Chapter Ten: A Time for Telling
He came for me in the stillness, in the dark of the night when dawn was still far off. He placed the pommel of the double-edged dagger in my palm and told me whom to take. The clandestine targets on a paper would later become numbers on My List; The List of nameless faces who would haunt my early morning dreams. Their blood splashed on my knuckles, fingers and tear-stained fists. I couldn’t wash it away. I begged God to forgive me. I begged Him to wash the putrid stains away. I couldn’t stop the sorrow, the pain, the guilt of strangers whose names I wasn’t told. The men who I left in a heap on the floor after taking their ceremonial totem rings as proof of the deed to be returned to their former Masters.
The Order sends out its Pet Project to hunt a fellow Jesuit who no longer satisfies their Black Goats goals. The plunge of a syringe with prepared cocktails injected between their toes, and it was blamed on another case of cardiac arrest. What do you do when you make a woman a widow before you are twelve years old? Who do you report crimes to when the Chief of Police and the District Attorneys are partakers in your very own abuse? What child can outwit master manipulators and terrorizers of souls? You can’t beat them, so you do what you’ve been made to do: you run away and keep The Secrets. You fade. You run into those secret places within where you hide from the madness.
I never had an option to say no; no one ever told me there was such a thing as free choice. I was a child who saw them brutalize children and swore they would do the same to my family members if I ever refused to obey or spoke The Secrets. My family, like so many in The Underworld, were masters of manipulation and control. Instead, you swore upon your soul that you would never let this happen to the innocents or the girl who smiles at you in between classes and passes notes to you in the back of the room.
They should have killed me that night outside the theater, or when they threw me into the pits to make their Pizza Parlor snuff films have “something more exciting in them.” I should have died when they sent me to kill men twice my age and three times my weight. And yet, they could not. They could not because I was not made for oath keeping rituals and the murder they used me for. I was not made for death, but I was made for life. I was made to give, not take.
My name is Nathan; it means gift or giver. I was made to be a blessing, not a curse; to offer my life to others that they might yet know there is still hope. To you sons of Belial you daughters of the queen of heaven know that there is a true light of hope burning brighter than their darkness can ever conceal.
I think of the early followers of The Way being ravaged by the Roman Emperors and Cesar’s who set the followers of The Way on fire to light their orgies and festivals. Or I think of the Roman Catholic Church burning alive hundreds of thousands of those who spoke The Truth by a peasants tongue. Those lips of commoners who were unsanctioned by the Popes their Anti-Messiah the one who sits enthroned in stead of The True Christ. I think of those followers of Messiah who refused to compromise on The Instructions of The Living God for the sake of a higher inheritance that was yet to come.
People like The Maccabees, Jeremiah, Ezekiel, Enoch, John, and James. They would not relent in their dedication to His Truth even as their enemies tied them to stakes, poured oil upon them, and set them ablaze. They did not hide from persecution, from torture, or death. No, they ran headfirst into the heart of darkness and were willing to be a witness even as they burned brightly. They were anointed as the Levite priests were anointed and set apart to serve in The Tabernacle of Yahweh. The oil of suffering, agony, and certain death released them from these earthly shackles of shame and purchased them a greater weight of glory. Their eyes were fixed no longer on this flesh and blood world but upon the eternal holiness of hope fulfilled.
I assure you of this: the words of their testimony still echo in the hearts of us all. They made way for every one of us. For those of us born into the very Families that have always grown fat on the blood of the innocents, who have pampered themselves with luxury produced by their slaves. I have been a participant in those orgies, and I watched men, women and children burn. I smelled the smoke of their flesh. I partook of their blood from silver and gold chalices as my masters taught me to. Those same festivals are done to this day. The millions that go missing every year are fuel to their frenzies and lusts. But this world has been trained that the deaths of a dozen is a tragedy but the murder of millions is a mere statistic or “a woman’s rites.”
For years of my young life I watched the wicked grow in power by the perverseness of their pleasures. Bound by their cancerous controls I waited and then when the rage would build to a crescendo, they would point my anger, hatred, and need for justice at faces on My List. Once my fury peaked, they let their Pet Project assassin out to hunt. They would put the pommel of the dagger in my palm and tell me to unleash my wrath. The curse of death would land upon me and all the while they grew richer still. They would convince me that my targets were the very men who’d used me the night before. That they were the ones who trafficked the children who were burned every “high day.” Though “they” seem invincible, powerful beyond measure, and limitless in resource, The Families and The Guardians of Secrets have a great weakness.
Every enemy we face has a perpetual chink in their armor, and my Family did not count on one of the wolves of their pack turning against them. Who thought a wolf could forsake its shame, guilt, and hatred, and shed its wicked ways? Could a leopard change its spots? Could a deceiver speak the truth? Would a creature of Death instead choose to freely submit to The Good Shepherd and see that in Him is a greater power than this world has ever known? The Prince of Peace does not control through blackmail, fear, threats, and torture but through freedom, truth, justice, and love.
What The True Master offered me was something my earthly father never had: He offered me a free choice. He offered me an opportunity not plagued with subtle rhetoric and manipulation. He did not offer me the choice between two lesser evils or the guilt of choosing wrong. No, He gave me the freedom to choose which master I would serve.
I could continue the generational wickedness and raise Naomi up on The Path of Secrets. I could use her as an “asset” as my father, uncles and aunts had used me. I could go from our near poverty lifestyle to the new cars, private schools, multiple houses, custom decors, and specialty air plains just like my father had soon after he’d moved my abuser into the room next to my own. I could let the darkness consume me and follow the Left-Hand Path my ancestors had chosen time and time again. Or I could decide to leave The Family and trust my Heavenly Father would be my protector, provider and earn a greater weight of glory. I could choose to join the Followers of The Way burning in the darkness, lighting a path of hope to all who long to be free.
How could I possibly face down this mountain? How could I sever ties with The Family and survive when so many times I’d been the one who ended the lives of those who spoke The Secrets? How much more of their mind controlled arsenal would they send against us? How would they seek to silence us? So many thoughts and all I could do was lay these fears at my Savior’s feet.
As I was facing the decision of silence or speaking, The Father led me to The Beginning, to Genesis, to the story of a man who grew up amidst the greatest time of occult power and dark workings since The Great Flood, where the incarnation of the mystery religions and esoteric knowledge was scattered as Nimrod, The Rebel King of the earth, took to his throne.
He was the first embodiment of the antichrist spirit, which set himself up against The Most High God. The Rebellious One the hunter of men’s souls, boldly set about uniting the world’s population, gods, religions, traditions and focus on warring against The Great Creator. The Angel of Yahweh thwarted their plans by confusing the languages and destroying his rebellious conduit and high place.
With this confusion came the dissemination of The Secrets and many mysteries encoded into the pagan religions who worshiped the statues and obelisks of their fallen Rebel King by many names, such as Orion, Apollo, Ra, Dionysus, Osiris, and dozens more. His mother and later queen wife Ishtar became the centerfold for goddess worship with many names like Semiramis, Columbia, Liberty, Isis, and Diana, also known as Mary The Queen of Heaven. Their incestuous progeny, Tammuz or the “sun of god” would be the basis for ignorant idolatry for generations to come. (Ezekiel 8) The world has bloomed with the worship of this Rebel King be it as the first Master Mason or The King of The Pit, he who was and is not but will be again. See Rob Skiba’s superb research on this for more at (robschannel. com)
In the settings of this devilishly apocalyptic scene, Yahweh called a man out of his pagan father’s house. He did not call a Jew, Israelite, Muslim or Greek but rather one who would be obedient not because of bloodline but because of belief. He called a man named Abram and told him that out of him would come forth a nation whose people would be set apart to Yahweh and through whom all the earth would be blessed. That day Yahweh introduced himself to Abram by a different name, El Shaddai. El Shaddai is who I also needed to know before setting out and leaving my Family’s familiar ways behind.
Before I could stand against the defilers of the people, I needed to know if The God of Justice still lived and moved among His people. El Shaddai is a name that means father, mother, brother, as well as destroyer. In no uncertain terms, Yahweh told Abram He would be his protector, his family, and his provider. Abram obeyed Yahweh’s Instructions and left his pagan roots in Babylon behind and set himself apart for his new Father’s dangerous and unfamiliar Way.
It was as I learned more about The God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob that I came to know, believe, and trust that He would be my all-sufficient exceeding abundance of provision and protection. In Him alone could I put my trust, in Him alone could I find my source of strength. In the end, it would come down to a single testing of reality. Yahweh would prove His Word to be true, or my new family would die. If I obeyed Him first and above all else, I knew He would build a hedge of protection around me that no power on this earth, above it or below it could destroy. If by His wisdom He allowed the Enemy to overcome this fleshly body through death, we knew we would be freed from sharing with Him in this monumental earthly blessings and suffering once and for all. Death was an inevitability and now was the time I became willing to die for something of eternal importance.