■ Steven’s Amazing Adventures, and the Future of the World ■ (PART 14) - "Supernatural Strength" - (A STORY about the END TIMES, with Messages from God) (PART 14)

Steven’s Amazing Adventures,

and the Future of the World

(A Story about the End Times 
with Messages from God)

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(This story chronicles the adventures of Steven O'Neill, his wife Sarah, and their friends during the End Times. Judgment has already struck the U.S., and Steve and his friends have reached the vast continent of Asia. Witness the amazing things God will reveal about the coming kingdom of the Beast (or the Antichrist), the Mark of the Beast, and the Tribulation period. This story should keep you fascinated, as a realistic account of the future unfolds in the form of a fictional story.

But, this story is not just a story. It contains messages from God and prophecies that actually shall happen. It is written as fiction with fictional characters, but the message of the story is very real, and the cataclysmic events, touched on in this story, will actually impact this earth as God’s Holy Bible and its prophecies unfold. The world will soon enter a time much like that portrayed in this story. I encourage you to seek God about this to see what He will show you.)

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Chapter Fourteen

(Click here to see The Table of Contents.) 

PART 14: “Supernatural Strength"

The steel cell door creaked open and a flashlight shined into Vasily’s face, causing him to close his eyes briefly before opening them a crack. Three armed men in camouflage fatigues stood in the doorway, looking at him grimly. Each had close-cropped hair and a grim expression on his face.

Vasily had been in solitary confinement for a couple days. He was incarcerated at a concentration camp in Siberia. Most of the men he had joined in an escape attempt had been caught and also placed in solitary confinement cells. One, Boris Dernov, had been shot in the shoulder as he was making his escape on a stolen snowmobile. He was recovering in the camp hospital.

“Get up,” a soldier said gruffly, motioning toward Vasily with his hand.

The 60-year-old Russian slowly stood to his feed from the hard sleeping pad he had been sitting on.

“What is going on?” Vasily said.

“It’s time to put you back to work, old man,” a young soldier said arrogantly.

The soldiers grabbed him, pulled him out of his cell, and shoved him down a narrow, concrete hall. Dim light bulbs in the ceiling, which were spaced wide apart, provided the only light in the prison other than the flashlight which a soldier carried.

Now, a new Christian, Vasily regretted that he had attempted to turn in Sergey Ulanov and other Christians staying at Sergey’s house in the town of Medvedski. They had vanished while Vasily was asleep. The Russian soldiers he thought would arrest the Christians had instead arrested him because the government suspected that Vasily had been working with the Christians, even though he hadn’t. Vasily now realized that God had miraculously taken or translated Sergey and the other Christians away from Sergey’s house.

“I thought I was to stay in solitary confinement for three weeks,” Vasily said.

“You are being ordered back to work,” a soldier replied indifferently.

‘How could they decide to remove me from solitary confinement?’ Vasily wondered to himself.

After passing through a secured door, Vasily found himself back outside in the cold, winter air. Snow was falling on the camp in gentle but steady flurries, covering the land with more white powder. A lone soldier standing outside the prison door inhaled harmful tobacco smoke from a cigarette as he watched the camp routines continue. Vasily knew that the Russian soldiers were not allowed to smoke on duty, but this one was somehow getting away with it. [Read how Vasily first arrived at this concentration camp in Part 5.]

They passed a camp hospital building constructed of brick and concrete, which had few windows. Clusters of leafless thorn bushes surrounded the building, providing a layer of protection against intruders and also acting as a deterrent to any would-be

escape artists. Some distance further, after passing by some barracks buildings on the right, they reached a tall razor-wire-topped fence. Guards standing by unlocked and swung open a gate the width of two trucks. Through the chain link fence, Vasily saw piles of large rocks and over 90 men breaking them into smaller pieces with hammers. Seeing him hesitate, a guard shoved him forward.

“Get moving,” he said gruffly. “You are going back to work.”

Once Vasily reached a pile, a guard pointed to a sledge hammer lying on the ground. “Pick it up and start swinging,” the guard said coldly, clasping in his hands an AK-74M, which hung from a sling around his shoulders.

Another guard nearby carried a leather bullwhip in one hand and had a gun slung over his shoulder.

“My son,” God’s loving voice reached Vasily’s spirit and soul, “My strength is made perfect in weakness. I will give you the strength to work, and soon I will lead you to a place of safety. And, I love you very much. And, I the LORD your GOD and Abba Father have spoken.”

“Father God,” Vasily said quietly as he reached for the hammer, “I want to thank you for the strength you will give me, but I don’t really want to do this work. I am older than most of these men, and I have some back problems. Will you take the back problems away from me and give me the strength to do this work?”

“I will, My son,” Abba God said.

“Get to work!” a guard said, cracking a bullwhip near Vasily’s feet.

Vasily began swinging the hammer at a rock. It splintered into smaller pieces with the second blow. Several more swings broke the pieces into small chunks.

“Break up the larger chunks,” the guard with the bullwhip ordered, pointing at golf-ball-sized rocks.

After an hour had passed, Vasily said to God quietly while he worked, “Abba Father, when will I be able to escape or be released from this prison? Thank you for reducing the back pain, but when will I be able to leave?”

“Very soon, My son,” Abba God said to him. “This will not last much longer. Just be patient. I will give you the strength. And, I the LORD your GOD and Abba Father have spoken.”

Snap! A whip cracked loudly near his head, just a couple feet away from his ear, causing Vasily to flinch.

“Get to work!” a guard barked.

Groaning quietly, Vasily continued to crush the rock with the hammer, sending small splinters flying while his breath came out in small clouds. As he worked, the snow fell on his orange hat, his shoulders, and his eyebrows. The sub-zero temperature stung his face and slipped through gaps in his coat and gloves. He had to keep working and moving to stay somewhat warm.

After another hour of work, his arms felt sore, but he had to keep swinging. “Dear God, please help me to trust you,” Vasily said.

“I will,” Abba God’s kind voice replied.

“It’s time for your break,” a soldier from behind him said suddenly.

Dropping the hammer, Vasily lowered down onto a small boulder, not bothering to dust the snow off. Every inhalation stung a little, but he had to breathe deeply due to his exertion. This is very difficult, he thought. In some ways he would rather be in solitary confinement than have to work so hard in the cold. He reached over and took a thermos provided for him and drank deeply from it.

Thirty feet away from him, a man breaking up rocks suddenly fell to the ground, crunching into the snow, and dropped his sledge hammer. The guards ordered him to stand, but he was too weak. So, they began kicking him and yelling at him to stand. He slowly stood to his feet, but collapsed again, exhausted and sick. The guards mercilessly kicked him and told him to stand, but he remained motionless. Then, a guard tapped his knee with the end of his machine gun. There was no reflex. He bent down, removing a glove, and placed his hand over the man’s neck to check his pulse. After half a minute, he stood and said to another guard, “He’s dead, I think.”

“What should we do with the body?” a young soldier asked.

“Just leave it until evening,” the older soldier replied. “Then, we will dispose of the body.”

Vasily shuddered. He was grieved to see the man die from sickness and exhaustion. He sure hoped and prayed that he would not die like that. But, God’s comforting words returned to his memory: “I will give you the strength to work, and soon I will lead you to a place of safety.”

“Dear Abba Father God, get me out of this camp very soon, please,” Vasily anxiously said under his breath.

“You will be going very soon,” God said. “Now, trust Me and you will see Me give you supernatural strength and supernatural warmth.”

“I choose to trust you, Abba Father,” Vasily said.

“Very good, My son,” God said.

“Your break is over,” a soldier said, approaching him.

Vasily whispered, “I can do this through your strength alone. And, I choose to trust you.”

Then, he picked up the hammer, and a sudden feeling of warmth rushed through his body. The cold didn’t feel as cold as it had before, and life and power began coursing through his veins in a way he hadn’t felt before. Vasily swung at the rocks with more vigor than he’d had since he was a young man. The hammer felt less heavy in his hands and the strength to wield it did not diminish as he continued breaking up rocks.

A prisoner nearby glanced over at Vasily from time to time. When the guards were gone, the man said, “What did you eat for lunch today? You are swinging like a steam hammer.”

“It is nothing I can do naturally,” Vasily said as he worked quickly. “It is God who strengthens me.”

“I want to know this God you speak of,” the man said, breathing deeply from exertion. The man groaned as he raised his hammer for another swing. He had just missed his target by an inch.

“Call on the Name of Jesus Christ,” Vasily said, “and trust only in Him to save you from your sins by His precious blood, and you will be saved. Of course, look to God for help to forsake your sins. And, you will see God do miracles for you like He is doing for me.”

____________________

“Visitors”

Piles of corn kernels and grain poured out of a white grain sack and into a metal feeding trough. Simmental cows* stepped forward through slots in a wooden pen and began hungrily munching on the grain and kernels in the trough. This was the second day Mark Mzembi had fed the cattle, and he liked watching them eat. The cows devoured the grains as if they were delicious, gourmet food. (* In South Africa, they’re called “Simmentaler” cows.)

“Hey Mark,” a 13-year-old boy said as he approached the 32-year-old Zimbabwean, coming from the barn, which was behind Mark.

“Hello, Simon,” Mark said addressing the teen boy, who was ethnic Zulu like his father, Sizwe Mah.

(Click to see source.)

“How did you like taking the Landini tractor for a spin?” Simon said as Mark picked up another grain bag from a small stack nearby.

“It was fun,” Mark said as he pulled out a knife to cut the bag open. “I look forward to learning how to operate your dad’s combine. Have you learned how to drive it?”

“My dad says he will teach me how once I’m 17,” Simon said. “But, he allows me to drive a small tractor we have and a Yahama Viking ATV. It has a trailer for transporting stuff. But, I can get it up to 80.5 kilometers per hour.*” (*Or 50 miles per hour).

“With the trailer?” Mark asked, squinting with a smile on his face.

Simon laughed, imagining his ATV bouncing over rough terrain, at top speed, with a trailer attached. “No. That would be crazy,” Simon said, chuckling. “The trailer would bump around like popping popcorn.”

“That sounds pretty fun,” Mark said. “I noticed your dad has a lot of nice rigs. I wonder how he could afford them.”

“The farm is doing well and we’ve sold a lot of cows,” Simon said. “My dad saved up a lot of money when I was little and bought better tractors than he had before. But some of the stuff we have was bought using loans.”

“So, what do you want to be when you grow up?” Mark said as he lifted the hefty sack and began dumping it into the trough.

“I want to be a farmer like my dad,” Simon said, smiling. “I can’t wait to be able to drive the big tractors that my dad drives and tune up the engines.”

A beeping sound suddenly interrupted their conversation, and a voice spoke from a two-way radio clipped to Mark’s belt.

“Hello Mark, this is Sizwe. Do you copy? Over.”

Mark removed the radio and held it to his mouth. Pressing the talk button, he said, “This is Mark. I copy. What is it? Over.”

“We have a two cars pulling up our long driveway,” Sizwe’s voice crackled through the speaker. “I don’t know who they are. Pray for me. They could be asking for trouble. Over.”

From Mark’s position behind the barn, he couldn’t see the graveled road leading up to the farm.

“I’ll pray for you. Over,” he said before clipping the two-way radio to his belt.

“I have to see who they are,” Simon said before he started running toward the barn. Soon, he was lost from view as he darted around the barn and ran toward the two-story farm house.

“Dear Father God,” Mark said, “I pray that you will protect this family and me from those thugs that stole my motorcycle. I was sure I saw one riding my Honda motorcycle and following us out of the town when Sizwe drove us toward his farm. I hope that these people coming to this house are not those thugs. Protect us from harm and guide Sizwe in what to do. I pray these things in Jesus Christ’s Name. Amen.”

Mark picked up an extra food bag and set it on the cargo bed of a dark blue Honda Pioneer 700 ATV. Then, he hopped in, started it up, and the gasoline engine hummed to life. Shifting to drive, Mark pulled out of the field and accelerated, passing around the large white barn and down the graveled path that led from the barn to the farm house. He could see two older Mitsubishi cars, which appeared a little rusted and worn, resting beside the house. One was red and the other was tan. As he drew closer, Mark could see that both cars had a few dents and scratches in their surfaces and some small cracks in their front windshields.

The people who owned them were not rich, Mark realized, feeling a little relieved that they couldn’t belong to the thugs he encountered a couple days ago.  Those thieves had a newer Nissan Titan pickup truck and a brand-new motorcycle on a trailer behind it.

Parking beside the Mitsubishi cars, Mark jumped out and headed toward the house on foot. He knocked, but the door remained shut. His heart rate increased slightly as Mark felt that something might be wrong. Perhaps the cars actually belonged to criminals Mark had not met before. Could the Mahlangus be held hostage? More seconds passed. Mark decided to knock again.

At last, the door swung open. Sizwe’s eleven-year-old daughter, Lesedi, stood in the entrance, smiling meekly. “Hello Mark, we got visitors,” she said, fingering a braid of black hair. 

“Who are they?” Mark asked, closing the door behind him quietly.

“I don’t know. I think they are trying to escape or something,” Lesedi said, shrugging.

“What do you mean they are trying to escape?” Mark asked, concerned.

The young girl just shrugged.

Mark walked past her down the hallway, which occupied the length of the house. Paintings of tractors and savannah landscapes and family photos hung from the walls. Mark slowly walked past the entrance to the kitchen on the right, which had a white, sparkling floor. The room was empty.

To the left, further down the hall, a wide entryway opened into the Mahlangu’s large living room, which was comfortably furnished with couches, bookshelves, a keyboard on a stand, and other furniture. Across the hall from the living room entrance was an entry leading into the spacious dining room with its long table. Mark hesitated at the threshold of the living room and listened to see if he could hear any conversation.

“It is very generous of you to help us,” a man’s voice said. “We were living in constant danger, and I fear that there will be more and more danger to come.”

“Why do you say that?” Martha Mahlangu, Sizwe’s wife, asked.

“Terrorism and violence against Christians is increasing in the inner city where we live,” a man said. “It is not safe to go out at night anymore. I used to work unloading freight at night, but I had to quit my job because I would be mugged and threatened every other night, it seemed. Some gangs would find out that I was a Christian and would threaten to hurt me if I witnessed to them. They would rob me and sometimes beat me as I got out of my car, when I arrived at work. When I told me boss about it, he scoffed at me and said I should take the bumper stickers off my car.”

“What do your bumper stickers say?” Sizwe asked.

“‘The only way to Heaven is by Jesus Christ,’” a lady’s voice said. “Another says, ‘Jesus Christ is Lord.’”

(Johannesburg. Click for source.)

“There is no way that I will remove those bumper stickers,” the man’s voice said, “because I do not want to be offended by the Gospel of Jesus Christ. But, the gangs threatened to spray paint my car and hurt my family if I didn’t stop distributing Gospel tracts and witnessing in their area. I prayed about it, and I felt that God was telling me to leave Johannesburg.”

“What about the police? Did you contact them about your trouble?” Martha asked.

“We did,” the man said, “but they said they couldn’t handle it because of extreme violence that would erupt if the police were spotted inside the gang’s area of influence. They told us they could not protect those neighborhoods because the gangs were armed with machine guns and were very violent.”

“I have a question for you,” Sizwe said. “I hope you take it well, but I was wondering something. Why didn’t the gangs try to kill you earlier?”

“They threatened us and they stole my wallet once. But, I believe God was protecting us and providing for us,” the man said.

“I believe He was too,” Sizwe said. “Well, you are welcome to stay at my house. I have a basement that is very comfortable and it is outfitted with guest bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. But, you all are free to eat what my wife prepares and have meals with us.”

Mark decided his curiosity was too much to just stay put. He walked around the corner of the entryway and entered the living room to see two large, leather chesterfield couches facing each other in a corner of the room to the left of the entry. Sizwe and Martha sat on one which faced a second chesterfield on which sat two other married couples. All were likely of Zulu or Sotho ethnicity, Mark thought. One couple was young, probably in their early thirties, like him. The other couple appeared to be in their early forties.

Bushy, artificial plants in terra cotta pots rested beside the ends of the couches. Between the two couches, a mahogany table supported six coffee cups on platters. A small plate of chocolate chip dessert biscuits (or cookies) sat beside the cups.

Sizwe looked up as Mark entered.

“Come in Mark, and have a seat,” Sizwe said, motioning to a small recliner near his couch.

“Thank you,” Mark said, walking over and taking a seat.

“This is Mark Mzembi,” Sizwe told the couples on the couch across from him.

“He’s from Zimbabwe.”

“And, Mark,” Sizwe said, “the couple closest to you is Lareko and his wife Nomsa Ngwenya.”

“Hello,” Mark said, nodding toward the youngest couple. They smiled back happy to see a man about their age.

“And, this is Tau and his wife Mbali Buthelezi,” Sizwe said, motioning with his hand toward the couple who appeared to be in their early forties.

Just then, Lesedi entered the living room with another young African girl Mark had not seen before, who appeared to be about ten-years-old. A little white girl followed them. She was Sizwe’s adopted daughter, Grace, a five-year-old brunette, who was full of energy. Following right behind her came seven-year-old James, Sizwe’s white, adopted son. Despite their ethnic differences, the children got along well and cared for each other.

“What are you talking about, dad?” the unknown African girl asked Tau.

“We are talking about what happened to me and why I felt God leading me to go to this farm, Awande,” Tau said looking lovingly at his young daughter.

“Those bad men said that they were going to hunt you down, didn’t they daddy?” Awande asked her dad.

“What?” Martha Mahlangu said, covering her mouth, in shock. “You didn’t tell us that.”

“I was going to mention it to you later, but I didn’t want to upset you,” Tau said.

“I pray to Jesus every day that He will protect us from them,” Awande added with some concern in her young face. “But, I believe He will take care of us.”

“I guess,” said Tau, “I should explain that I told the gang leader about Jesus Christ, and afterward, I got a phone call. The voice on the other end said with a cold and hateful tone that my life would be taken from me the next time I entered that part of town, but that is where I work. Then, before I could respond, the speaker had hung up.”

Tau took a sip of coffee and sighed. All eyes were glued to him with curiosity, especially Mark’s and the hosts’.

“Well,” he said, “I sought God about what to do, and He showed me to drive out to the farming district where you live. I heard about you from a Christian friend, and God showed me to stay at your house. We packed our bags and what little we had and were almost ready to leave. The next day, I got another call from the same person. He said that his men will hunt me down and kill me unless I renounce my faith in God right then, over the phone.”

Mark felt a tinge of fear in the pit of his stomach, which grew stronger as he listened.

“I refused to reject Jesus Christ or renounce my faith. The speaker cursed at me and said that I was a dead man. But, I know that God will protect us. We have the weapons of prayer, faith, and the armor of God,” Tau said.

A dreadful feeling of terror struck Mark in his chest, causing his muscles to tighten. What if that violent gang somehow found out that Tau had reached the Mahlangu farm? The question disturbed him as he listened to the conversation. Mark knew he needed to bring this concern before his Heavenly Father God, so he stood up and excused himself.  Walking back through the living room, Mark headed down the hall toward a large, walk-in closet beside a bathroom.

Opening the closet door, he slipped in and quietly closed it shut behind him. In the dark, Mark began to pour out his fear and anxiety into the hands of his loving Father God. The major concern he felt was for the safety of the children, and women, and for himself.

“Mark,” James’s young voice came through the closet door. “Mark, are you hiding in there?”

Mark stood and opened the closet to see the seven-year-old outside.

“I’m talking to God right now. I’m not playing hide-and-go-seek, James.”

“I was wondering if you are okay,” James said. “You look afraid.”

“I am scared,” Mark admitted.

“What are you scared of?” James asked innocently.

“I don’t want to talk about it. Well…” Mark said, sighing, seeing the boy looking at him with concern. “I am worried about the evil men who threatened Tau and his family.”

“You don’t need to be scared. God will fight for us like He did for Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace,” James said confidently and matter-of-factly.

Just then, a sound distracted the boy and he turned to see his sister and the other girls running down the hall. Then, he ran off to join them, leaving Mark in the closet.

His simple, child-like faith struck a chord in Mark. The Zimbabwean realized that he needed to have faith like a child because God is always faithful to His Word. ‘God will never fail or forsake me,’ Mark realized, remembering a verse he read in the book of Joshua, chapter 1. As he pondered the scripture, the exact words in Joshua chapter 1, verse 9, came to his mind: “Have not I commanded thee? Be strong and of a good courage; be not afraid, neither be thou dismayed: for the Lord thy God is with thee whithersoever thou goest."

But, as he thought about that truth, a scene flashed into his mind of vehicles filled with armed men racing toward the farm. He pictured tough-looking gangsters armed to the teeth with AK-47s and grenades. Mark closed his eyes and shook his head, trying to get the images out of his mind. ‘Dear God, please help me,’ Mark said quietly, clenching his teeth together. As he said that, peace slowly began to return to his soul and he began to relax, realizing that somehow God would protect and keep them safe.

____________________

(Click to Read Part 15.)

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EXCERPT from Part 15:

... Hu Zheng and Cheng Yuan had heard a loud snap and a rustling of bushes coming from a place in the dense, Yunnan jungle some distance behind Hu. The young Chinese man stood to his feet, feeling fear tighten around his mid-section as he gazed into the bushes in the afternoon sunlight. The rustling had stopped suddenly and the jungle remained fairly still, except for the occasional chirping of birds and distant hooting of macaques and other monkeys.

“Who goes there?” Hu said, tensely, in Chinese, hoping it wasn’t a tiger or a Chinese soldier. ...