The Moon Turns to Blood

There would be signs first.

That was the mercy of it.

Not a silent ambush. A loud, visible, impossible-to-misread announcement in the sky itself.

I will shew wonders in the heavens and in the earth.

Blood, and fire, and pillars of smoke.

Not one sign. Not a small disturbance. Wonders — plural, layered, stacked, building toward something.

The sun shall be turned into darkness.

Not dimmed. Turned. Actively changed. From light to dark.

And the moon into blood.

The night sky's most reliable light going red. The color of what had been shed on earth rising up into the heavens as if the sky was acknowledging it.

Before the great and terrible day of the LORD come.

Before.

The signs were not the event itself. They were the corridor leading to it. The doorway that something terrible would walk through.

And it shall come to pass, that whosoever shall call on the name of the LORD shall be delivered.

That was the verse that followed the dark sun and the blood moon.

Right after the terror. Right after the signs.

An invitation.

A door left open in the middle of the warning.

In mount Zion and in Jerusalem shall be deliverance.

The same God who turned the sun dark also left the door open.

The same voice that commanded the blood moon also promised that those who called would be answered.

The signs were terrible. The mercy behind them was not.

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