**The Final Charge: A Story of Paul’s Last Words to Timothy**
The air in the dimly lit Roman prison was thick with the scent of damp stone and burning oil lamps. Chains clinked softly as the aged apostle Paul shifted on the cold floor, his body weary from years of hardship, yet his spirit unbroken. The flickering light cast long shadows on the rough-hewn walls as he dipped his quill into a small inkpot, his hands trembling slightly from age and the chill of the dungeon. Before him lay a scroll—precious parchment on which he would write his final words to his beloved son in the faith, Timothy.
Outside, the distant sounds of Rome carried on—the shouts of merchants, the marching of soldiers, the hum of a city indifferent to the suffering of one old man. But Paul’s mind was far from Rome. It was fixed on Ephesus, where Timothy labored faithfully, shepherding the flock of God amidst growing opposition.
With a steadying breath, Paul began to write, his words flowing with urgency and fatherly love.
*”I charge you in the presence of God and of Christ Jesus, who is to judge the living and the dead, and by his appearing and his kingdom: preach the word!”*
His quill scratched against the parchment, each stroke heavy with divine authority. He could almost see Timothy’s face—young, earnest, sometimes hesitant, but filled with a heart for God. Paul knew the dangers that lay ahead. False teachers would rise, twisting the truth to suit their desires. Many would grow weary of sound doctrine, preferring myths and empty words that tickled their ears.
*”Be ready in season and out of season,”* he wrote, his grip tightening. *”Reprove, rebuke, and exhort, with complete patience and teaching.”*
A pang of sorrow struck him as he thought of those who had already turned away. Demas, once a fellow worker, had abandoned him, lured by the comforts of the world. Others had scattered to distant lands, some for ministry, others for fear of persecution. Only Luke, the beloved physician, remained at his side.
Yet Paul’s resolve did not waver. He had fought the good fight. He had finished the race. He had kept the faith. And soon, a crown of righteousness awaited him—not for his own merit, but by the grace of the Lord, the righteous Judge.
*”Do your best to come to me quickly,”* he penned, a note of longing seeping into his words. Winter was approaching, and the cold of the prison would only grow harsher. He needed his cloak, left behind in Troas with Carpus. But more than that, he yearned for Timothy’s presence—one last embrace, one final word of encouragement before the end.
The sound of approaching footsteps echoed in the corridor. Paul lifted his head, listening. Was it a guard? A fellow prisoner? Or perhaps Alexander the coppersmith, who had done him great harm and still sought to undermine his work? He shook his head. No matter. The Lord would repay him according to his deeds.
Returning to the scroll, Paul’s writing grew more fervent.
*”At my first defense, no one stood with me, but all deserted me. May it not be charged against them! But the Lord stood by me and strengthened me…”*
A faint smile touched his lips as he remembered that moment. In the midst of abandonment, Christ had been nearer than ever, filling him with courage to proclaim the Gospel before the imperial court. Now, he was like a drink offering being poured out—his life a sacrifice of worship to his Savior.
*”The Lord will rescue me from every evil deed and bring me safely into his heavenly kingdom. To him be the glory forever and ever. Amen.”*
Setting down the quill, Paul exhaled slowly. His message was complete. He rolled the scroll carefully, sealing it with wax. Soon, a trusted messenger would carry these words across land and sea, delivering his final charge to Timothy.
As the lamplight flickered, Paul leaned back against the stone wall, closing his eyes in prayer. He did not know how much time remained—whether days or weeks—but he was ready. The Gospel had been preached. The truth had been defended. And soon, he would see the face of the One who had called him out of darkness into glorious light.
Outside, the first light of dawn crept over Rome, but in the heart of the aging apostle, an eternal day was breaking.
