“God had many objectives when he created the New Earth, and one of them was to mould a new landscape so that the New Earth could support God’s purposes for this age,” added Yvonne.

  Johan smiled. “Well, if the old has gone and the new is here, it means that there is a whole new world to explore. I like the idea of that!”

  “Yes,” said Yan, “a day will come when all the New Earth will be accessible to everyone. But for now, we must live where our communities are situated, and we cannot go beyond the boundaries that have been set for us.”

  Johan was satisfied with this explanation. He knew that he could trust Yan and Yvonne. He felt confident in the timing of everything, and for now was perfectly happy to be living within his community.

  *

  Harvest on the New Earth was very different to the backbreaking work in the fields in late summer that Johan had experienced in the Previous Age. The constant energy from the three “suns” meant that fruit and vegetables could be harvested throughout the year, but certain crops required the whole community to work together to gather them into the communal storehouses.

  Johan found it easy to work alongside most of the villagers, but being placed in a team with Ebo, his wife, Jemila, and their son, Eric, caused him to clam up inside. For some reason his tongue become tied and his words dried up when he was around them. The only times he felt able to speak were to correct or reprimand them when some aspect of their work failed to come up to his high standards.

  Out in the fields Gerty could do little but look on in quiet frustration at her brother’s critical attitude. It was clear he was still struggling with something that prevented him from relating with his usual good humour to Ebo and his family, so back at home in the warmth and familiarity of their dinner table, Gerty once again raised the subject.

  “You still seem different around Eric’s family. Why are you always so negative when you talk to them?”

  Johan looked at his sister. Her face was not angry, but full of an innocence and sadness that disarmed his defensiveness. Johan stared into space for a few moments. He gently put down his cutlery and finished chewing his mouthful. Dabbing the corners of his mouth with a napkin, Johan’s shoulders drooped.

  “Are you alright?” asked Gerty. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “I’ve just realised something,” her brother replied in a hushed voice. “When I was growing up… and when I was in the army… we were told over and over again that we were the ‘master race’. We were told that everyone else was inferior.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m so glad you don’t remember,” he said, pushing his plate away. “We were taught that people of other races – Jews, Asians, people with black skin like Eric and his family – were less than human.”

  Gerty looked at her brother intently, unable to fully comprehend what he was saying.

  “Oh, Gerty, I’m so ashamed. I think there’s still something left in my heart from what I was told, and that’s why I treat Eric’s family that way.”

  “But that’s not like you,” she reassured him. “Your best friend is Yan, and he’s Asian, isn’t he?”

  “That’s true,” said Johan, encouraged by her observation. “And maybe it means that I can be free of the things I was taught in the past. Give me some time, Gerty, and I’ll see if I can work out the rest too.”

  *

  A new awareness had dawned for Johan. Over the next few weeks, he observed his interactions with Eric and his family and noticed how his feelings swung between prideful stubbornness and disgust at his own prejudice. Little by little, he showed more kindness toward Eric, using encouraging words rather than critical ones. It felt hard to start with, but Johan was pleased at how Eric flourished under his improved guidance.

  “Great job, young man,” Johan enthused, examining Eric’s thatching.

  Eric beamed with pride, and Johan felt a glow of satisfaction as he saw the effect of his words on Eric’s confidence. After lunch as they resumed work on the roof. Eric struggled to tie the correct knot with the thatching thread that was used to keep the straw in place on the rafters.

  Johan frowned and Eric’s head drooped in anticipation of harsh words. But at that moment when those words were on the tip of his tongue, a rush of determination coursed through Johan; his frown melted, and a broad smile spread across his face. He gently placed his hand on the boy’s shoulder and, crouching down to his height, felt a surge of love towards both Eric and himself.

  “Hey, you’re doing great. Let’s give it another try.”

  The glow inside Johan was obvious to everyone around him that afternoon, and they enjoyed their day’s work all the more.

  At the supper table that evening, Gerty noticed that Johan seemed more relaxed and had an even better appetite than usual.

  “You look happy. Did anything special happen today?”

  “Well, you know I have been paying close attention to my attitudes? Today everything was going well with Eric, but then he got something wrong. Awful words crossed my mind, but I realised where they came from. I don’t want to think that way anymore, so I threw those thoughts out and chose to affirm and encourage Eric instead. As soon as I’d done that, I felt so good. I’m not my thoughts or my background; I am my choices. I am what I do. I can choose love and goodness.”

  Gerty was overjoyed. “That is so powerful. You’re right. Sometimes we can’t help our thoughts but we can choose what we do with them. I am so proud of you!”

  Johan blushed a little. “I am proud of myself too, and I think it’s ok to say that. But I know what I need to do. I need to speak to Eric and his family.”

  After clearing away the supper things, Johan and Gerty walked in the quiet of the evening along the path that led to Eric’s home. Johan looked at his sister, who nodded her support, as he took a deep breath and knocked on the door.

  The door was opened by Jemila, and behind her they could see Ebo in the kitchen wiping his hands on a cloth.

  “Hello Johan,” she said brightly, “Hello Gerty. How lovely to see you both. Won’t you come in?”

  “Come in, come in,” echoed Ebo, waving to them as his son emerged from upstairs.

  “Thank you, but I don’t feel I can until I have said what I need to say.” Johan looked at the family gathered in their entrance hall. “I am here to apologise.”

  “First of all, Eric, I want you to know that I should never have shouted at you the way I used to. I was not patient or kind, and you didn’t deserve to be treated like that. You are a hard-working, intelligent, trustworthy young man, and I did not… ”

  Before Johan could say anything else, Eric flung his arms around Johan. Johan put his arms around Eric and felt the healing of the embrace wash through him.

  “And I need to apologise to your parents too. Ebo and Jemila, I was told so many lies when I was a child about people of other races. I am so sorry. I don’t ever want to think that way again.”

  Ebo reached out his hand and grasped Johan’s. “Come on in, my friend.”

  Johan bowed respectfully and he and Gerty took their seats around the family table while Ebo filled their glasses with fruit juice.

  “You know,” said Ebo, “I have to say something, too. We were taken by people with white skin like yours. We were treated like animals and put in chains.” Ebo sat down and held Jemila’s hand.

  “I need you to know that Jemila and I died in an uprising. We hated our masters and their people. One day we fought back, but they were too strong and they beat us to death. So when we came here and had to live with white people, we also struggled with what we felt inside.”

  Jemila looked searchingly at Johan and was moved to see tears trickling down his face.

  “We found that people here expected us to be compliant because we are black. Jesus warned us when we were raised that many people expect black people to forgive quickly. But then we met Yvonne and she was so different to all the white people we had known in our time. It was the first step towards us changing our minds. What I am saying is, we have had to work on our attitudes as well.”

  Ebo reached across the table and took Johan’s trembling hand in his. “I accept your apology. Will you accept mine?”

  Johan squeezed Ebo’s hand and looked at each person around the table in turn. “Yes, and I renounce every lie I ever believed about all people not being equal.”

  “And we renounce all hatred against white people,” declared Ebo quietly.

  Eric and Gerty understood the solemnity of the moment but could not restrain their beaming smiles. Jemila laughed to see their expressions.

  “Isn’t it good to know that these little ones will never know the burdens of the Previous Age?”

  “Everything is right now, isn’t it?” asked Gerty.

  “Yes,” said Ebo firmly. “We are learning. Step by step, we are learning how to treat everyone as our brothers and sisters in this wonderful new world.”

  Fran: Anger Is Good

  Fran walked purposefully through the village hoping to hear some new gossip. She spotted Kelly, her neighbour from across the green. Fran quickly approached her but was frustrated when she disappeared into Imelda’s cabin. Not wanting to face Imelda, she walked on.

  “Well, look who’s here. Come on in.” Imelda greeted her visitor in a slightly condescending tone.

  “Hello Imelda,” replied Kelly, shyly.

  “You’ve never yet got yourself one of our outfits, have you?” said Imelda, her hands clasped together as she looked Kelly up and down.

  “That’s because you’ve always sold out before I could afford anything,” replied Kelly, meekly.

  “Well, here you are, and all the new clothes are right in front of you. Why don’t you choose something, and I’m sure we can come to some arrangement.”

  Kelly walked around the shop floor admiring the results of Dawn’s needlework based on Imelda’s designs.

  “How about this one?” she asked, holding up a pleated skirt.

  “Ah yes, I can see you wearing that around the village,” Imelda gushed with well-rehearsed enthusiasm. “So, what can you give me for it?”

  Somewhere at the back of the shop Dawn cleared her throat and corrected her loudly. “What can you give us for it?”

  “Well… I think I have a full box of walnuts you can have.”

  Imelda tilted her head and grimaced.

  “Walnuts? My dear girl, I don’t want your walnuts. Try again.”

  “I could copy out my recipe book for you?”

  Imelda looked unimpressed and shook her head.

  “Hmm, that doesn’t work either. I would like…”

  She clicked her fingers and her eyes lit up.

  “We would like you to grow rose bushes from cuttings of your pink rose and then plant and tend them in each of our gardens.”

  “Roses for two gardens?” winced Kelly. “No, Imelda, that’s too much work.”

  “Fine,” snapped Imelda and snatched the skirt back from Kelly.

  Kelly turned and walked out of the shop, her cheeks burning.

  “That horrible old cow!” she thought as she walked down the main street of the village. “Why must life be so unfair?”

  Kelly had long believed that life was against her. After her divorce in her mid-forties, she had devoted all her time and energy to her daughter, Clare. When Clare was just nineteen she had been killed by a drunken driver on a country road. The loss of her only child had torn a hole in Kelly’s soul. There was not a day in her life that she didn’t cry out with longing for her daughter. The only thing that could dull the hatred she felt for the driver was her addiction to painkillers. She had come to believe that God didn’t care about her and had died of a stroke in her early seventies.

  Kelly had been welcomed by Jesus when she was raised three years previously. But however much she had wanted to like him, her resentment toward God still lingered.

  Kelly found herself wondering every day why she couldn’t be reunited with Clare. This only served to fuel her distrust of God. She couldn’t understand why Jesus referred to God as ‘Papa’. That sounded far too familiar, smug even. To Kelly, God was at best a negligent father and at worst an abusive bully. However, Kelly felt lonely and desperately tried to find ways to connect with the other women in her village, but none of them wanted to hear about the hardship she had experienced. Everyone seemed wrapped up in their own concerns.

  Lost in her thoughts, she didn’t hear Sylvia’s greeting from further down the path and was annoyed to suddenly find her standing in front of her.

  “How are you today, Kelly?” asked Sylvia in her usual warm and genuine way.

  Kelly clenched her teeth.

  “Same as ever, Sylvia. I’m tired of being pissed off and I’m pissed off because I’m tired. Life is one long fucking nightmare. I hate it here and I hate everyone here. Honestly, I’d rather just be dead.”

  Sylvia wasn’t surprised by Kelly’s words. Kelly was one of the few women in the village who allowed herself to be so bluntly honest.

  “Come for a meal,” said Sylvia firmly. “This evening?”

  Kelly agreed, as it would be a chance to let Sylvia and Carlos have both barrels of her anger and resentment.

  “Ok, but you don’t know what you’re letting yourself in for!”

  “Come anyway,” Sylvia replied.

  *

  Kelly lingered outside the front door for a few minutes, trying to collect her thoughts. When she knocked, Sylvia opened the door and greeted her warmly. Kelly returned the greeting but with none of the warmth.

  “Try this,” said Carlos, handing her a glass. “Freshly squeezed apple juice.”

  Sylvia led the way into the garden area that was bursting with colour and fragrance. The three sat at a wooden table and each took a moment to take in the sights, smells and sounds of a garden that was truly humming with activity.

  “I’ve wondered for a while about how you’re doing,” began Sylvia, getting straight to the point.

  Kelly folded her hands.

  “Well, I can tell you it’s not what I’d hoped for,” she began. “I wanted to not exist, be properly punished or go somewhere blissful. But this? This is worse than any of those.”

  Carlos sat forward and Sylvia nodded silently.

  “So, yeah, not great at all. I want to leave this stupid village. It’s full of stuck-up selfish bitches!”

  “You say you want ‘proper punishment’?” asked Sylvia.

  “I think I probably belong somewhere a little hotter. I’m not exactly an angel. I hate God for the shitty life he gave me. I hate him for taking my daughter from me. And I hate him for all the suffering that existed in the Previous Age. Tell me, what’s the point of it all? Why create us to suffer, die, and then find there’s even more suffering on the ‘other side’?”

  Sylvia and Carlos continued to listen.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” she exclaimed. “Have you really got nothing but silence for me?”

  “Actually, we understand your anger,” said Carlos.

  Kelly was surprised and sat back, her mouth slightly open.

  “Yes,” added Sylvia. “Your anger is good. It’s sacred in its own way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your anger comes from an instinct deep within you. An instinct that pain, loss and suffering aren’t the way existence should be,” said Carlos.

  “Your anger tells you that there must be another way… a better way,” said Sylvia.

  “Maybe, but why doesn’t an ‘all-powerful’ God stop these bad things from happening?” protested Kelly.

  “God doesn’t micromanage everything,” said Carlos.

  “Yes, life is not controlled by God. In that sense, God isn’t ‘all-powerful’. Choices are ours to make. Some choices we make are for good, and some are not,” explained Sylvia. “This is because we have agency over what we do in our lives.”

  “But I didn’t choose for some bastard to drive into my daughter at eighty miles per hour. And I didn’t choose to become addicted to painkillers. These things just happened to me.” Kelly’s voice was now fraught.

  “I understand,” said Carlos. “But that man chose to drink and drive that night. The fault lies with him. Chaos exists, without a doubt it does, and frequently bad choices create it. But it’s in chaos that we can see how love invites us to create a new way.”

  “But I couldn’t see anything,” sobbed Kelly, who by now was quivering as she wept. “I had no strength to choose anything. I was desperate. I was powerless.”

  “That’s where we need help,” Sylvia said, compassionately. “And we all need help.”

  “Well, you tell me who was there to help me?”

  “You suffered terribly,” said Sylvia quietly.

  “We are not here to tell you how you should feel or how you should understand your Previous Age experiences,” said Carlos. “Only you can come to terms with what has happened, and you have all the time you need to get there.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Sylvia. “It took Carlos and I centuries to get to a point where we could understand and respond to what we were learning. And we are here to walk alongside you as you grow in your understanding too.”

  “Pass me the salad,” said Kelly, changing the subject. She wiped her face with her sleeve and didn’t look at Sylvia or Carlos.

  The conversation turned to gardens, what was growing where and what was starting to appear. Carlos sensitively supported the conversation while attending to the practical aspects of the meal, leaving Sylvia free to stay by Kelly’s side.

  Kelly began to regret her outburst, and by the time she was leaving to go home, she had resolved to say something.

  “Look, I hope I didn’t offend you with what I said.”

  Sylvia waved her hands in the air. “Not at all. This is a safe place. You need – we all need – to be heard and understood.”

  Kelly smiled awkwardly, still unsure whether Sylvia was just being polite.

  “We both needed many, many hours of being heard and understood. You are not alone. In fact, you never need to be alone here. We are always ready to listen and to share our stories with you,” Carlos added.