“It’s good to question to learn, but we need to be careful that our questions don’t cross the line into doubting.” Uncle Michael’s sharp look and his accusation of doubting stop me immediately; to be accused of “doubting” God’s Word is a quick ticket to punishment.
“Now to answer your question,” Uncle Michael continues with irritation, “Paul still had quite a few hang-ups from his time as a Pharisee. God has given Grandpa the new and inspired Word of God, revealing new truths and interpretation to the scripture now that we, God’s End-Time soldiers, are ready to receive it.”
I raise my hand again, but from his place at the head of the table, Uncle Michael gives me a hard stare and in a commanding voice asks, “Do you believe Grandpa is God’s prophet?”
“Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I just want to understand,” I say with downcast eyes.
Of course Grandpa is correct. I try to shut out the heresy of thinking anything else, but I still don’t understand. And secretly, I don’t think the adults do either, at least not the ones I’ve questioned. Is Uncle Michael saying that all the Bible is divinely inspired except for Paul’s teachings? But we quote Paul all the time. Maybe only some of Paul is not correct. But then how can the whole Bible be the Word of God?
Confused, I put my dangerous inquiries to the back of my mind on a shelf marked “Unresolved questions for later.”
A few days after my exchange with Uncle Michael, I’m thrilled to learn that he and Auntie Crystal have been called away by God’s service to open a Teen Home in another country, which means the teen group is breaking up and dispersing to other Homes.
Joy and I beg to be sent to the same Home, wherever that may be, and to our shock and delight, we get our wish.
Our new Home is in Komae, a suburb of Tokyo. It’s a converted two-story guesthouse with lots of small rooms and a central kitchen, perfect for a Family Home with six families and eight teens. Five of us teen girls sent from Fukuoka room together, and I try to make myself as invisible as possible, not wanting to prolong my almost-completed probation period.
But at dinner that night, I hear a deep voice holler my name. I jump, looking over my shoulder, and see my brother Josh. He’s standing next to his wife, Laura, and their two toddlers. I had not attended their wedding, just as I had not attended Nehi’s, David’s, or Mary’s. Weddings in the Family are small, simple ceremonies held at home or out in nature and usually presided over by the Home Shepherd. We cannot use God’s money to travel for selfish purposes like attending weddings, reunions, or Christmas.
I run over to Josh and give him a hug. It doesn’t matter that Josh is not my favorite brother or that he picked on me as a kid and tattled on me to the adults when Patrick and I played Heaven’s Girl and pretended that Josh was the Antichrist. Josh is my blood family.
“Hey, little Faithy, look how you’ve grown!” he says with a crooked smile.
“You, too, bro,” I say, punching him in the arm.
He always had an edge of sarcasm, and I see he hasn’t lost his touch.
Laura gives a more genuine hug, and I smile to see her after all these years. “You look just the same,” I tell her.
She is a thin, quiet girl with long, dirty-blond hair. I’d missed her first pregnancy when I had been in the US. I heard she nearly died from toxemia, but here she is with two healthy towheaded toddlers.
Despite her frail look, she is my knight in shining armor when she steps in with her no-nonsense attitude to teach me how to make a curry dinner for fifty people from whatever food happens to have been collected in provisioning. I’ve just been put on the cooking schedule and don’t know where to begin.
Then, later that week, I get a brief but happy visit with Aaron. He and Mary live at the Heavenly City School a few hours away, but he’s come to Tokyo to perform in the Christmas concert put on by the HCS dance troupe, which he joined not long after coming to Japan. Mary is on childcare, so she rarely travels.
I spot him in the lobby of the performance hall that the Family rented for the show, and he envelopes me in a bear hug. “Hey, little sis! You’ve gotten so big.”
“Look at you, finally getting your dream of being a big star!” I drink in the sight of him. I missed his exuberance.
“How have you been? Have you heard from the others?” I ask.
Nehi and Hobo are doing well in Brazil, living with their wives and a couple of kids each.
I wish we had quiet time to really talk, but the performance is about to begin. We enter the hall and take our seats. As soon as the lights dim, my jaw drops. The troupe puts on an extravaganza with professional lighting, costumes, and dancing. Nothing like our humble childhood performances. Aaron is smiling like a Cheshire Cat at the center of it all. I’m proud of him and a little envious.
On Christmas morning, I am grateful to speak with my mom for the permitted three minutes. Long-distance communication is discouraged, as it’s a waste of God’s resources. International phone calls can cost $30 for a few minutes, so we might get permission from the Home once a year, if we’re lucky. Otherwise, we write by post. Not all Home Shepherds know how to use the complex email system like my parents, but more Homes are starting to have at least one computer.
“Did you get the Christmas card I sent you?” she begins, hardly able to hold in her excitement.
“Yes.”
“And what I put inside it?” she says in nearly a whisper.
“Yes, thank you.”
Her card had arrived a week earlier with a photo of our family taped to the inside. I remembered her parting instructions when we said goodbye in Macau—that I should always check behind the photo—so I peeled back the tape to find the equivalent of a $10 bill.
The Shepherds read all our mail, and any money in our possession is expected to be contributed to the Home. Mom is quite proud of herself for thinking of this trick to get around the screening.
Of course, I don’t spend her gift. I never do. I’ve saved the small amounts of cash I’ve been given for birthdays in a red Chinese New Year envelope hidden inside a rolled-up sock, hoping no one will find it even when they do bag searches. When the Antichrist does come and we must run, I may be on my own without a Home to take care of me.