The ground trembled when the last trumpet sounded.
I had never heard a sound like it—deep and thunderous, but not frightening. More like something waking up. I was with a small group of believers, hidden beneath the hills outside Patmos, whispering prayers and watching the sky. My name is Mina. I used to fear the future. Every letter from John made our hearts pound with both dread and hope. He was exiled for talking about Jesus, but he never stopped writing about what God showed him. And now… now it was happening.
The sky—it peeled back like a scroll. Everything we had known, even the stars, melted away. And then I saw it. A new world. Shining, clean, alive. I couldn't look away. The sea that always separated us from danger, from release, from one another—gone. The cities of war and sorrow—gone. What replaced them didn’t look like anything human hands could build.
There it was. A city, descending. Not like Jerusalem, not like Rome. This one glowed like crystal under a flame. The streets were wide and strong, the walls gleamed with the colors of gems, and at the center—at the very center—was God. Not in a temple. Not behind curtains. Right there with us.
Tears came to my eyes, but they weren’t from sadness. They were the last ones I would ever cry.
A loud voice boomed like music over the multitudes gathering around me: "Look! God’s home is now among His people! He will live with them, and they will be His own." I dropped to my knees. My heart hammered with a joy that felt too big for my chest. Every ache from the old world—every hunger, betrayal, separation—it all suddenly made sense. We were not abandoned. We were being remade.
Someone behind me whispered, “Is this the Judgment?” I turned and saw a boy clutching his father’s sleeve, eyes wide. His father nodded slowly. “Yes. But it’s also the beginning.”
We all listened as God spoke, His voice washing over us like wind and water: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega—the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of life without cost.”
I thought of the children who had gone without food. I thought of women who had cried alone in prison cells. I thought of the faithful—the burned, the forgotten, the mocked. And now, they drank freely.
But then—I heard a warning.
John's voice echoed from his last letter: “The cowardly, the liars, the cruel ones who refused to repent—they will not enter this city…” And I understood. God’s justice wasn’t cruelty. It was protection. This place was holy. It wasn’t for those who loved evil. It was for those who longed to be made new.
Near me, a woman began to sing. Her voice trembled, but it steadied as others joined in. A new song for the New Earth. There were no soldiers here. No sickness. No dividing walls. Only one covenant now—God with us. Forever.
I reached down and touched the grass. It felt warm. Alive. Like hope.
All my life I feared what I’d lose. But here, in this place, I knew: I would never be lost again.
The miracle wasn’t just that death died—it was that love never would.
The ground trembled when the last trumpet sounded.
I had never heard a sound like it—deep and thunderous, but not frightening. More like something waking up. I was with a small group of believers, hidden beneath the hills outside Patmos, whispering prayers and watching the sky. My name is Mina. I used to fear the future. Every letter from John made our hearts pound with both dread and hope. He was exiled for talking about Jesus, but he never stopped writing about what God showed him. And now… now it was happening.
The sky—it peeled back like a scroll. Everything we had known, even the stars, melted away. And then I saw it. A new world. Shining, clean, alive. I couldn't look away. The sea that always separated us from danger, from release, from one another—gone. The cities of war and sorrow—gone. What replaced them didn’t look like anything human hands could build.
There it was. A city, descending. Not like Jerusalem, not like Rome. This one glowed like crystal under a flame. The streets were wide and strong, the walls gleamed with the colors of gems, and at the center—at the very center—was God. Not in a temple. Not behind curtains. Right there with us.
Tears came to my eyes, but they weren’t from sadness. They were the last ones I would ever cry.
A loud voice boomed like music over the multitudes gathering around me: "Look! God’s home is now among His people! He will live with them, and they will be His own." I dropped to my knees. My heart hammered with a joy that felt too big for my chest. Every ache from the old world—every hunger, betrayal, separation—it all suddenly made sense. We were not abandoned. We were being remade.
Someone behind me whispered, “Is this the Judgment?” I turned and saw a boy clutching his father’s sleeve, eyes wide. His father nodded slowly. “Yes. But it’s also the beginning.”
We all listened as God spoke, His voice washing over us like wind and water: “It is done. I am the Alpha and the Omega—the beginning and the end. To the thirsty I will give from the spring of life without cost.”
I thought of the children who had gone without food. I thought of women who had cried alone in prison cells. I thought of the faithful—the burned, the forgotten, the mocked. And now, they drank freely.
But then—I heard a warning.
John's voice echoed from his last letter: “The cowardly, the liars, the cruel ones who refused to repent—they will not enter this city…” And I understood. God’s justice wasn’t cruelty. It was protection. This place was holy. It wasn’t for those who loved evil. It was for those who longed to be made new.
Near me, a woman began to sing. Her voice trembled, but it steadied as others joined in. A new song for the New Earth. There were no soldiers here. No sickness. No dividing walls. Only one covenant now—God with us. Forever.
I reached down and touched the grass. It felt warm. Alive. Like hope.
All my life I feared what I’d lose. But here, in this place, I knew: I would never be lost again.
The miracle wasn’t just that death died—it was that love never would.
