I stood there in awe, taking in the sight that surrounded me. Before us lay an endless expanse of rolling hills, painted in shades of brown and orange dust, a landscape unlike anything I had ever seen. A surge of exhilaration ran through me, a mix of excitement and wonder at this new world we had stepped into. Clivilius – a name I had never heard before, yet it echoed with significance. As I gazed at this alien yet strangely beautiful landscape, I realised that what we had experienced was far beyond the bounds of any ordinary journey.
The voice I had heard, welcoming us to Clivilius, still resonated in my mind. I wanted to attribute it to the still small whisperings of the Holy Spirit, but this felt different, more personal. It was as if I had heard and felt the very voice of God, resonating deep within me, speaking directly to my soul.
“Dad! Mum!” a familiar voice called out. Turning towards the sound, my eyes widened with surprise and gratitude as I saw Paul jogging towards us. My mind raced with questions – I was about to ask him what he was doing here, considering he was supposed to be in Hobart. Yet, here he was in Clivilius, and Luke, who had brought us here, wasn’t in Hobart either. The situation was as puzzling as it was miraculous.
But before I could voice any of my questions, I saw Jerome stepping through the swirling mass of colour behind us. My surprise turned into delight at the sight of another of my children joining us in this extraordinary place. It felt right that Jerome was here, that we were all beginning to gather here together. This event, this journey to the New Jerusalem, was something I had always envisioned experiencing as a family.
As Paul reached us, I embraced him warmly, my heart swelling with a mixture of relief and joy. In the excitement and surreal nature of the situation, I had completely forgotten about my attire – or rather, the lack thereof. Standing there in only my dressing gown and undergarments, a hint of self-consciousness crept in. I quickly pulled my gown tighter around me, attempting to maintain some semblance of decorum in this extraordinary setting.
Greta, ever the protective mother, enveloped Paul in an almost suffocating embrace. As Paul gently broke free, she said in her characteristically dry humour, “Claire’s been looking for you.” Greta’s mention of Claire was typical. The relationship between Greta and Claire had always been strained, marked by a polite but unmistakable coolness. I couldn’t help but think that few people really got along well with Claire. She was undeniably talented, but her personality often made her difficult to be around. For the sake of my own sanity and to keep the peace between her and Greta, I had always preferred to keep Claire at a distance.
As my eyes continued to survey our surroundings, I searched for any sign of other people or clues that we were indeed at the site for the New Jerusalem. The vastness of the rolling hills of brown and orange dust seemed to stretch infinitely, offering no immediate answers. Greta’s mood, which had shifted back to her usual grumpiness, barely registered in my mind, so overwhelmed was I by the magnitude of what we were experiencing.
In this moment, standing in Clivilius with my family, I felt an odd mix of elation and uncertainty. The concept of the New Jerusalem, something I had always associated with spiritual metaphor and distant prophecy, was suddenly a tangible possibility. Yet, the landscape around us, while awe-inspiring, offered no clear indication of the prophesied city.
The sudden appearance of Luke through the wall of colour brought me back to the present moment, cutting through the maze of thoughts swirling in my mind. "Where’s Charles?” he asked, his voice direct and to the point.
Without hesitation, Greta, Jerome, and I responded in unison, “Seminary!” Our chorus-like reply highlighted the routine nature of Charles' commitment, even amidst the surreal circumstances we found ourselves in.
Paul chuckled at our synchronised answer, a light moment amidst the tension. However, Greta's mood quickly shifted as she turned to Luke, her expression morphing into a deep scowl. “Luke!” she screeched, her voice filled with a mix of anger and confusion. “What have you done!?”
Luke’s response was surprisingly nonchalant, his demeanour calm as he shrugged and said, “I did what was necessary.” His casual attitude seemed at odds with the gravity of the situation, and I couldn't help but feel a twinge of frustration at his lack of apparent concern for our abrupt transition to this place.
Paul’s remark, heavy with sarcasm, echoed my thoughts. “You didn’t think it was necessary to let them change out of their pyjamas first?” While I didn’t think it was the most pressing issue at hand, I appreciated Paul’s nod to practicality.
“It didn’t really cross my mind, to be honest,” Luke replied dismissively, his focus clearly on matters beyond our immediate comfort.
Unable to hold back any longer, I voiced the question that had been gnawing at since the moment we arrived in this peculiar place. "And where’s the New Jerusalem?” The question tumbled out, my eyes still scanning the barren, yet strangely beautiful landscape before us, seeking any hint of the prophesied city.
Paul shot Luke a look of bewilderment, his expression mirroring my own growing anxiety. The uncertainty of our situation, the surreal environment, and Luke's enigmatic demeanour only added to the sense of unease.
Unfazed by our reactions, Luke continued confidently, "It’s just over the hill." His words were simple, yet they carried a weight that suggested a deeper meaning, a promise of something yet to be revealed.
My eyes lit up with a mixture of hope and expectation at Luke's announcement. The prospect of finally witnessing the New Jerusalem, a vision that had been so central to our faith and family discussions, was tantalising.
However, Paul's response, throwing his hands up in a somewhat defeated gesture, contradicted the excitement I felt. His action seemed to convey skepticism or frustration, perhaps a reaction to the ambiguity of our situation or Luke's vague guidance.
“Paul will take you there,” Luke announced abruptly, his gaze fixed on Paul with an intensity that left no room for argument.
“What!?” Paul’s protest was immediate and forceful. He seemed as taken aback by Luke's declaration as I was.
Luke's furrowed brow mirrored my own, a sign of the tension brewing between him and Paul. Before I could voice my own concerns, Luke responded, “I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up.” His tone was dismissive, almost challenging. “I told you I would bring them here.”
“Yeah, but I thought-” Paul tried to argue back, his voice rising in frustration. He lifted a laptop he had brought with him, as if it held some significance to his argument.
I watched my sons cautiously. Paul and Luke, the eldest two and close in age, had a history of finding themselves in challenging situations, and it seemed this instance was no exception. Their dynamic, a blend of brotherly love and rivalry, was playing out before us in this strange new world.
“Oh, plans changed,” Luke interrupted Paul, his voice tinged with sarcasm and a hint of defiance. “Dad wanted to go to the New Jerusalem instead.”
I narrowed my eyes at Luke, ready to intervene and address the confusion and mounting tension. But before I could say anything, Jerome’s voice cut through the exchange. “What is she doing?” he asked, his tone laced with confusion. He pointed towards a middle-aged woman who was navigating an assortment of supplies with a shopping trolley. She looked completely out of place in this barren landscape, a stark contrast to our disoriented family group.
The woman's presence in Clivilius was as baffling as everything else we had encountered since our arrival. She moved with a purpose, seemingly oblivious to the surreal nature of her surroundings. My mind raced with questions: Who was she? How did she come to be here? And what could her presence mean for us in this mysterious world?
As Luke called out to the woman named Karen with noticeable enthusiasm, my curiosity about her and this strange place only grew. Despite the distance between us, she heard Luke's call and stopped, turning to face us. Her body language, even from afar, spoke volumes. Her shoulders slumped in what seemed like frustration or exhaustion. “I’m busy, Luke,” she shouted back, her tone conveying a mix of annoyance and weariness.
“It’ll only take a few minutes!” Luke shouted back, his determination evident in his voice. He seemed intent on bringing Karen over to us, despite her evident reluctance.
Karen, after a moment’s hesitation, left her trolley and began trudging towards us. Her steps were slow, her reluctance clear in every movement. It was as if she was carrying a weight far greater than just the physical distance she had to cover.
“Karen, meet my parents, Noah and Greta,” Luke introduced us when she finally reached us. “And this is my younger brother, Jerome,” he added, gesturing towards Jerome with a grand flourish of his hand.
Greta, ever the embodiment of hospitality and warmth, immediately wrapped Karen in a tight embrace. “Lovely to meet you, Karen,” she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth and welcome.
Karen, however, seemed caught off guard by Greta's enthusiastic greeting. She didn’t reciprocate the gesture, her arms staying rigidly at her sides. “Likewise,” she muttered, her response polite but lacking warmth. Her demeanour, guarded and distant, added another layer of mystery to this already bewildering place.
Feeling increasingly out of place in my dressing gown in this warm, alien environment, I found myself pulling it tighter around me. The gown, appropriate for a chilly morning back home, was becoming uncomfortably warm here. The stark contrast between the cold winter we had left and the warmth of Clivilius was disorienting.
Luke, noticing my discomfort, remarked, “I suppose I’d better get you some clothes to change into.” His nod in my direction was a tacit acknowledgment of my growing discomfort.
Jerome, his eyes fixed on the giant, rectangular screen that we had just walked through, voiced the question that, I suspected, was on all our minds. “Can’t we just go home?”
His words hung in the air, a poignant reminder of the reality we had left behind. But before I could respond, the soft voice of the Spirit spoke to my mind again, sending a tingling confirmation shiver down my spine. This is your home now, Noah Smith.
The realisation that Clivilius was now our home settled over me with a weight I couldn’t quite describe. It was a mix of acceptance, resolve, and a deep sense of divine purpose. We were here for a reason, part of a plan far greater than ourselves, and it was our duty to embrace this new life, to find our place in Clivilius. With this understanding, I prepared myself to lead my family in this new world, guided by faith and the whispered assurances of the Spirit.
“Well,” Karen said, finally breaking free from Greta’s embrace. Her tone was matter-of-fact, yet there was a hint of weariness in her voice. “I guess that’s my cue to keep moving. These garden supplies won’t move themselves,” she finished, gesturing towards the dozens of trolleys grouped near the one she had recently left behind.
I gave Karen a slight wave. The encounter had been odd, but she seemed amiable enough. A wave felt like an appropriate, albeit small, gesture of goodwill. As she walked off, I couldn’t help but feel a mix of curiosity and confusion about her role in this place. The mention of garden supplies and her apparent task of moving them suggested a sense of order and purpose in Clivilius, yet so much remained unclear.
Jerome’s question still hung in the air, lingering with a sense of urgency and confusion. Paul, sensing the need for some explanation, placed his arm around Jerome's shoulder. “It’s not quite that simple,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of empathy for Jerome's evident desire to return home. “How about I explain it on our way to camp?” he suggested, his tone suggesting that there was more to this place and our situation than met the eye.
“Great idea, Paul,” Luke quickly agreed, motioning for Greta and me to follow them.
As we began to move, Paul paused and turned back to Luke. “Oh, and Luke,” he added, “bring their clothes to camp, would you? Don’t leave them at the Drop Zone this time.” His words were laced with an undercurrent of responsibility, perhaps a reminder of past lapses or oversights.
Luke’s response, a simple “Of course,” did little to alleviate my growing curiosity about what the Drop Zone was. My mind conjured images of a place where supplies or people might be left, possibly a central hub in Clivilius. Perhaps, I mused, it was a location where items needed for the New Jerusalem were gathered. The thought was both intriguing and daunting.
As we prepared to leave, the giant screen that had served as our portal to this world burst into colour again. Luke stepped through and vanished, the colours dissipating after him in a display that was both mesmerising and unsettling.
“Let’s go,” Paul urged, gently pulling me away from my contemplation of the portal. His nudge brought me back to the present, to the reality of our new existence in Clivilius. I found myself wondering why Greta and I couldn’t simply follow Luke through the portal as well, a question that lingered in my mind as we set off to follow Paul. The walk to the camp, I sensed, would be filled with revelations and perhaps more questions about our new home and our role in it.
