The whirlwind restoration of the ecosystem by Jesus Himself made the first few days bearable. The air wasn't stale anymore; meat and fish had been banished, save for the Feast of the Bridegroom that would be one of the few exception, but veggies were filling and tasted fresh.
Andy's mom was a Christian; unfortunately, she had died of privations in a mental hospital sometime just before Armageddon, and there had been no time to notify Andy. He finds out in the best way possible - seeing her name on a list of Glorified during an attempt to match Tribulation orphans with surviving Christian relatives. Andy can't resist, and sneaks out of the temporary orphanage they've been put in, to see her. It's only a day's march, a lot for a kid, but nothing for a legionary.
The very fabric of the world had changed, and with it, the very nature of relationships. Andy approached the residence with trepidation, the memories of his mother flooding back – her laughter, the warmth of her embrace, and her reassuring voice.
As he knocked on the door, a moment of poignant nostalgia took hold. The door swung open, revealing a radiant woman, her appearance a startling mix of the familiar and the ethereal. There was the semblance of his mother, but her eyes held an otherworldly glow, lacking the depth of emotion that once resided within.
"Mom," Andy began, choked up. The reunion he had hoped for, the rekindling of a bond lost in time, seemed to slip away with every passing second.
"Andy," she acknowledged, her voice gentle but devoid of warmth. "It's good to see you. I would talk to you about something important: you need to accept Christ."
Andy's heart ached. He'd come seeking solace, a piece of his past to anchor him in this surreal world. But the woman before him, while bearing the face of his mother, was unmistakably altered. All the combat training falls away, and Andy cries in the arms of their mother, who applies a gentle hug.
"I missed you, mom. I... I wanted to see you, to hear your voice again. I... We fought, we almost won, there was..."
His mother simply nodded, her countenance unwavering. "I understand, Andy. But what's important now is your salvation. Come, let Christ into your heart."
Struggling to hold back tears, Andy pulled her into a tight embrace, yearning for a hint of the motherly warmth he had known. Instead, he felt the cool touch of someone distant, someone transformed.
Pulling back, Andy was left speechless for a moment when she offered a tray of vegetable casserole. "For you and your friends," she said, with the same detached kindness. Andy took it.
The meeting was brief, the pain lingering. As Andy trudged back to the orphanage, the weight of the encounter settled in. The Glorified, for all their radiance, had lost the very essence that made them human. And Andy, despite the courage and strength cultivated as a centurion, was still a child at heart, yearning for the love and warmth of family.
The cruel irony of it all wasn't lost on him - the Glorified, changed by their stay in Heaven itself, had lost the flaws that made them human.
The casserole, shared with fellow legionaries at the temporary orphanage, tasted pleasant, but bland. It was the worst meal of Andy's life. It was time to move on.
(From "Left Behind: Kingdom Come: The Final Victory. Excerpt authorized for reproduction as per the book's special copyright notice)
Like everyone else, Cameron Williams was fascinated with all that had gone on and what was yet to come. Of course, as a late martyr, he had spent very little time in heaven—just long enough to reunite with his wife, Chloe, and look forward to seeing their son back on earth at the Glorious Appearing. Now he anticipated the special dinner where his mother-in-law was to tell yet another story of Jesus.
No one called Cameron Buck now, because, he said, "there's nothing to buck here." And strange about Cameron and Chloe's relationship was that they still loved each other, but not romantically. Their entire hearts' desires were on the person of Jesus and worshiping Him for eternity. In the Millennium, they would live and labor together with Kenny and raise him, but as there would be no marrying or giving in marriage, their relationship would be wholly platonic.
"It's bizarre," Chloe told Cameron. "I still love and admire and respect you and want to be near you, but it's as if I've been prescribed some medicine that has cured me of any other distracting feelings."
"And somehow that doesn't insult me," Cameron said. "Does my feeling the same offend you?"
She shook her head. Her mind, like his, must have been on Jesus and whatever He had for them for the rest of time and eternity.
"Do you realize, Chlo', that we still have to raise Kenny in the nurture and admonition of the Lord and see to it that he decides for Christ?"
Only true believers and innocents had survived the Tribulation and the sheep-and-goats judgment to make it into the kingdom. "How many children of the Tribulation must there be," Chloe said, "who still have to choose Christ over living for themselves?"
"Children of the Tribulation," Cameron said. "I like that."
"God has been impressing on me that Kenny will be only one of many children in our charge."
"Me too, Chloe. I find that amazing."
As they talked, it became clear that the Lord had shown them both that their recompense for giving their lives and—in essence—losing their son for a time because of that would be the blessing of a hundredfold more children to love. Cameron could only imagine where these children would come from, but his old mentor Tsion Ben-Judah reminded him that "a hundredfold" in the Scriptures very likely meant many more than a hundred.
"I cannot imagine the havoc unbelievers could wreak in this new world. I hope God grants us the strength to do with them what He wants."
"Oh, you know He will."
One morning Cameron was praising Jesus with psalms and hymns and spiritual songs when he noticed Kenny was not playing alone. Half a dozen other kids—all seven or under, of course, because youngsters alive at the time of the Rapture had been taken and returned as grown-ups at the Glorious Appearing—had joined him and were getting acquainted.
In a flash it came to Cameron to call this group COT (Children of the Tribulation), and as negative as the name sounded, it didn't grate on him. It was merely fact. Here were representative children born after the Rapture who had survived to enter the kingdom. As the thousand years progressed, of course, kids would be born who could still be called children of the Tribulation, because someone in their ancestry had to have lived through it.
When Cameron rushed out to greet them, it was as if they knew he was coming. They immediately quit running and jumping and playing and sat in a semicircle, looking up at him expectantly.
They're ready. Am I?
"I'm Cameron," he said.
A boy with a page haircut raised his hand. "So, start telling us all about Jesus. She can tell us too."
Cameron glanced behind him to find Chloe, who had also apparently been drawn to the kids.
"Lord, where do I start?" Cameron prayed silently.
"In the beginning," Jesus told him in his mind. "Where we always start."
(End excerpt)
Andy lowered their hand. They'd have to keep up the "boy" thing for a while, but it was no big deal right now.
For now, these clueless Glorified offered food, shelter, network access, and most importantly, if Andy's experience with their own mother was any indication, they would be extremely predictable. At a hand gesture from their centurion, the surviving child legionaries sat down with a military precision that non-Glorified might have found odd, and listened in. The tale of conversion was expected; the inside scoop of what the Tribulation Force had done, or not done, during the Tribulation, was priceless.
Cameron, so engrossed in the stories of Jesus and the intricate details of the tribulations, was unaware of the covert purpose behind the children's avid attention. Andy took note of everything: the motivations, the goals, the strategies employed by the Tribulation Force. Every piece of information was a potential asset in the complex, shifting landscape of the new world.
As Cameron spoke, Andy subtly relayed hand signals to the other children. A touch to the chin meant "remember this", a brush on the arm meant "questionable reliability", and so on. The legionaries were well-trained; they quickly adapted to the situation and followed the narrative, filtering and categorizing each detail.
To Chloe and Cameron, their audience appeared innocent, the children's wide-eyed expressions and intermittent nods suggesting they were absorbing every word. But in reality, these children were processing the information with a strategic mindset, evaluating every angle and inconsistency.
During a particularly emotional recounting, Chloe took a moment to distribute some freshly baked bread among the children. Andy took the opportunity to convene a quiet huddle.
"We're getting a good picture here," whispered Mara, one of the older legionaries with a talent for analysis. "It's almost like these Glorified don't realize the value of what they're sharing."
Andy nodded. "The more they talk, the more we understand their psyche, their weaknesses, their strengths. Every story, every event they recount, tells us something."
Toby, the youngest and most tech-savvy of the group, chimed in. "Plus, the network access they've given us. It's like they've handed us the keys."
Andy held up a hand to quiet them. "First things first. We settle in, rest, continue gathering intel. We figure out what this new world order really means, and how we can navigate it. For now, we play along."
As Chloe and Cameron resumed the storytelling, the Children of the Tribulation clustered up around them, and the kid legionaries settled back into their attentive postures, their minds racing, ready to plan their next move. Their journey in this transformed world had just begun, and they were determined to leave no stone unturned.
