Temporary things

My Journey: Living Between Two Eras in Russia

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Since coming to America in 2006, I’ve often found that Americans, like people everywhere, love stories—especially stories of life beyond their borders. And as someone who lived through Russia’s transformation, I’m often asked: “What was it like?” Russia, after all, isn’t just any country; it has long been a symbol of an alternative worldview, competing with the Western world through its commitment to communism. Russia played, and in some ways still pretends to play, a central role in a bipolar world, standing for a vision of society shaped by collective ideals.

The story of Russia’s modern identity began with the Communist Revolution of 1917. From then on, the country led those who believed in creating a utopian society—a paradise on earth achieved through community and shared ownership. This ideology held sway for decades, painting a picture of a world united by equality and common purpose, an ideal that drove national pride and ambition.

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When I learned enough English, I realized how this vision resonated even with the English-speaking world. It was beautifully captured in the Beatles' song Imagine, particularly in the line: “Imagine all the people sharing all the world.” The dream of universal brotherhood, of all people united as one, echoed the aspirations that fueled the Soviet experiment.

Growing up in the midst of this era's end and witnessing the rise of a new one, my own journey has been shaped by these ideological shifts, by the promises of community-driven society, and by the subsequent turn towards personal freedom, capitalism, and, ultimately, my path to America. 

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Growing Up in the Ideals of Soviet Russia

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From as early as I can remember, there were a few things I was absolutely certain about, lessons firmly instilled by the time I reached middle school. First, evolution was the answer to life’s origins—it was "science", and science was truth. Second, our communist society was the pinnacle of human achievement. I believed that communism granted us true freedom, unmatched by any other system. We were destined to build a paradise on earth, a society where equality would flourish and all people would thrive together.

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In contrast, capitalism was portrayed as inherently corrupt and oppressive. We were taught that capitalist societies enslaved their people, taking away their equality and obstructing communism’s path to real freedom. This global struggle was more than a competition; it was a battle of ideals, one worth fighting for, even to the last drop of blood if needed. These were the truths I knew growing up, as unquestionable as the world around me.

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My Grandmother’s Faith and Prophecies

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My grandmother was born in 1916, and unlike most around her, she never let go of her faith that God exists, even in a world focused on materialism. Though she didn’t own a Bible, she still prayed and often spoke as if we were living in times the Bible had foretold.

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She didn’t quote the Bible directly but repeated two particular ideas often enough that I remember them clearly. One was from Jesus’s words in Luke 21: “It will be a snare on the face of the earth.” She didn’t mention the verses before or after, just this one phrase, and she would interpret it for me, saying, “We see it now—how the whole earth is wrapped in radio wires and electrical cables.” That was her version of what it meant, her evidence that prophecy was happening in our time.

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The other Bible reference she mentioned was, “The iron birds will fly over the sky.” I’m not sure where in the Bible it’s found, but to her, it meant airplanes. That was it—those two ideas were the only Bible “prophecies” I knew as a child. They circulated quietly in the family, and from time to time, I heard similar words from others.

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Until I turned 17, this was all I knew about the Bible: that it held prophecies, which, according to my grandmother, were coming true. Looking back, I realize now that I knew far more of the Bible than I thought. I just didn’t know those ideas came from what people called “God’s Word.” 

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My Grandmother’s Quiet Faith and My Grandfather’s Struggle

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The way I remember my grandmother, she would pray before an icon she kept in the corner of her living room. That icon was her touchstone, her quiet but steadfast expression of faith. My grandfather, however, would often argue with her about keeping icons on display. He’d remove them from their visible place and replace them with portraits of Lenin or Stalin. According to my mom, my grandfather believed in God too but felt that, to provide for the family, he had to join the Communist Party and conform outwardly to its expectations. Membership in the Party was the only way to secure higher positions at work.

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When my grandmother’s icons were out in the open, my grandfather’s constant argument was, “What? Do you want all of us to be sent to Siberia*?” Despite the tension, my grandmother held her ground, keeping her icons hidden in the bedroom. Eventually, I did see them displayed more freely in the living room, but only after my grandfather was sent to a mental hospital.

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*https://1951deport.org/en/

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I never fully understood why he ended up there, partly because we lived at a distance, with limited transportation, and no cell phones or internet to stay connected. My grandparents didn’t even have a regular phone at home. In those days—at least from the ’70s through the ’90s—it wasn’t uncommon for family members to place relatives in mental hospitals, especially if they were seen as a liability or simply didn’t conform. Under the totalitarian regime, mental hospitals were sometimes used as a tool to suppress individuals whose personal development or beliefs didn’t align with the state’s strict ideology. This form of persecution, though mild compared to imprisonment or even the death sentence, was part of an ongoing pressure that hung over people’s lives.

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Accusations of disloyalty could be used as a tool to strip people of everything they had. With just a whispered report to the authorities, an individual could lose their entire life, creating an atmosphere of fear that kept people in line. This quiet yet oppressive tension was part of the drama my grandparents lived through, a reflection of the era’s silent but pervasive threats. In a way, it brings to mind the words from Hebrews 2:15: “set free all those who were held in slavery all their lives by their fear of death.” My grandmother’s quiet faith and my grandfather’s careful compliance both reveal the complex reality they navigated—a world of quiet defiance and necessary caution, where the smallest act of belief could feel like resistance.

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My grandfather quietly spent his last days in that mental hospital, passing away there without much fanfare. Although I had a few chances to interact with him, it always felt like he was a man who had lost track of who he truly was. His personality, his individuality, had been worn down by the same system that had promised us all freedom and fulfillment. Sadly, I didn’t inherit any deep spiritual or personal impression from him. It feels as though he never had the chance to experience the true liberation our ideology had promised—a vision of freedom that was never fully delivered.

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My Grandmother’s Faith and Her Quiet Influence on Me

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My grandmother was truly a character, someone I remember with warmth and fondness. I spent a lot of time with her, and she shaped many of my core values: hard work, contentment with little, and a steady positivity in all situations. Her faith, on the other hand, often seemed at odds with the world as I understood it—a contrast that, looking back, adds depth to my story.

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My grandmother wasn’t just someone who prayed; she would also make occasional but steady visits to Russian Christian Orthodox temples. These temples weren’t easy to find, and I later learned why: only a few were allowed, and those that existed cooperated with the regime, with KGB-controlled clergy who would report on any prominent individuals who visited. Since my grandmother wasn’t part of that “elite” group, she had the freedom to go there and light candles in front of certain “very holy icons,” praying for blessings.

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One of the things she regularly prayed for was her non-traditional practice of healing hernias through massage. She would pray over a person as she worked, lifting her hands just slightly off the body at certain moments, as if to show that there was more happening than just her physical touch. I remember feeling deeply confused by her practice, watching her blend faith and healing in a way that challenged my beliefs.

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At the time, I was completely confident that such things were impossible. Our society was profoundly atheistic; we were taught to believe only in what we could see or prove. Faith was seen as a relic of the past, and idols were viewed as powerless, just man-made artifacts. As common sense told us, “The idols of the nations are silver and gold, the work of human hands. A mouth they have, but they cannot speak; eyes, but they cannot see; ears they have, but they cannot hear. There is no breath in their mouth.” (Psalm 135:15-17)

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Yet, there was my grandmother, carrying a faith that defied reason, lighting her candles, saying her prayers, and performing her healing rituals. It left me with a sense of both wonder and contradiction. Although I couldn’t reconcile her practices with my worldview at the time, I realize now how much her steadfast faith added an unspoken depth to the values she instilled in me.

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A Visit to the Black Sea and My Grandmother’s Temple Rituals

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I remember when my grandmother took me with her to temples, especially one vivid visit on a vacation to the Black Sea. The Black Sea was our family’s version of a holiday destination—something like Florida in the U.S.—where my grandmother would take me while my mom stayed behind to work hard for us. One summer, when I was about three, I fell seriously ill with appendicitis during our trip. My grandmother rushed me to the hospital, where they barely managed to save my life. She later told me she had found a nearby temple and believed it helped heal me after her visit. Another story of my miraculous salvation relates to the presence of an experienced professor who happened to be there. Without his expertise, the other doctors might have hesitated to manually remove the hardened calcification from my anal area, which was obstructing normal circulation—a crucial step in my recovery.

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The next year, when we returned, she took me to that same temple. I remember a priest walking around, chanting in Old Slavic, maybe even biblical phrases. No one could understand the words (perhaps a condition the KGB allowed), but each time he called out in the form of singing, “Let's pray to the Lord God,” the entire congregation—including my grandmother—knelt down, signed themselves with the cross, and bowed low to the floor. This act was repeated several times, creating a scene I can still picture.

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Although I hadn’t yet fully absorbed the materialistic views that were shaping society, this ritual left a strong impression on me, instilling a sense that this was something I didn’t belong to. From that point on, I found every reason to skip future visits. My mind, bit by bit, was ready to accept the propaganda around me, reinforcing the message that there was no God.

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The Struggles of My Grandmother’s Later Years

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The sad part of my grandmother’s story came in her later years, after my grandfather had passed away and she was living alone. She began to develop a sense of persecution, convinced that someone was entering her home while she was out and moving her belongings. No matter how thoroughly she explained her reasons or the “signs” she’d noticed, no one in our family could accept this as reality. Aside from these episodes, she was mentally sharp, clear in her thinking, and physically healthy. These claims seemed entirely out of character and difficult to explain, fitting no paradigm other than a possible psychological disorder.

Looking back, I tend to believe that these experiences stemmed from her misplacing things herself and simply forgetting, something her aging mind struggled to reconcile. Yet, a part of me also wonders if her spiritual practices, which were often at odds with our society’s materialism, could have opened a door to other unsettling possibilities. Regardless of the cause, these moments marked a sad and perplexing chapter in the life of a woman whose faith and values had otherwise been a steady influence on me.

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My Mother’s Journey: Between Faith and Ideology

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My mother was born in 1948, just a few years after the end of the war with Nazi Germany. She inherited from her mother a strong inclination to pray—a quiet faith that stood alongside the state’s grand narratives. The Soviet Union’s victory over Nazi Germany, combined with the powerful propaganda of communism, initially made her believe in the ideals she was taught: that we were building the best society on earth.

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But as she grew older, reality began to clash with the utopian promises. With more exposure to the outside world—especially through TV and occasional travel—she and others heard stories of life in the capitalist world. When Stalin died in 1953, the regime’s grip on citizens’ personal lives began to loosen, and the intensity of propaganda softened. The establishment of Israel allowed Jewish families to leave the USSR, migrating to places like Israel, Brooklyn, and beyond. Bit by bit, these changes planted seeds of doubt, and the rumors of a freer, better life abroad slowly chipped away at people’s belief in the Soviet vision of an earthly paradise.

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The Power of Propaganda and Its Grip on Identity

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According to my mother—and this matches my own observations—the state’s training and ideological shaping are powerful enough to root beliefs deeply in people’s minds. In the era of TV and cinema, propaganda became an even stronger force, using moving images to guide people’s beliefs and perceptions. Whether in the Soviet Union or elsewhere, the messages around us influence our view of the world, justify moral standards, and shape spiritual beliefs, molding our goals and sense of purpose.

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It’s almost as if human identity and conscience can be overtaken by forces stronger than individual will. The natural, God-given conscience within each of us can be suppressed, controlled by someone else’s vision or inspiration. This idea reminds me of biblical passages about the power of unseen forces: The spirit led Jesus into the wilderness, where he was tempted by Satan. During this time, Satan presented Jesus with enticing visions and communicated offers that sought to divert him from his mission. How Paul was taken to the third heaven, how Daniel and the Apostle John experienced prophetic visions. That kind of winds of teaching, like a powerful spirit or a dominating air, influence humanity and can lead people into or away from a true understanding of themselves and God.

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Reflections on Individuality, Mental Health, and Faith

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Looking back, I can understand that chemical changes in the brain often lead to mental disorders, which I saw firsthand in my grandparents, each in their own way. But I’ve also come to think that the suppression of individuality—the forceful shaping of one’s mind by external influences—could be a root cause of these shifts. Couldn’t this oppression alter the brain over time, leading to the very issues we often label as disorders?*

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* I encourage you to revisit this chapter after reading my chapter "Power of Reason vs. Twisted Things" for a more comprehensive understanding of the themes discussed here. The insights in that chapter will provide valuable context and help you better grasp the reasoning behind the distinctions presented. And conversely, I encourage you to keep the stories you’ve read in this chapter in mind as you delve into the aforementioned chapter. The different kinds of twisted reasoning illustrated here serve as examples of how various factors can prevent people from obtaining true knowledge and embracing the power of reason.

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This line of thinking often leads me to consider the healings Jesus performed, many of which involved mental, emotional, or spiritual renewal. In so many cases, he encouraged the faith of those he healed, yet his power to heal wasn’t limited by their faith alone. For me, it’s clear that while Jesus was human, he was filled with the holy spirit of Jehovah, who gave him the strength and ability to heal without limitation. Jehovah’s spirit flowed through him, enabling him to bring hope and healing on a level unmatched by anyone else.

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The stories I’m sharing are just a beginning, glimpses into the experiences that have shaped my perception of life and faith. In time, I’ll dive deeper into the reasoning behind these beliefs, especially as they relate to the theme of liberation—freedom not only of the individual but of all creation. This vision is deeply connected to scriptural insights, which I’ll explore later. For now, I’ll stay focused on the personal memories and stories that have led me to see liberation as a guiding truth.

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My Mother’s Journey and My Beginnings

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My mother ended up raising me on her own, with the only sign of my father being the alimony payments. Stepping into adulthood alone, her hopes for a future paradise grew dim. She saw firsthand the hypocrisy of the system, the corruption of leaders, and was left to rely on her own resilience and the kindness of others, with only her prayers to guide her. I came along in October of 1969, born on a military base in the town of Mirnyi, in the Arkhangelsk (Archangel) region. The name “Mirnyi,” which means “Peaceful,” feels like an ironic choice for a base built to house ballistic missiles—a stark symbol of the Cold War’s strategy of securing peace through strength. The saying “If you want peace, prepare for war” was a guiding narrative, reflecting the fierce competition between capitalism and communism.

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This backdrop, combined with the fact that Arkhangelsk retained its name—unlike so many Russian cities renamed after the 1917 revolution—adds layers of contrast to my early life. As we go further, there’s much more that could deepen this picture of my world, but I’ll leave those details for later to keep your attention. Returning to my story…

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My Mother’s Move to Moscow and the Pursuit of Stability

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In 1975, my mother’s older sister, already living in Moscow, urged her to move to the city. She was alone there, also raising a son without a husband, and her loneliness weighed heavily. My mother’s kind heart moved her to accept the challenge, though it meant venturing into a vast metropolis with many uncertainties. For two young women on their own, Moscow presented both opportunity and hardship, especially in an era when the narrative of building a better future was often overshadowed by harsh realities.

Together, they relied on the strong work ethic passed down from their parents and kept going, with prayers for strength along the way. Slowly but surely, they achieved a level of material success. I remember going with my mother on one of her cleaning jobs when I was a child. Despite her primary role managing a sizable property management company for navy-owned properties in Moscow, she held extra jobs to fill the income gap left by an absent husband. Meanwhile, Russia continued to export its communist ideals abroad, with Afghanistan being a key focus under the banner of "liberating the Afghan people." While officially presented as an honor, many parents—including my mother—resorted to any means necessary to keep their children out of the draft.

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Starting School and the Seeds of Belief

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When it was time for me to start school, my mother prayed fervently, hoping I’d be enrolled a month and a half before I was technically old enough. She was determined and told me that God listened to the prayers of little children* more attentively than those of adults. Despite my earlier reluctance with faith, I prayed because I wanted to support her in any way I could. Although the school initially denied my enrollment, my mother’s persistence opened doors, and I was accepted. This reflects one of the strongest traits of my mother's attitude: Keep asking, keep knocking, and never give up until you achieve your goal.

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* I haven’t yet had the time to analyze whether that prayer was heard, by whom, and with what effect.

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School marked the beginning of my atheistic view of the world. It’s interesting to note that in school, subjects like mathematics, geometry, and physics are introduced before concepts like evolution. By the time evolution is introduced, a child’s brain has already internalized the scientific method as the foundation for learning. At that point, the theory of life’s origins often slips into the subconscious as an undeniable truth, without being critically questioned. This subtle process highlights how the art of manipulation can mirror magic in its ability to shape perceptions. Should we be surprised, then, that similar methods of subtle yet impactful misleading have prevailed within Christendom? 

I’m certain this concern resonates in America as well. It’s no surprise that when we voluntarily send our children to school, they are influenced and shaped by the values and ideologies of the system running it. The question then becomes: Do parents have enough time and energy, after a full day of work, to counteract or "cleanse" the influence their children experience after a day in the school system? Meeting this challenge requires intentional effort, prioritizing meaningful conversations, and nurturing the values we want to instill at home, even amidst the pressures of daily life.

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Around age 10 or 11, I remember explaining the “science” of human origins to my mother, describing how we evolved from monkeys. Her face showed a silent but clear rejection, a disbelief that she couldn’t afford time to discuss. She was fully occupied providing for our family, and neither of us questioned the purpose of life at that time. We were both focused on survival, with little room for existential questions.

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Conversations on Life After Death

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By the time my grandmother was in her later years, she was often alone with her thoughts and religious perceptions. From time to time, she’d mention rumors about the possibility of life after death, though she never directly expressed belief in it. These conversations often came up informally at the kitchen table, sometimes drifting into topics of what might happen after we’re gone.

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On one such occasion, my mother half-jokingly said to her, “If it’s true, and if you die but live on as a spirit or soul, give me a sign—maybe a knock on the window.” This was her way of touching on the idea, nodding to the old saying, “Nobody ever came back from there.” It was a way to explore the unknown without fully embracing it, a quiet curiosity that lived alongside skepticism.

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The Words Without the Meaning

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One phrase that always lingered in our vocabulary was, “kingdom of the heavens to him!” Whenever someone died, this phrase would be offered as a sort of blessing or farewell, regardless of the person’s character. I doubt anyone put deep meaning into it; it was simply a traditional expression of good wishes on someone's final journey to their "lasting house" (Ec 12:5). Growing up in an atheist society, several generations separated from the Bible, few, if any, understood its origins.

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These words had passed down through generations, woven into our language. Yet, in all my childhood, youth, and adolescence, I never heard anyone try to explain it. Even in my family, the phrase was used without any real context. My impression was that no one really knew its meaning, as Stalin’s decree in 1951 had exiled those who preached the Bible to Siberia.* Perhaps some understanding survived elsewhere, but as far as I could see, the meaning of these words had been lost, a remnant of faith left in the fabric of a secular society.

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*https://1951deport.org/en/

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A Mother’s Plan to Protect Her Son

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When I was 16 and approaching high school graduation, my mother started seriously considering how she could protect me from the draft. Although people respected their duty to serve, many didn’t hesitate to find ways to keep their children safe from the risks of fighting in Afghanistan—a conflict framed as a mission to secure “freedom for the Afghan people.” It was clear that my mother, like others, was ready to do whatever it took to keep me out of harm’s way. And then, an idea struck her—“Eureka!”

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Have you ever heard the story of how Archimedes determined if a golden crown had been mixed with silver by observing how it displaced water?* My mother had her own “Eureka” moment, and, as she was working under the supervision of navy headquarters, she discovered a way to “displace” me from the army’s path. Some navy officers she knew suggested that enrolling me in navy college would be the safest course, as we had no naval border with Afghanistan, meaning there would be no chance of being sent to the front lines.

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​* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eureka_(word)

With prayers and the patronage of high-ranking officers, she succeeded in enrolling me in navy college, even though my grades and sinus issues should have disqualified me. In many ways, my mother’s prayers led her to place me even deeper into the system of things at odds with our heavenly father. But I try to stay positive and view it as a story of providence—like Moses’s mother, who, instead of surrendering her son to death, hid him in a basket on the Nile to keep him safe.

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The Irony of a Name

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My last name carries an irony that has shaped much of my life. Both my grandfather’s and my father’s last names were somewhat unfortunate—each had roots used as insults, and for my father, this was compounded by burn scars on his face. Growing up with a name like that wasn’t easy, especially since people used it as a way to mock or bully. I didn’t have any visible defects myself, but still, my last name singled me out.

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Yet, my rare last name also provided a unique advantage. A man with the same last name married the daughter of the General Secretary of the Communist Party, who led the country from 1964 to 1982 and became a symbol of the era’s stagnation. This son-in-law was appointed as Ministry of Internal Affairs* (similar to Secretary of the Interior in US), and although we weren’t related, many assumed we were. My mother even used the assumption to build connections when necessary.

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* https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yuri_Churbanov

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This association followed me to navy college, where, despite being sent to the guard house five times and expelled three times, I was always reinstated. Each time I returned, it was a surprise to my friends and commanders alike. I’ve come to compare myself to Moses, feeling like I was “Pharaoh’s adopted son”—an outsider accepted by the system and spared from the “altar of war.”

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Navy College and the Shifting Tide of Perestroika

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In 1986, at age 16, I entered navy college, stepping into a world undergoing drastic change. This was the era of Perestroika*, with Gorbachev leading the country toward reconciliation with the West, ending the Cold War, and gradually abandoning communist ideology along with the dream of a paradise on earth. Freedom of religion became a new course, and thousands of Bibles were printed and circulated for the first time in decades.

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* - https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Perestroika

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In my first year in navy college, a classmate brought a Bible to class. We passed it around, reading bits here and there, stumbling over the opening verses in Genesis, and chatting about prophecies—like those my grandmother used to mention about “iron birds” and “wired nets.” It was popular to connect two words “Michael” and "mark" and apply to Gorbachev - good illustration of Twisted Things, that I review in the other story: "Power of Reason vs. Twisted Things", That was about all as far as our exploration of the Bible knowledge went. The classmate who read the Bible diligently for months seemed just as puzzled as the rest of us. With so much happening ideologically, the Bible was only a brief curiosity.

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Meanwhile, former communist leaders were now seen attending temples, a sight that became the subject of national jokes and comedy shows. Our whole country laughed at the irony, even as temples began to fill with people standing before icons and listening to priests chant in unknown languages. For me, crossing into that world was out of the question, but like many others, I was affected by the change. Throughout my years at school and navy college, my mother had hidden a small cross in my clothing for protection. Out of respect for her, I kept it, feeling so accustomed to it that, when religious symbols became openly accepted, I began to wear it on my neck. It was more a superstition than an expression of faith—an emblem of habit, not belief, that went unchallenged by others.

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In 1991, I graduated from navy college with a diploma in chemical engineering, trained to generate oxygen, remove carbon monoxide, and manage radiation on a submarine. I was assigned to the Russian Far East to work on a submarine that, in the end, was never completed—another relic of the military de-escalation that reshaped our world.

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An Aimless Period and Unwanted Conversations

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In my first two years in the navy, I wasn’t assigned to a submarine, so I found myself in a kind of limbo. I received a salary, showed up here and there as required, but mostly drifted. I spent my time with friends, drinking, playing games, and frequently flying back to the Black Sea, where I’d spent five years in college. I even did some buy-and-sell work for a friend, making easy money but feeling, in some ways, that I was missing out. Many people around me were taking advantage of new opportunities in small businesses, yet I felt obligated to follow the path my mother had set out for me. She’d assured me that, in time, I would be transferred to navy headquarters in Moscow, and I trusted her vision.

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During this time, my lifestyle caught up with me, and I ended up in the hospital for 10 days with a consequence of my choices. I shared a room with the foreman of the guardhouse, who had been studying the Bible with Jehovah’s Witnesses. He was eager to tell me about Jehovah and the idea of restoring paradise on earth. Although he was well-meaning, I had little patience for these conversations; they reminded me too much of ideals I’d already rejected, only now they featured an invisible God named Jehovah instead of the Communist Party. I tried to be polite and found ways to steer clear of his enthusiasm. 

A few Witnesses knocked on my door at the base, but I wasn’t interested. My stance on religion was firm: it wasn’t for me, and I felt my time could be better spent elsewhere.

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A Crisis of Purpose and a New Path

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While I was nine time zones away, my mother went through an intense crisis of existence. Working for a property management company with frequent audits, she understood accounting deeply. As our society shifted to capitalism, privately owned businesses multiplied, and her skills became highly sought after. Big corporations, banks, and small businesses hired her to help reconcile accounts, and she started earning well. But as she watched individuals take possession of what the communist society had built collectively, she felt a rising unease. Corruption was rampant, even at the highest levels, with some of her clients operating out of Red Square.

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The hardest thought for her was a deeply personal one: “My son will get married soon, and then I won’t be needed anymore.” She was haunted by memories of her father’s last days in a mental hospital, her mother living alone hours away, and her own demanding schedule that had left little time for them. Now, with me far away and the future of the military uncertain, she felt lost. Life felt so empty that, in her despair, she prayed for God to take her life. Yet, in the midst of that prayer, she felt a peace that surpassed her anguish—a calm that stilled her thoughts. She cried out, “I don’t want to live… I don’t want to die… What should I do?” Ready to listen, she opened her heart to hear from God.

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Already exploring a few religious books and gatherings, she was invited by a close friend to study the Bible with Jehovah’s Witnesses. The lessons she learned brought new meaning into her life, and she felt a renewed purpose, one she was eager to share with me.

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The Temporary Nature of the World

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As you’ll see in this chapter, the things we see around us are only temporary. We once had an empire so powerful it held millions under a unified idea, yet all of it simply vanished. It’s a pattern that repeats itself time and again. The apostle Paul warned the Corinthians about becoming too attached to this world, saying, “those making use of the world as those not using it to the full; for the scene of this world is changing.” (1 Corinthians 7:31) And how fast those scenes change! The Bible is filled with examples meant to guide us through the ends of these systems: “Now these things happened to them as examples, and they were written for a warning to us upon whom the ends of the systems of things have come.” (1 Corinthians 10:11)

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Yet, a better world is still to come. Millions are praying for this every day when they say, “Let your Kingdom come.” The apostle Peter spoke of this future with hope, saying, “But there are new heavens and a new earth that we are awaiting according to his promise, and in these righteousness is to dwell.” (2 Peter 3:13) Decades later, the apostle John received a reassuring vision that he recorded in Revelation 21:1-5: “And I saw a new heaven and a new earth; for the former heaven and the former earth had passed away… Look! The tent of God is with mankind, and he will reside with them, and they will be his people. And God himself will be with them. And he will wipe out every tear from their eyes, and death will be no more, neither will mourning nor outcry nor pain be anymore. The former things have passed away.” And the One seated on the throne said: “Look! I am making all things new.”

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If you’re reading this, you may have witnessed these changes yourself—or, if you’re too young, you will surely see them later. My story is here to help you recognize the signs, to pay attention. Believe me, I once thought I was living in a stable, unshakable world, and now, that world is gone. But the hope of something better—a world of true righteousness—is what I now look forward to.

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Stay Tuned

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Stay tuned… You may already be familiar with the idea of a heavenly calling, a life dwelling in the heavens as an angel. If so, I think you’ll find my reflections on this deeply enlightening—I have some thoughts to share with you on this subject, thoughts that may offer a fresh perspective. For now, let’s take a moment to acknowledge that things on earth are constantly shifting, sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse. But did you know that there are things here on earth that are deeply attractive to the angels in heaven, and, likewise, things in heaven that draw the hearts of humans?

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So, who ultimately identifies where we will dwell? Is it a choice we make ourselves, or does it come from above? I hope my discoveries in this regard will encourage you to listen closely for that voice from above. The journey continues.