God’s Storehouse of the Deep: A John Michael Saga

By John Garvin Clarke

This award-winning Christian Romantic action-adventure novel is set on pirate-fighting research vessel, the Red Sea Princess. John Michael and the ship's crew are on a dangerous quest to find the 600-golden Egyptian chariots, from Exodus 14:7. They are hidden very deep in a place the Bible calls God's Storehouse of the Deep, mentioned in Psalm 33:7. John Michael discovered the undersea path where the debris field is found - referenced in Psalm 77:19 and Isaiah 51:10.

As a bonus, the discovery of the undersea path becomes the amazing starting point to locate all 42 Exodus campsites, in Numbers 33, via satellite. Every geographic clue found in the Bible fits perfectly together as the Bible demonstrates its amazing accuracy. The adventure continues in the book called The Song of Moses by the same author.

• Language: English
• Publisher: LifeRich Publishing
• Release date: Oct 29, 2021
• ISBN: 9781489737885

John Garvin Clarke

The author is a Christian, and a layman Biblical geographer and cartographer. He is part of the new renaissance of Moses where the Exodus discovery and morality of Moses is coming to life and which in turn, requires our need for the forgiveness from the Cross of Jesus.

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Copyright © 2021 John Garvin Clarke.

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ISBN: 978-1-4897-3763-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-3762-5 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4897-3788-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2021917227

LifeRich Publishing rev. date: 10/19/2021

Contents

Acknowledgments

Scripture References (NKJV)

Introduction

A New Beginning

Chapter 1     A Camel Ride

Chapter 2     The Ghost

Chapter 3     Courage Devices

Chapter 4     The Red Sea Princess

Chapter 5     Getting Underway

Chapter 6     Alexandria

Chapter 7     The Wedding?

Chapter 8     The Well

Chapter 9     The Gold Route Of Moses

Chapter 10   Too Dangerous

Chapter 11   A House Divided

Chapter 12   Disaster

Chapter 13   Blown Sky High

Chapter 14   Allies Meet

Chapter 15   Baghdad Express

Chapter 16   The Red Sea Path

Chapter 17   Impending Doom

Chapter 18   Big Red

Chapter 19   God’s Storehouse Of The Deep

The Appendix

Summary Of Miracles

The Gold Route Map

Egypt’s Gold Harbor

The Exodus Biblically 1447 – 1487 BC

All Forty Two Exodus Campsites

Acknowledgments

This is a story about the discovery of the very long and very deep Red Sea crossing of Moses. The proof lays hidden in ‘God’s storehouse of the deep.’

And with this discovery the renaissance of the works of Moses will begin.

The Bible mentions the Exodus account with the phrase "a path through the sea and God lays up the deep in storehouses," (Ps. 77:19, 33:7).

So our story begins with the life of John Michael and his fighting research vessel the Red Sea Princess.

The Exodus Red Sea Path map show all 42 of the Exodus campsites of Moses for the first time in modern history.

They are placed in perfect order and sequence as per the Exodus itinerary listed in Numbers 33. The result of the discovery of these Mosaic campsites pointed to the Egyptian Ras Banas peninsula and the Red Sea crossing site. A further bathymetric study produced a natural undersea road bed that needed no bridge work, no deep valleys or ravines to cross of hills to climb. All this research was incorporate in our story.

Scripture references (NKJV)

Psalm 77:18-20 The voice of Your thunder was in the whirlwind. The lightning lit up the world; the earth trembled and shook. Your way was in the sea, Your path in the great waters. And Your footsteps were not known. You led Your people like a flock by the hand of Moses and Aaron.

Isaiah 43:16-19 Thus says the Lord, Who makes a way in the sea and a path through the mighty waters. Who brings forth the chariot and horse, the army and the power, (they shall lie down together, they shall not rise; They are extinguished, they are quenched like a wick).

Isaiah 51:10 Are you not the One who dried up the sea, the waters of the great deep; that make the depths of the sea a road for the redeemed to cross over?

Isaiah 51:15 But I am the Lord your God, Who divided the sea whose waves roared—the Lord of hosts is His name.

Psalm 33:7 He gathers the waters of the sea together as a heap; He lays up the deep in storehouses.

Numbers 33:5-49 Herein is the itinerary of the Exodus campsites of Moses from Rameses #1 to Moab #42. See the appendix.

Exodus 15 the Song of Moses is a witness of God’s power to deliver His own children to His kingdom.

Galatians 4:25 For this Hagar is Mount Sinai in Arabia …

Revelation 15:2-3 And I saw something like a sea of glass mingled with fire, and those who have the victory over the beast, over his image and over his mark and over the number of his name, standing on the sea of glass having harps of God. And they sang the Song of Moses, the servant of God and the Song of the Lamb.

Introduction

JOHN MICHAEL ENTERS the fight against spiritual darkness and to answer the Bible critics with the proof of the powerful miracle of the Exodus Red Sea crossing of Moses, that will be proven with the recovery of Amenhotep II’s golden palace-guard chariots talked about in Exodus 14:7

And that discovery, that lies very deep in the Red Sea, will unleash a spiritual firestorm that will give us a new look at God’s mighty power. The proof of that power will also tell us of the accuracy of the Bible and that will open the door for us to believe a long list of miracles that God performed, including the six day creation of Earth, the ten plagues of Egypt and all the miracles done for the provisions for a nation for forty long years and beyond.

And at the end times, the left-behind saints will be encouraged to submit to martyrdom and not take the mark of the beast, because the Song of Moses, Exodus 15, brings to life God’s mighty power to deliver His children from the depths of the sea and/or from the depths of their graves, Revelation 15:3.

His words tell all of us of His morality and our needful alliance with Him that can only begin and be satisfied with our acceptance of the sacrifice of His Son.

Herein will be demonstrated the limits of His love that can be measured by His limitless power--so let the renaissance of the history of Moses begin.

A New Beginning

IT WAS IN the days when the Holy Father of heaven was nearly finished receiving the last of His children from the earth, and the Americans were fighting a long war in Baghdad.

The holy angels in heaven had watched the generations of the Lord’s children enter their kingdom. Only those who had the faith in the blood sacrifice of the King’s Son received a borrowed holiness and were welcomed as the Holy Father’s precious children. These were the precious few that when they first saw the light were given a confident knowing that they belonged-- like fish know how to swim, and birds know how to fly.

His children could see their Father’s love-creation footprint all around them. The entire universe with its millions of life forms was their love-gift from Him. But, for the rest of the vast multitude of humanity—to them the earth remained a meaningless accident in time.

The Father’s children were His greatest treasure. The angels knew that the children grew to love Him even after enduring a hostile world. These precious few found Him without being able to see Him or touch Him or visit His kingdom. Even in a hostile world they grew closer to Him by feeding on His word.

Nevertheless, the Father knew that when His saints were suddenly swept away into heaven at the end of the age, there would be many left behind that would be caught-up in a sea of doubt.

So the Father decreed that the witness of His power and might demonstrated at the Exodus crossing of the Red Sea might help give them the courage to be martyred for their faith.

Our story begins in heaven where there is a glowing temple with a courtyard just below. Both had shimmering black granite floors that were illuminated by the endless expanse of bright stars. Within the courtyard was a giant horizontally suspended, golden rod. It was a hundred handbreadths square and over two hundred cubits long.

Only by the hand of a small child, who would effortlessly pull on a golden chord, a large hammer-like rod would strike. When it struck, a potent, harmonic sound could be spiritually heard for millions of miles into outer space and would warn the spirit kingdoms of heaven and earth that God’s great miraculous power had been released from His temple.

A small band of warrior angels, battered and torn, with their once strong wings and shiny armor, muddied and broken, climbed to the top of the steps of the temple and waited to be addressed. Inside was a massive throne room and just beyond sat the King on His throne and to His right, sat His Prince. There was a delicate amber mist that surrounded them. Behind the King’s throne, the room opened up into an expansive view of the galaxies.

There were seven bright lights, like torches, hovering and darting about close by. All around the throne were golden lamp stands that gave a warm glow and a sweet fragrance that filled the temple.

In a space well below the King’s feet were four beryl stone colored, wheel-like creatures with wings. They had four faces within the wheels; a man, a lion, an eagle and a cherub. And just above the creatures, sat twenty-four administrators sitting in a broad, sweeping semi-circle.

The King motioned to the Prince and the Prince rose from His golden throne to meet the new arrivals at the temple’s entrance. On His way, the Prince took a golden goblet and dipped it into a crystal clear pool of running water and brought it to His waiting guests.

Drink this, He said.

One by one the small band of warrior angels did so and where instantly restored like new.

Do we have anyone else on earth that could help us with this task? the Prince asked.

No one, my Prince, Jeb said, carrying his helmet in his hand. Jeb was the spokesman for the group and was the runt of the bunch, but the most daring. The rest of the band towered over him, but fiercely protected him.

There is no one left on earth who believes that the Father opened the Red Sea and made a desert path through it.A path that was a mile deep and a hundred and forty miles long He rescued a nation from certain doom in an instant, the Prince said.

We had one man who knew, but he was executed in Midian. We were overwhelmed … we fought hard to save him, but the opposition was too great and we barely escaped with our lives, Jeb said with his eyes filling with tears.

I see, the Prince said, putting His hand on Jeb’s

shoulder and pausing to console him.

"This is important; many souls will be caught unaware with the quick, mass exit of the saints. Many will need to have one last desperate escape opportunity by submitting to their martyrdom. It would help them if they had some demonstration of the Father’s miraculous power.

"Since hardly anyone on earth these days believes in my six-day creation, how would they trust in My power to resurrect millions of souls and deliver them to Heaven?

It is written that the Song of Moses is a victory song and must be sung here at this temple, by the martyred left-behind saints, the Prince said.

But it may take another two or three decades to raise another brave soul to rediscover the Red Sea path, Jeb said.

Well okay, I will send back our fallen servant, but you must go down there and guard his grave. He reached in his robe and pulled out a letter tied with a red ribbon.

Here are your instructions. Take special care, for your task is difficult. He then hugged and blessed each one of them and bid them farewell. The angels backed slowly down the steps and the Prince turned to re-enter the temple. He caught the eye of the child in the courtyard below. The child’s response was immediate. He gave the long golden chord a tug, and a thunderous chime sounded, and in that instant the spirit worlds of heaven and earth knew miraculous power had gone forth from the throne of God. The small band of warrior angels then mounted their swift steeds and began their journey to earth.

It was a moonless night as they streaked across the evening sky of earth, like meteors flying in formation, and finally hovered, and landed, over a barren patch of desert that was alongside a desolate dirt road in the ancient land of Median.

On the horizon they could see a massive ghoulish army of heavily armored horsemen gathering with their eyes awakened with a devilish green flame. They cautiously watched the small band of warrior angels arrive.

The small band looked at each other. The memory of their narrow escape from death at the hands of these devils was fresh on their minds.

Jeb’s powerful white stallion stumbled and quickly righted himself, and as he did, he let out a loud snort followed by a fierce whinny. The muscular animal then quickly reared up on his hind legs and then pawed the ground with his great hooves, challenging the approaching stallions to a fight.

Jeb glanced at his loyal band. His eyes told of honor and privilege to die with his brave companions.

If my horse has no fear, why should we?

In an instant their helmets snapped shut, and their swords rang from their sheaths with a sound that echoed across the plain. Their stallions bolted with fury as the chime in heaven sounded again and as they charged, life poured back into a nearby sandy grave.

The massive demon army heard the sounds, saw the charge and cautiously began to melt back a considerable distance. Again and again, all that night, the small band continued to attack the ocean of demons. But they would not engage. They would only scatter when approached.

In the heat of the following day, there was a stirring and a moaning coming from the sandy grave that the band of angels were guarding.

chapter one

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A CAMEL RIDE

AT LAST, AN invading blinding light, annoying and relentless, poured over a man’s sleeping eyes, exposing them to the bright desert sun. The sand-covered, corrugated metal lid that held him hostage was stubbornly peeled back from the earth.

A shadow momentarily blanketed the man allowing him to steal a glimpse of a large silhouette poking at his chest and as he did, an army of insects scampered in retreat.

Lying there in anguish he saw the cloud of dust slowly clear. He tried to lift his hand without success. Two Bedouin tribesmen, wearing flowing white robes with brown vests and lofty turbans, looked on. The amazement on their tanned, leathery faces was concealed only by the ample fabric that formed their turbans.

Spurred on by their curiosity, the tribesmen were now hunched down over their discovery, waving their hands to ward off the stench.

He’s alive! I told you I heard something, one said to the other in Arabic.

The keen hearing of one allowed the pair to follow a faint moaning sound in the late afternoon breeze. They toiled briefly to lift off the lid of the grave that was in a ditch next to a sandy road that stretched for miles in northern Saudi Arabia.

Then for a long moment their eyes were fixed at the man’s heaving chest and agreed that he must be alive. With a wide-eyed darted glance, they sprang into action and pulled and then dragged the body by his feet through the sand to the center of the road, alarming their camels.

The tribesmen began to argue about whether or not the man could survive the journey to the nearest village about seven miles away, or should they dump him back into the ditch and give him up for dead.

The man gained consciousness, but only for a moment, as he made a feeble, but valiant attempt to look alive and very concerned about the events before him. He clearly didn’t want his rescuers to leave him in that grave.

Bullets had torn through his body and shredded his clothes, leaving him covered in a bloody sandy-caked mess. He looked very dead. The older tribesman took a careful look. He was convinced he would die. He didn’t want to have to return later to re-bury him if there was no hope for his survival. The larger younger one, wearing a scowl, insisted, and so they haplessly thrusted the corpse over the camel’s back.

The camel didn’t like the scent of an alien, blood-crusted life form hurled upon him and with an ear-splitting squeal, the large, grungy animal spun around violently and launched the lifeless body, like a rag doll, high into the air, and it landed a considerable distance back into the desert.

The two Arabs looked at each other in a Laurel and Hardy fashion, as if to say, I didn’t think a camel could do that.

In a God-fearing, stressful panic, thinking that they had killed a man and to avoid an investigation, the two quickly approached him again and without hesitation, grabbed him by his ankles and dragged him back to the road.

The irate camel’s nerves were calmed and the second loading attempt went smoothly. The man was draped over the camel’s back with his arms and legs swaying as the small caravan then lumbered along toward the advancing night sky.

It was the time of the spring bloom in the desert with every lonely plant struggling to bud. The fragrant evening air was now chilled and the distant mountains were cloaked with a musty haze as nightfall approached.

The two Bedouins traveled late into the night to deliver the unconscious John Michael to a kind and sympathetic family that agreed to give a pilgrim a bed for the night.

chapter two

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THE GHOST

JOHN MICHAEL AWOKE the next morning wearing blood-caked clothes that felt like gravel pressed against his flesh and he found himself in a white-plastered room filled with bright morning sunlight that was filtered through a window, draped with sheer white curtains, that flowed, dreamlike, in the morning breeze.

He rose with no effort and went to the window to look out. There opened a second-story view of a small Arab town with a catacomb of mud-brick houses, all side by side. He could see rooftop patios with endless strings of white billowy laundry. He could see people here and there walking about, and he could hear the sounds of a symphony of barking dogs, crescending and ebbing in a dusty clamor. An ear-numbing roar of a muffler-less car soon appeared with the driver challenging the deep ruts in the sandy road. The deafening sound plundered the silent sanctity of the known world of any possible hope for sleep.

The sights, the sounds—am I alive or is this a dream? he asked.

On one wall was a mirror above a vanity table. He looked with astonishment at his battered and puffy face and the bullet wounds that had ripped open his chest. The wounds were lined with tiny jagged strips of skin. They were sealed with paper-thin scar tissue. What remained was a residue of dried blood and sand. The sight in the mirror frightened him, yet he felt fine. He felt no pain.

He spent some time examining his forty something, lanky body. He had plenty of cuts and bruises, but his grotesque blood-caked clothes, fresh from the grave still held the dramatic evidence of bullet wounds. He looked like the walking dead. He very definitely needed something to cover himself.

In an instant his memory came flooding back—the Wahhabi firing squad, his execution, the sights of the puffs of smoke from the rifles, the hot slamming bullets exploding through his chest and his final overpowering pain that sent him into darkness.

Was it all a terrible dream? he said.

The bullet wounds had capped off a month of torture with sporadic and mindless persecution. His memory was flooded with images of hateful faces, speaking in a strange tongue. He knew he was found guilty of the charge of being an infidel spy. He was taking video pictures of this desert land. He possessed detailed satellite maps and a Christian Bible. Therefore, he was sentenced to death by a firing squad.

"I am alive! Yet I was dead," he mumbled.

I remember the ditch and the camel. Maybe it was all a dream? If I go back to bed and awake I might escape thisnightmare, he said.

Just then a young girl dressed in a white robe appeared in the doorway, interrupting his quandary. Her eyes widened in panic when she saw him. Before he could say anything to calm her, she quickly ran down the stairs, screaming.

Her screams jolted his fear. He knew that she would alarm the village authorities. It was time for him to leave.

Down the stairs and out the door he went. He walked through a gathering crowd and to his surprise they melted away when he came near. It quickly became child’s play and he was the monster and this time they were the helpless, terrified victims.

Recklessly, he would charge a small group of children, and they would scream and scatter in terror as if they had seen a ghost.

He enjoyed the excitement and it was giving him strength. It was comic relief and playful revenge for all the terrible things that had been done to him. It was a release for some of the fear and anger that lingered inside him. Perhaps he could begin to forgive.

The misery they put me through, those medieval religious thugs that rule this land. They deal out their harsh justice at their whim, he muttered.

He ran through lines of laundry that became long streamers of white that trailed behind him. He helped himself to a white blanket and a bed sheet that he wrapped around himself to appear almost normally dressed. He then followed a wide, rutted dirt road for about a mile, passing by several mud-brick houses and shops and a long-neglected mud-brick wall that ended at the edge of town.

He paused once or twice to look back. To his delight, he could see a person here and there, ducking behind a window or a wall, trying not to be seen.

Beyond the town was a paved road that stretched as far as the eye could see across a vast desert expanse. The black pavement was beginning to blur with the heat of the new day.

Almost immediately, a truck appeared. He gave a curt wave to the driver, and the truck stopped and provided his final escape from the town. The truck was an overloaded flatbed, filled high with rolled rugs, draped low over the the rear. The truck’s cab was lined with dingle balls and smelled like an ashtray.

The driver was an elderly Turkish fellow. His fez cap had a tassel that was badly burned by his incessant cigar smoking. He was poorly shaven and unkempt and dressed in an off-color robe, held together with a wide sash.

John Michael learned that the Turk was going to Medina, a hundred miles to the southwest. John assumed that he was just helping a pilgrim or perhaps he needed someone to keep him awake through the monotonous landscape. Only when the hills and valleys approached, the Turk would spring to life, for his overloaded truck would struggle over the slightest grade.

From time to time the Turk would sneak a look at him and mumble something in Turkish. It was clear he was very curious, but John Michael just listened with a blank stare and then gazed out the window at the endless desert scenery.

At least I am traveling across the open desert again, he thought to himself.

A short time ago he was full of the thrill of adventure and discovery. Now he was running for his life. The history-making tour of the Exodus campsites now ended in a nightmare. The memory of the cramped, foul-smelling prison cell and the ordeal of the relentless torture, and the flesh-splattering execution were entrenched in his mind. Now, he just wanted to run. He was at last free, but in full retreat to get away from this cruel land where Moses once lived and traveled.

The government had to think I am dead, he thought. But, there was no desire to stop and find out for sure. The only obsession left was to run. Fear of death had engulfed him like an advancing fog.

Gone was his passionate dream to explore the path of Moses. Gone was his heart’s purpose. Gone was his joy of living and discovery. His heart was now bathed in a poisonous soup of deadly fear that defeats his noble purpose. He had a dream, an obsession that fueled his life and energy for so long. His dream was now dying or dead and that death now loomed over him, waiting to invade his every thought, his every emotion.

Just then, the Turk pointed to a sign, then pulled over and motioned for him to get out of the truck. The sign gave directions to a British Air Force base near the town of Tabuk in northern Arabia. John Michael considered Tabuk, as the Exodus campsite number twenty-nine.

Circa 1443 BC., Moses had named the same place Hor Hagidgad and Mohammed, in 700 AD, named the same place Tabuk. Both names meant a dent or deep indentation or slashing hole and both names describe the same ancient well that lies in the center of the original ancient settlement that is today’s modern city of Tabuk.

In the intense heat of the afternoon, John Michael hobbled down the busy highway, still wrapped in a sheet and blanket. The British Air base was several miles further to the west of the city. There he approached a British sentry who was dressed in full desert battle gear with his assault rifle across his chest.

Halt, the guard snapped as his eyes cautiously examinedJohn Michael, thinking he was more than a little suspicious. But after John Michael spoke for a time, it was easy for him to convince the Brit that he was a very thirsty and hungry American in need of medical help.

The Brits responded and soon John Michael collapsed in a bed they mercifully provided for him. Later, he showered and had a medical exam and was given a khaki uniform.

Good morning, Sir, I am Colonel Brickenrich, at your service, said the Air Force colonel, putting down a medical report and getting up from behind his desk to shake John Michael’s hand.

Please sit down and tell me your situation and perhaps whatever else that might be passing through your mind. It’s no surprise that it appears that you have fallen in with unsuitable characters in some unfortunate adventure, he continued not waiting for a response.

You are an archeologist of some sort, I suppose. You may not be astonished to know that in this unrefined country, one’s passion for one’s own genius could lead to your present state. You were, Sir, a little less than a pleasing picture of domestic comfort and tranquility when you came to us. It would not take an acute observer to have this observation burned into one’s own memory, don’t you think?" the Colonel said, pouring tea and handing him a cup.

What does your memory venture to reveal about your journey through this intolerant land? the Colonel asked.

I am sent here to test the aim of the Arab firing squads, John Michael said, caught up in the Colonel’s wit.

Well, thank God, I thought it was something more serious and that you fell into some senseless folly. What a relief that you had a very worthwhile purpose for your unexpected visit, the Colonel quipped, concealing a smile.

Colonel Brickenrich asked John Michael a few more questions, laced with his humorous sarcasm that seemed to shine in the midst of tragedy. John Michael was very appreciative of the Colonel’s wit, for it brightened his view of humanity a bit.Then after a few minutes, the Colonel stood and spoke.

Well then, I want you to be on our next air cargo transport home and of course, I will make the necessary calls to your fearless embassy. No need to be stressed for money, or be needlessly alarmed about anything.

With my compliments, Sir, the British Air Force has the privilege and indeed, the honor of removing you from this fascinating vacation destination. And if you go straightaway, you will be in time for our officers’ mess, the Colonel said. When he finished his farewells the British Colonel called the American consulate in Jeddah. And soon after John Michael found himself taking a short ride in a jeep to board a cargo plane waiting to take off at the end of a long runway. His flight eventually flew to a military base some distance outside of London.

chapter three

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COURAGE DEVICES

THE NEXT DAY, he hitched a ride to the U.S. consulate in London, which netted him a temporary passport and an airline ticket to New York, and from New York, a connecting flight to San Diego, California, John Michael’s home town.

Aboard the plane, John Michael felt like a prizefighter who had just lost a fight. His sunglasses and a few facial bandages helped conceal his embarrassment as he nestled in a window seat at the rear of the plane.

A wide-eyed young Mexican girl peered over the seat in front of him.

Mommy, that man is hurt bad, she said speaking in Spanish as her mother tried to get her back down in her seat.

Don’t bother the nice man, now be still and put on your seat belt, she commanded.

But mommy, maybe he needs help.

John Michael understood the language. The little girl’s compassion moved him. Isn’t that just like the children in Mexico, always trying to help me, he thought.

As the plane made its final approach in San Diego, John gazed out his window. His heart was filled with a torrent of emotions and he prayed silently.

I am coming home a failure, Lord. I feel like a coward. Fear has overwhelmed me. I have no new plans. I guess it’s over. The quest we had together. All the years of study and revelation, the years of hoping and those great expectations … my dreams … they’re all dead, Lord, he said softly gazing at the city below.

"I thought we could help renew the faith of millions. No one has any interest in what I was trying to do. Your church is not interested. Their silence has opened the door to our country’s moral decay and