has returned. I had too little understanding of the Bible and had no ability to discriminate for myself, so I had better just listen to what the pastor and missionary were saying.” When I hung up the phone, I said to Brother Cheng: “If Brother Yang wants to investigate, then you two go on speaking. I don’t want to hear it.” Just like that, I had once again stiffly rejected the salvation of God.

I returned to work after a week of treatment. Due to my mother’s passing, my heart was full of sorrow and anguish and I could not stop thinking about her. Every day when I came home from work, I would look at a picture of my mother and speak with her. One day I suddenly remembered that I was a believer in God and that whenever I was going through a period of difficulty and weakness I could always tell these things to God. After that, whenever I encountered hardships I would come into the presence of the Lord and pray, asking the Lord to console me. But no matter how I prayed, I never felt moved within. Sometimes I would fall asleep while praying. I was living in anxiety every day so severe, even to the point that any sound I heard behind me caused me unspeakable terror. In that fear and helplessness, I prayed earnestly to the Lord: “Lord! My heart is full of darkness and I am trembling with fear. Could I have made a mistake somewhere? Lord! The past few days, people have been telling me that You have returned as Almighty God. Lord! If You really have returned and really are the Almighty God they told me about, I ask You to set up a time and prepare appropriate circumstances for Brother Yang to call me or send me a text message. When they come back, no matter what they say, I want to have a heart that accepts Your new work and words obediently and eagerly. If it is not Your work, and if the message they are preaching to me is false and deceptive, then please block their way and not let them come back ever again.”

Amazingly, after I prayed like this, God fulfilled exactly what I had prayed about. Brother Yang actually did call me, and I told him about everything that had been going on the last few days. Brother Yang said that my heart had been darkened because I had rejected God’s work in the last days and gone against Him. He hoped that I would continue to investigate, and this time I did not decline to.

Soon afterward, Brother Yang sent me a gospel movie. There was a line of dialogue in this movie that woke me up: “Since we believe in God we should listen to God, not people.” That’s right! It is God that I believe in, and God’s word I should listen to! But during that time when Brother Jin and Brother Cheng were telling me of God’s work in the last days, I kept asking the pastor about it. I complied with what the pastor and missionary said and did not want to investigate the new work of Almighty God or listen to God’s word. I believed in God but did not pray to or seek from God, instead blindly trusting the words of the pastor and missionary. How stupid could I have been? The Bible says: “We ought to obey God rather than men” (Acts 5:29). I believed in the Lord but did not obey Him. Instead, I obeyed people, so had I not become someone who believes in and follows men? Isn’t this resisting and betraying the Lord? If Almighty God is the Lord Jesus returned, and I went against and resisted Him like this, not accepting Almighty God, would I not be a blind fool? Would I not be shutting God out? With this in mind, I deeply repented in my heart and tears welled up in my eyes.

I again came into the presence of the Lord and prayed: “Lord Jesus Christ! Someone preached the gospel saying that You have already returned incarnate, and that You are Almighty God, Christ of the last days. I don’t dare to be certain of this, but I am willing to come into Your presence to seek for You to inspire me to be able to recognize Your voice. If You really have returned and are Almighty God, I want to repent to You and accept Your work and salvation. I ask You to lead me into Your presence.” After praying, I had a kind of joy and consolation that I could not put into words. It was something I had not felt in a long time, and I knew that the Lord had heard my prayers, that it was the Lord comforting me, and that it was proof given to me by God. I wanted to go right away to The Church of Almighty God but thought about how I had “committed an offense” against the brothers and sisters of The Church of Almighty God. How could I dare to go to church?

Right in the middle of this dilemma, Brother Yang called me to ask if I had time and said that he hoped that I could continue to investigate the work of Almighty God in the last days. I told him about my misgivings. Brother Yang said: “No problem, we believers in God are all one family, and brothers and sisters in The Church of Almighty God won’t care about it.” When I heard Brother Yang’s words, I knew that this was God being understanding of my immature stature. The next day I went to The Church of Almighty God with Brother Yang.

The brothers and sisters were happy to see that I had found my way back to the path. They formally bore witness to me that the Lord Jesus had returned to express the truth to do the work of judgment in the last days starting from the house of God. They also fellowshiped to me the meaning of the incarnate God’s work in the last days as well as the importance of the incarnation to mankind’s salvation. After that, I read in the word of God: “I tell you, those who believe in God because of the signs are surely the category that shall suffer destruction. Those who are incapable of accepting the words of Jesus who has returned to flesh are surely the progeny of hell, the descendants of the archangel, the category that shall be subjected to everlasting destruction. Many people may not care what I say, but I still want to tell every so-called saint who follows Jesus that, when you see Jesus descend from the heaven upon a white cloud with your own eyes, this will be the public appearance of the Sun of righteousness. Perhaps that will be a time of great excitement for you, yet you should know that the time when you witness Jesus descend from the heaven is also the time when you go down to hell to be punished. It will herald the end of God’s management plan, and will be when God rewards the good and punishes the wicked. For the judgment of God will have ended before man sees signs, when there is only the expression of truth. Those who accept the truth and do not seek signs, and thus have been purified, shall have returned before the throne of God and entered the Creator’s embrace. Only those who persist in the belief that ‘The Jesus who does not ride upon a white cloud is a false Christ’ shall be subjected to everlasting punishment, for they only believe in the Jesus who exhibits signs, but do not acknowledge the Jesus who proclaims severe judgment and releases the true way of life. And so it can only be that Jesus deals with them when He openly returns upon a white cloud. They are too stubborn, too confident in themselves, too arrogant. How could such degenerates be rewarded by Jesus? The return of Jesus is a great salvation for those who are capable of accepting the truth, but for those who are unable to accept the truth it is a sign of condemnation. You should choose your own path, and should not blaspheme against the Holy Spirit and reject the truth. You should not be an ignorant and arrogant person, but someone who obeys the guidance of the Holy Spirit and longs for and seeks the truth; only in this way will you benefit” (“When You Behold the Spiritual Body of Jesus Will Be When God Has Made Anew Heaven and Earth” in The Word Appears in the Flesh).

After reading the word of God, I again carefully thought back on the truths that my brothers and sisters had fellowshiped to me and to which they had born witness. I understood that there are two ways in which the Lord would return in the last days, one being the hidden advent and the other being a return known to all. Now, the incarnate Almighty God’s work of judgment, beginning in the house of God, is indeed the work of the Lord’s hidden advent. Because the incarnate God has returned among mankind, His appearance is that of an ordinary person and no one is able to tell that He is God. No one knows His true identity, and this is kept secret from people. Only those who are able to distinguish the voice of God will know, accept, and follow Him. It is just as the Lord Jesus said: “My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me” (John 10:27). Those who do not recognize the voice of God will certainly treat the incarnate God as an ordinary person. They will deny, resist, and refuse to follow God, just like the Jewish Pharisees did in their time. They saw the Lord Jesus but did not know His identity, and they blindly accused the Lord. The present time is the stage of God’s hidden work of saving mankind. Almighty God expresses the word to judge, purify, and perfect people. Before the disasters, He will make a group of overcomers, and after perfecting them into a group of overcomers, the incarnate God’s work of the hidden advent will come to an end. When the disasters begin, God will reward the good and punish the evil, and He will make Himself known to all nations and peoples. At that time, the prophecy that the Lord shall come openly will be fulfilled, just as it says in the Bible: “And then shall appear the sign of the Son of man in heaven: and then shall all the tribes of the earth mourn, and they shall see the Son of man coming in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory” (Matthew 24:30). “Behold, he comes with clouds; and every eye shall see him, and they also which pierced him: and all kindreds of the earth shall wail because of him” (Revelation 1:7). This is the reason why when the Lord descends upon a cloud all the kindreds of the earth shall wail. At this time, my heart was suddenly brightened, and I saw that the Lord’s work of the hidden advent is a great salvation for us. We can only attain cleansing and salvation if we accept the judgment of the word of God during the Lord’s hidden advent. If we do not accept God’s work of judgment now, then when He comes upon the clouds and makes Himself known to all we will have become those who resisted God. We will be weeping and gnashing our teeth, and then our repentance will come too late because Almighty God says: “The judgment of God will have ended before man sees signs, when there is only the expression of truth.”

Thanks be to Almighty God! The word of God unveiled all the mysteries and clearly elucidated the truth in all its aspects. It opened my eyes and convinced me thoroughly. In the following days, I regularly went to church to share the word of God in the last days together with the brothers and sisters. We heard hymns and watched music videos, videos of recitations of the word of God, and gospel films produced by the brothers and sisters of The Church of Almighty God. I felt that I gained something new every time and my heart was happy beyond compare. Especially in the gospel movies, the brothers and sisters focused on fellowshiping all the questions with such detail and clarity. All the doubts and confusion I had in believing in God for so many years were able to be resolved little by little. I saw that The Church of Almighty God really did have the truth and the work of the Holy Spirit, and that Almighty God is the returned Lord Jesus! What made me even more excited was that on the third day of coming to the church, I saw the sister who had performed onstage the song of praise at Christmas in 2016. She had also accepted the work of Almighty God in the last days. It is thanks to God for guiding and inspiring us to catch up with the footsteps of the Lamb, reaching the good land of Canaan from the wilderness, returning to the house of God, and directly enjoying the abundance and supply of God’s words of life!

I reflected that it was because of a special kindness from God that I was able to return to the house of God. Given my rebellious nature, how could I have welcomed the Lord’s return without God’s leadership and guidance or the patience of the brothers and sisters in fellowshiping the word of God to me? God’s love for me truly is great. It is impossible to describe! I want only to sing my praise to God through hymns and to unswervingly follow Almighty God!

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