Where Is Jesus Now

WHERE IS JESUS NOW

  By

  J. Niessen

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  Published By:

  Where Is Jesus Now

  Copyright 2012, 2013 by J. Niessen

  Cover Page by J’s Art Emporium, Copyright 2013

  Thank you for downloading this free eBook. You are welcome to share it with your friends. This book may be reproduced, copied and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the material remains in its complete original form.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

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  Where Is Jesus Now?

  Santa Ana is the small town community I’ve lived in all my life. It’s named after the powerful dry spells, and eastern desert winds, which arrive during the autumn months from October to December’s end. Arsonists initiate their attacks on the cusp of a Santa Ana storm, meticulously charting weather patterns in anticipation of this drastic climate change, using nature’s furnace-like airstreams as an accelerant to boost a set brush flame.

  Multiple fires are implemented in the early morning hours, before sunrise, set across several county lines. Dubbed by Native Americans as “Witches Brew,” the inferno excels beyond manageable containment for fire crews. Multiple wildfires join at a crossing point. United as one powerful force, they become a firestorm. Eastern winds guide the self-sustaining blaze toward western development to blast through residential suburbs without hindrance.

  While growing up I live with my dad, mom, brother, and younger sister. Mom says she and dad moved here to start up a family and provide us a better chance at education and a self-desired profession. Our estranged relatives reside on the East Coast, mostly in Maine. We talk over the phone occasionally, but the regularity of contact dwindles. Festive gatherings between the eastern relatives and our west coast family are virtually non-existent.

  As a professor at the state university, Dad spends the majority of his time at the college teaching earth science, then grading and preparing for the week’s lessons in his campus office.

  Mother raises us as a stay-at-home mom during the week. On weekends she works in a nearby department store as a cosmetic rep, paid on commission.

  Now that we’re older, Christmas is the only time that brings our family together.

  My brother, Allan, four years older than I, enlists out of college. He’s stationed north of here in Edwards California, as a pilot for the US Air Force. He’s rarely able to get away for the holidays, but makes an effort for the two of us to hang out when time allows.

  My sister Gracie is two years my younger. Throughout her academic education she collects boyfriends, juggling three to six involvements regularly. Whilst attending the university she majors in business economics. Beyond graduation she dabbles in the real-estate market. Asserting her liaison skills (honed in adolescence) she manipulates her way into the overseeing of real-estate properties. Each onsite landlord involved is tangled in an emotional web she’s woven them into, all located in Northern California. She resides in Arizona, where I assume she manages another relationship.

  In high school and college I take an interest in advanced mechanics and cyber technology. The schooling I attend is top-notch, proving I’m fortunate to have been raised in this expansive and highly developed hometown. My extracurricular time is limited by fulltime jobs taken on to fund ambitious projects. I’m never truly away from home and off on my own, finding myself unexplainably returning pre times-of-crisis. Just after college I move my personal work from a storage unit (I’ve been renting and working in) to a service garage.

  The auto shop I’ve worked at these past few years offers part-time employment. There’s a side room (branching off from the boss’s office) which he lets me sleep in, and a spare work bay to the back of the shop that I’m given permission to use for personal activities. The place is not far from my parents’. It’s here that I’m able to invest my free time into a lifelong ambition of mine.

  Walking through the neighborhood with Gracie, after Christmas dinner, I marvel at the scattered web of lights lit throughout the neighborhood.

  “Don’t you find peoples’ motivational drive fascinating?” I whisper to my sister, while hearing the chimes of Silent Night playing from a nearby electronic yard ornament.

  In agreeable humor she shakes her head, unable to fathom the time spent, saying, “It must have taken them days to gather these decorations and set everything up!”

  “Yeah, no kidding” I agree. “And they really go all out with the decor. See how this one’s tended to each day,” pointing out where a wooden elf is posted on the lawn with the countdown to Christmas Day painted on its handheld sign. The caricatures have an odd presence about them, partly due to their outlines drawn in black and over bold. My habit to over analyze things ruins serene moments. I consider the artist’s dispassion for the meaning behind Christmas, and how those feelings of ill will have projected into their work, making it look unappealing.

  Retuning focus on to uplifting thoughts to carry the light mood, I continue, “Just last week when I was over to help Mom and Dad with lights, that elf was holding a similar sign that read, “7 Days Till Christmas.” Oh, and the driveway’s different too. At that table there the elves were crafting toys. But see how the setting’s changed. That Christmas spread looks better than our meal tonight, doesn’t it?” hoping to see light humor glow on my sister’s face.

  After a careless laugh Gracie comments, “I can’t believe they spent all that time and money placing out pretend food for fake elves.” (I love it when she joins in with my sarcasm!)

  The night air is brisk, yet my cheeks and lips aren’t chapped. This jumpsuit I have on is really helping to prevent the chill from bothering me. We approach a uniquely decorated house.

  “See, the Praetors still have their classic nativity scene out,” I mention, drawing attention to the characters painted on wood-shop plywood in the style of “Precious Moments,” resting atop the 1st story roof of their second-story house. They added something new, however. To the front of their lawn is a wooden prop painted to represent an opened Bible. It displays a passage from Luke 2:1-20. Reading it over, verse 13-14 is underlined: 13 Suddenly a great company of the heavenly host appeared with the angel, praising God and saying, 14 “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom His favor rests.” It’s the only house with a Christian message. Here there are over a hundred tree angels suspended above the lawn with a Christmas light fixed behind them, to illuminate each gown, while appearing to hover on their own. Each angel’s characteristics and gestures are unique from the others.

  “You think Deacon Joe still lives there?” Gracie asks.

  Unaware, I shrug. My mind drifts to memories of younger years, with our religious involvements imparted by mother’s Catholic beliefs. In those days Father stays at home while we attend mass. At the cathedral, being eyed and approached by others (such as Deacon Joe) makes me feel uncomfortable, so I never attend another type of church service on my own.

  Sipping on a piping cup of hot cocoa purchased from our neighbor Jillian’s quaint coffee stand (set up at the foot of her driveway) Gracie and I walk on beyond the neighborhood, alongside the main road of town, towa
rd our old High School. My body tenses from a sudden blast of bright light that flashes past me and beams throughout our town, blacking out all the lights. My inner peace has become cold and lonely from the imposing darkness. Cars driving down the road coast to a halt.

  The surrounding mountains are dense with dry growth. I recant the intense firestorm we lived through seven years ago. At the time, I’m able to drive back home just before the road into town is closed. The main electrical transformer supplying our community with power melts. We’re without electricity for over a week. Soot falls as snow. A dense canopy of ash blocks light from the sun. An orange-red line of fire trails along the mountains our homes are based at.

  This bleak contemplation of the past is prematurely forced away.

  It’s impossible what I’m seeing, my mind exclaims! But Gracie sees it too.

  Our eyes widen to the live, clear presence of massive spaceships hovering in our air space, positioned above Santa Ana. All is quiet with the power still out. The ships’ engine-lights cast a neon-blue glow on the homes and trees beneath. Their design is like nothing I’ve seen outside of a movie. I recall images of our military’s top