As some of you know I am prone to prophetic dreams. Last night I had a doozy, though it's not really prophetic; rather, more a current status assessment. It has been my habit for some time to consistently ask the Lord, "What should I do?" That is how I became a pro life witness, why I started making and giving away free baby blankets, why I wrote the book (The Air of Heaven), and how I wound up preaching outside the local death-pit. I seek Him out and He gives me direction. Sometimes that direction takes the form of a dream. Well, I have been seeking Him of late, and having very disturbing dreams.
Now, I have been trying to get people to support this ministry -- to work with me, to consistently pray, to give, even to join me onsite to present a united front. In short, I'm trying to engage others. If we really want to save our nation, we need to prove to God that we not only see our sin, we choose to turn from it. It's not enough for me to ask. It's not enough for me to work. God isn't going to turn back His wrath just because I give it everything I have. No, that will just assure Him that most still do not really care what He wants or says.
The sad truth is most either assure me that I don't need help or that they have more important things to do. I keep telling them the fight is here. They keep assuring me it isn't "their" fight. Innocent blood has completely defiled our land, but "it isn't their fight" (Psa 106:37, 38)!
So, in this dream there were many of us trying to save this nation, each in our different ways. When the word came down that Washington was mortally wounded and would not recover, most scattered to fight elsewhere. Some were even handed paint brushes and told to go paint another room. I was given a pink one and ordered to the "important" room. Though I did not truly believe the one who gave the order was one I should follow, I did initially start off to paint.
We had been collectively standing around a very angry, large crocodile. It was somewhat contained, but it kept lashing out trying to bite us. When we left on our assignments, the croc was left unguarded. People were just randomly trying to paint their assigned areas or recover the "lost finances", even some were still trying to breathe life back into Washington; and the croc was left to do as it pleased.
Most of the walls around us consisted of badly deteriorated wood. There were such holes in-between the boards that one could easily see through to the outside. They were so rickety that they gave with each touch. There was a badly weathered old fence beyond the walls, and a deep, darkness beyond that. Truly, every room was shrouded in darkness, as well. Those of us who worked carried torches, but everything 'round about us was covered in that darkness.
The lack of cohesion among the workers was appalling. Everyone went their own way. None truly sought to work together, and many fought -- or painted -- aimlessly. I had been trying to work with some, assuring them that we really needed to deal with the croc. And I kept getting down into the pit with the thing, trying to get a handle on it. They would shake their heads, warn me against it, and pull me back. Surely, I was getting beat up, but I kept going back at it. They were too afraid of it to actually fight it. So, they jabbed at it from a distance, instead. I told them we could defeat it together, but they were too afraid to even try.
The paint was thick, almost like paste, but it covered like whitewash. I remember holding a brush dripping in thick pink, but it covered nothing, and had no real affect. Yet, many were diligently dabbing it on expecting to see some great, miraculous change. It was stunningly absurd.
When I surveyed the pink room, I realized it was a distraction. It did not need to be painted; but rather, was the most perfect of the rooms I had seen. It was large, ornate -- even glitzy, with gold and crystal everywhere. It was also empty, except for a handful of workers busily trying to glam it up some more. I believe it represented the church in these United States -- so, polished and glamorous, but void of any real connection to Him. So, I dropped the brush and ran back for the croc -- passing confused and lost or weakened warriors as I went.
The monster had shrunk in our absence, but it had also broken free. In the end I stood alone with him, holding my torch high to light the area. I remember feeling perplexed and astonished that so many could not see what a danger this thing was -- that they would occupy themselves with making a rickety old building look good while a monster walked freely among us. Gone were the strong men of valor. Gone were the wise scholars. Gone were the steadfast leaders. It was just me, my torch, and the monster -- with the echo of "You don't need any help!" ringing in my ears.
So what does it mean?
Washington is DEAD, folks. You'll not save it. It is full of liars and thieves, blinded by its own greed and selfishness. The money is gone, too. We have proven repeatedly that we love it much more than we love Him. So, He has taken it away. The land is covered with glitzy, glamorous, EMPTY "churches". His shekinah glory has left us. We loved our ritual, our wealth, and our sin. So, He has left us to it. There is a monster in our midst, a monster! But we are focused on how things look.
What can I say? When you choose the darkness, this is what you get.
Just to be clear, I have been asking the LORD, "What should I do?" and "Why is this so hard?" I've been working as hard as I possibly can, giving all I have, and the Spirit is moving. However, it is also true that the monster I fight is deadly and aggressive. The assistance I should be receiving is either minimal or nonexistent. People applaud me or pat me on the back, but they also leave me to it. I have also been shown that I may be taken out:
The righteous perish, and no man layeth it to heart: and merciful men are taken away, none considering that the righteous is taken away from the evil to come. -- Isa 57:1
When those who profess to be His turn their back on those doing the work that must be done, sometimes God takes the worker away. It is not about punishing the worker. It is about keeping the worker from seeing His wrath poured out on those who refuse to work. God never intended for us to plow the field alone without any support. No, He intended that everyone should do their part.
I pray this open some eyes. There really is a monster among us, and Washington has fallen.
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