I am bowed before the greats. Paul Keith Davis, Bob Jones, Larry Randolph, Benny Hinn, Kris Valloton, Oral Roberts, Billy Graham, Charles Finney, Jonathan Edwards, Bill Johnson and Jesus.
They all have scepters and knight me for the work. Not swords?
Immediately, I am thrust down like I am flushed in a toilet. Ha! I fall down a drain and land in a raging river – like Niagara intense. I go over the falls and end up in a sanitary surgical room (OR).
I am the surgeon. I am operating on hearts this day. There are stacks of broken hearts needing repair. But, I see piles of body parts – eyes, ears, legs, arms, brains – everything. There is a pile of rusted wheelchairs.
I am at work.
I see me preaching at Denver’s Stadium. And, I run up and down the tops of the mountains – the Rockies shouting through my megaphone.
“Praise the Chris. Praise the Holy One of Israel. For He is risen.”
And, I drive a schoolbus. It is filled with angels. But, the bus is like the Partridge Family’s old bus. It’s a worship bus.
And, I stand in Denver. I spin around and a white tornado erupts. It pulls the entire country in like a black hole does. The force of the sucking in on itself is great.
I see Jesus on a white horse. He watches over me intently with His sword drawn. He holds it up high, and the sun reflects off of its blade. The light is blinding. His horse draw up on its back legs, and Jesus rides off to the west.
“it is finished.”
Note: This happened today. Perhaps it is a confirming word.
