By 1991, Grandpa suggested that the Rapture might not occur in 1993 as he originally prophesied. Because we were doing such good work, God was giving us more time to save souls for His Kingdom. God has a right to change His mind. But we must not get complacent, like the parable of the five foolish virgins (Matthew 25:1–13), as we are most certainly in the Last Days. Whatever pain or trouble or sacrifice we had to make was only temporary. It would all be over in no more than a few years when Jesus returned, and then we would be greatly rewarded. We had to do as much as possible and save as many souls as possible in the short time we had left.
The news is almost too much to take in. Over quiet sobs, the Shepherd perseveres, his voice shaking as he bravely tries to deliver the entirety of Mama Maria’s letter to the group. We huddle closer together as the Shepherd reads pages and pages of prophecies extolling Grandpa, sending him to his heavenly reward, and anointing Mama Maria as our new leader to carry on in his stead. There are no details about the circumstances of his passing, the date of his death, where he died, the cause of death, or anything that could be traced to discover where he had been hiding, and, therefore, where Mama Maria is now.
When the Shepherd is finished, the whole house breaks down in tears, with everyone wondering, What will we do now?
I can’t bring myself to cry. I am sad, but I’m also furious. Why did I never have the chance to meet Grandpa? Why did he ignore me my whole life?
Devastation and rage vie for first place in my heart. Waste. Too late.
While everyone is gathered, I find a telephone and manage to reach my mother, who is still in Texas with Dad finishing up paperwork. We spend a few brief minutes discussing this horrific development. Mom has no new information to share. There is little to say. Dead is dead. I ask to speak with my dad, but he doesn’t offer anything more; he seems resigned to his father’s passing.
Now all that we have left is what Grandpa has left behind: his numerous writings and more than three thousand Mo Letters.
Four months after Grandpa’s death, for the first time, we celebrate his birthday without him here. Usually on his birthday, the whole Family fasts and prays for his health for three days. This year Mama Maria proclaims a feast instead of a fast, but she continues the tradition of everyone stopping all work to sit together for three days of prayer and reading the new revelations from Heaven, the Mama Letters, prophecies Mama Maria and her household have received from Grandpa and Jesus. The Mama Letters are sent around early, but they can only be opened on February 18—our feast day.
Nearly no one dares speak against Mama Maria, as even a whisper of disbelief in her as Grandpa’s chosen successor is blasphemy. But as we press ahead without Grandpa, I begin to detect faint stirrings of dissent among the old-timers who have been with the Family since the beginning. Some complain that the Letters have become boring without Grandpa’s fiery proclamations and crazy dreams. They are almost solely composed of prophecies she receives from Grandpa and Jesus. The more reckless grumble that they had joined for Moses David, not Mama Maria.
For us in the younger generation, who’ve grown up with Letters from both Grandpa and Mama Maria, there isn’t much distinction in leadership. We all miss Grandpa’s flair for the bizarre, but that’s about it. We don’t hear much about Davidito since he’s become a teen. I hear rumors that he might be at the HCS, but no one really knows. I wonder how he’s taking this.
When I return to Tokyo, I’m still a bit shaken, but I push aside my feelings when the Shepherds offer me a promotion. At seventeen, I’m asked to become a full-time homeschool teacher for six students, ages seven to thirteen. I use the CLE curriculum, which Mama Maria has officially approved for the children’s education. I have a head start on the other teachers, as I’m the only one who has finished high school using the curriculum.
I’m busy with my pupils, but I can’t help but notice all the teens around me are dating or mating. I haven’t had a boyfriend since Nunu in Macau. I’ve gotten too used to guys making out with me and then disappearing, so now I make them wait to see if their interest is genuine. I’m looking for someone I can trust, someone I admire, but I’m also tired of being alone. Especially now that I’ve lost my one friend, Joy. Her parents requested she return to them in Mexico after she found out Japanese immigrations wouldn’t renew her visa anymore. We write each other long letters, even make tapes, but it’s not the same.
The Home Shepherd sits me down for a heart-to-heart and tells me I’m being “too picky.” So, at our Teen Fellowships (gatherings of teens from the five Family Homes in the greater Tokyo area), I force myself to try to get to know the unmated boys, but I can’t make myself feel anything for anyone. I find myself repeatedly running into a young man named Chris, whom I’d known as a kid in Macau. He was goofy back then, but now, six years later, he’s grown up, towering over me at a height of six feet four inches. He’s kind, speaks the local language, and is great at provisioning. But he’s clumsy and overweight, and whenever he tries to get me alone, I come up with an excuse to leave the room.
After ignoring his attempts to date me for nearly a year, I give in to his persistence. I tell myself he’s really sweet, and the fact that he was willing to wait so long means he must truly love me; that I’m just being shallow about his looks. We start “going out,” and he comes over to the Komae home on the weekends. Soon, he tells me he’s been given permission to move into my Home. He is on cloud nine, and I know I should be, too.
Everyone in the Family is so happy about us—and relieved that I have finally locked in a Family boy—that I confuse their interests with my own. But no matter how hard I try, his size bothers me. I drop hints about losing weight and exercising, hoping I’ll find him more attractive and be able to stay with him. But I know it goes deeper than that.
Chris is an inspirationalist, a teen leader with a big, loud personality. The Shepherds love him, but I know the truth: he has a lot of doubts about the Family, the Word, and God. He is faking it for most people. I know he is staying in the Family for me, and I feel like I’m holding up myself and him.
Very quickly—too quickly—the Shepherds tell us to move in together. “You’ve been dating for a few months,” they say. “It’s time.” So, we move into an eight-by-ten-square-foot room in the house with a mattress on the floor.
After a few more months, they ask us when we are going to announce our engagement. Chris is ready to propose, but I resist. I’ve just turned eighteen. I don’t want to be unyielded, but I’m 100 percent certain I don’t want to marry Chris. I wish I had someone I trusted to talk to about this. I’ve learned the hard way that I can’t fully trust any Family member not to report my doubts for what they say is my own good.