I am Elijah. I am alone in the wilderness, and I am the only one left whose knee has not bowed down to Baal. But I am so much more than Elijah. He didn’t have the technology I have. He couldn’t search databases on dozens of worlds, looking to see if there might be another. He didn’t spend years turning over every rock of humanity. He didn’t spend years looking for any church that did not deny Christ, searching for any page that referred to Jesus in any way other than “someone once believed it.”
He wasn’t as alone as I am. He couldn’t be. He had not searched through every person in the world. He felt alone.
I am alone.
Father, you promised that you would come when the last Christian believed. You promised that you would call us all out of this dust to your side when your last little lamb entered the pen. Why haven’t you called for me? There are no more. I am the last. The last Christian, Adam Kirke.
I want to go home so much.
Is this what Noah felt?
Another reporter came today about my old site. She stumbled across it, thought it would be a good human interest piece. She came in person! “I thought it might help to see a person in real life,” she said, as if I was so old I predated realationships. “I’d like to talk to you. And it’ll help you overdrive your message to the new generation!”
I struggled with it, of course. She had no interest in me or my message. She wanted a few sticks of data to put up on the network. In her editing, she’d make me look like a fruitcake. She’d cut out anything of the Gospel, just like all the others.
I took the interview anyway. My site is old and it needs updating, but it has the Gospel. If it brings one more person to visit, I might not be alone anymore.
Father, why should I be alone? The world is dying, and I am dying with it. Save me. If my words will save another, use me. Bless that interview so others can hear about you. Forgive me for doubting. I believe. Help me in my unbelief!
When can I see Margaret again?
Thank you for never making me Hosea.
I’ve been away a few days, and ink and paper does not travel well. I went to visit Margaret’s grave. No one visits the graveyards anymore. Rows on rows of testaments to man’s sin and our futile efforts to live forever. You’d think they’d get the message, but it’s so much easier to ignore.
Forty-three years of marriage, and I never had to doubt her. I miss her so much. Is this it? Am I saying my goodbyes?
I stopped by Samuel’s on the way home. He only had time to say hello. Too much happening in the overdrive. Realationships are more important than relationships of flesh and blood. He’s still not married, though I suspect he’s hired people to visit him at home. He’s lonely, but he doesn’t understand what it is to be with someone.
I told him you love him. God, save him. Use my words or someone else’s. I don’t care. I don’t care anymore. Lord, he was your child once. Bring him back. Respark the old fire he once had. Save him. Please. Please.
I don’t want to lose my son forever.
After I leave, will you finally come and blow out this world’s candle? I hope so. I hate it here. I hate this prison. I love them. I want them to know Jesus, but they’ve turned their back so many times. I should love them more. I should love those who are my enemies.
I finally thought to check on the old site. The news story ran a few nights ago; it was delayed because of the rioting. A few thousand more hits, and even a few queries. It’s plain curiosity, but it might mean something eventually. I offered to go visit, but I forgot how frightening that is. No one visits other people anymore. Not even their own fathers.
Father, come and take me away or show me something. Something. I am so alone.
Why are you downcast, O my soul? Why so disturbed within me? Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him, my Savior and my God.
I struggle with Jonah’s sin. I want this world to die. I want it to be destroyed.
The medical examined me today. He called and looked over my data, asked me the normal questions. He asked why I wouldn’t take the injections like a good patient. I told him it was because he was trying to treat me for psychological diseases, of which I have none. He shook his head and sighed.
I’m not sick that way. Faith is not a disease that needs to be treated. He didn’t understand, though. None of the medicals ever do.
I was happy for more pain injections, though. I injected my pseudoburger before lunch. I haven’t felt this good for a long time. My hand doesn’t even hurt as I’m writing this.
Why do they have to treat me this way? Why am I the last one?
The flurry of interest is gone. I tried reaching out to those who visited the site, but I guess I’m just too old-fashioned. Just an old man. Just a dying old man.
Samuel came here, now that I’ve been moved out of my home. He brought me my papers and pens. He doesn’t understand writing like this, but maybe someday.
He was angry I didn’t tell him I was sick. I had told him several times. It doesn’t matter anymore. Why would it? I will go and be with Margaret.
No. That is not what I look forward to. At least, that isn’t the biggest thing.
What will it be like to walk again? What will it be like to walk with my general? I pray I have followed his orders well. I know I do not deserve a place in his army. I am a weakling, such a weakling, but he took me in anyway. He covered up every time I played the traitor. He went to war so that he could include me.
What will it be like to stand with Jesus and see my prayers?
Come quickly, Lord Jesus.
They don’t even tell me to curse God and die. They just tell me to die.
The medicals are bored with caring for me. I am not interesting to them. I do not offer them any chances for glory, and I do not present them a riddle. At least my body doesn’t. When I tell them the reason for my joy, their eyes cloud over. They’re not interested in my faith.
I want to obey them. I long for the New Jerusalem. I want to see Jesus with these very eyeballs. I want to stand on this earth and see my redeemer.
What will come after me? It won’t even be the days of Noah.
Father, save me. Snatch me from this world. Use me in some way to save another from this burning house if it is your will, but bring me quickly to your side.
Lord, when your glory I shall see and taste your kingdom’s pleasure, your blood my royal robe shall be, my joy beyond all measure. When I appear before your throne, your righteousness shall be my crown! With these, I need not hide me. I need not hide me. And there in garments richly wrought, as your own bride I shall be brought to stand in joy beside
Adam Kirke will now only be remembered. He transitioned late last night after a battle with neural degeneration. His memory continues in his son, Samuel.
“Hey, what’s this?”
“Those? Oh, I remember reading about them once. Uh, printouts, I think. People used to write on them before the overdrive went active.”
“Really? Huh. That’s nifty. Old stuff.”
“Eh, whatever. Drive it, we got to get this placed cleared for the next live-in.”
“It’s about some Spanish guy. Jesus.”
“I never got into history.”
“I think I’m going to take this. Think anyone will get bothered?”
“His son don’t care, so no one else will.”
“Huh. Look at this, a whole codex. I haven’t seen one of these outside a museum. I think I might try reading it. I wonder what it’s about?”
“What’s it called?”