Dream 63
I am in a large warehouse on a massive piece of land.
The warehouse is filled from top to bottom with everything we need to feed and educate hundreds of thousands of children for two generations. I lift my hands to God and smile with joy and relief as I walk to the area where we will be feeding and training people.
Instead of an auditorium and warehouse canteen there is a single house.
My joy turns to dread as I realize that this is not our warehouse and not our land.
The owner sits drinking tea, surveying all that is here. Pleased to be leaving such wealth to children and grandchildren.
I say nothing. A lifetime of work has built this up and you are entitled to the work of your labor.
I leave the property and see that this road has many such properties with full warehouses and owners sipping tea content in the fact that they have created legacy for their children.
I am happy for them but sad that we do not own one of these warehouses.
The scenery down this road is incredible. Lush vegetation, perfectly manicured gardens, smooth tar and solar powered security systems everywhere. There are beautiful churches in this neighborhood. Some of them so big that you can play football in them! They are modern, expensive, beautiful to look at. God has provided well for them.
A great sadness comes over me. If I had committed my life to making money instead of working with young people and the poor my entire life, I would have a warehouse with which to make a bigger difference. As I walk among these beautiful homes and massive warehouses the disappointment in myself and in God grows within me. I feel nauseous and stop alongside the road to throw up on some perfect Roses.
A security vehicle stops next to me and escorts me out of the neighborhood for public disturbance and for defacing community art.
I get dropped off outside the gate and watch them drive back into the exclusive gated community before turning to look at the world outside.
As I turn, the stench of death and decay hits me with a warm guts of fetid air.
Before me lies a sea of dead and dying children.
Millions.
Millions of them.
Such sorrow sweeps over me that my spirit cannot bare it. I feel myself begin to sink into that same despair from which I have come. I cannot handle it. I begin to long for death, futility drenching my soul with such thick fog that I cannot breathe. I sit down next to a little girl who cries and bleeds from the injuries of her brutalization. She is dying and I can do nothing about it.
Me:
“I am sorry little girl. I have asked for twenty years. Too few care.
Too few care.
Too few care.
Too few care.”
I start to weep, wracked with such pain in my soul that I begin to retch again. Throwing up on the fence of the gated community behind us.
A man behind the fence sees me and attempts to console me.
Man:
“You cannot take the cares of the world upon your shoulders! That is God’s job.”
I reach through the fence and grab him by his perfectly cut hair, pulling him up to the fence.
Me:
“If I hear one more idiot say that to me I will kill you all.”
I let go of him and he scampers back to his beautiful church.
Hatred burns within me with such fierce intensity that my vision begins to blur.
I now see the missionaries and volunteers among the poor, doing what they can with what they have. Every now and then another missionary sits down and dies among the children.
Suddenly I hear Builder speak from behind me.
Builder:
“Be strong and courageous son of sorrow. Help will come.”
Me:
“I don’t want a few pennies tossed at me to help a few hundred. I want real power and real money. THIS IS UNNACEPTIBLE!
I have wasted my life helping a few thousand who do not have money. If I had focused on money, I would have had enough to make a real difference. I should have started a church in a wealthy area, or started a business or done something clever financially. TWENTY-SIX YEARS OF MY LIFE AND I CAN DO NOTHING!”
Builder:
“The body of Christ turns its back upon the head. There is nothing you can do until reformation sweeps the church son of sorrow. Even the angels must submit to the free will of man.”
Me:
“Curse man. Curse them for their selfishness. Curse them for turning a blind eye to the hell that is poverty. AND CURSE THE CHURCH FOR THEIR HEARTLESS RELIGION!”
I spit on the ground. Drool running down the sides of my mouth as I begin to sink into insanity.
I begin to whimper as tears stream from my eyes uncontrollably. My lips shiver and tremble as I fight to maintain control.
Me:
“They ignore the poor so nonchalantly.
They beg God for miracles but refuse to do miracles for others.
They build lavish temples and turn arrogant men into idols.
They are consumed with lust for the power of God but ignore the love of God.
I
Am
Sick
Of
This.
Let
Me
Die.”
Builder:
“Turn from this judgment son of sorrow. The son shall hold every man accountable for every deed. You are courier, simply record what you see and allow the Holy Spirit to speak to His people.”
Me:
“I will write all that I see Builder. Know that I have very little faith in God’s people to do anything but that which benefits them. Very few are generous. Very few are obedient. Most twist the scriptures to abuse grace so that they do not have to do anything but go to church once a week and learn how to get rich.
Meanwhile these children die by their tens of thousands every day and hundreds of millions more grow up in the never ending cycle of the hell of poverty.
How can I know this and do nothing but write what I see?”
Builder:
“All have their part to play. This is yours. Do not concern yourself with what others do, the son will repay each one according to his deeds. Many will cry Lord, Lord and be very surprised by the answer. Simply do your part son of sorrow. Record all that you see.”
Builder disappears leaving me alone to look at the sea of dead and dying children.
I stand by impotently as child traffickers dump the bodies of used up little girls on the growing pile before me and rapists sort through the mass of children, having their way and laughing about it.
Every part of me wants to kill them. I can taste my own blood as my hunger for violence grows with in me. But I am here in spirit and this is a dream. I can do nothing but watch and record what I see.
The familiar ripping at my spirit begins and I am dragged around the world once more to stand before Lucifuge.
I stand atop a mountain looking upon the face of a gigantic principality.
The face is friendly, warm, fatherly. A noble nose, soft eyes, hair greying at the temples.
The fallen Archangel has his head in the clouds around us and his feet somewhere in the valley below.
Lucifuge:
“Courier. Why do you cling so stubbornly to such an unloving God with such heartless children?”
Me:
“You who contend against love itself speak to me about an unloving God?”
Lucifuge:
“We do not contend against love. That is angel propaganda. We contend against the hypocrisy of a God who offers conditional free will.
Think on this courier:
Man is made in the image of God with the heart of God.
At his first taste of freedom from the Garden of Eden does Cain murder Abel out of jealousy.
Jealousy is at the heart of God. Sodom and Gomorrah, our favorite cities, completely wiped out by jealousy.
The innocent firstborn of Egypt, wiped out by a jealous God rescuing his rebellious children.
Women, children, infants wiped out by Joshua and Caleb who followed the orders of their jealous God.
The Father is unjust and unreasonable and his children are just as selfish as he.
Tell me courier, have you ever seen provision for your heart to help the poor?
I mean REAL provision, not just a few thousand here and there?”
I keep quiet. Every answer will be a trap.
Lucifuge:
“Who has hurt you most courier, our children or the children of God? Before me I see a tired spirit, so heavily scarred by the attacks of brothers and leaders that you walk like a whipped dog. In the kingdom of the Angel of light there are rules to such things. Rank is respected by even demons. Why do you persist on serving such a heartless God in such a cruel kingdom?”
Me:
“God is not the one killing and raping those children.”
Lucifuge:
“Oh no Courier. He doesn’t need to lift a finger. Those made in his image do it all without any help from God, angel or demon. They all have his DNA. Without control, man is a vicious, jealous, selfish virus made in the image of a selfish God.
Serve with us Courier. I will be your Father and mentor and I will serve you as Daniel served Darius. We will feed the poor together and bring such peace upon Africa that mankind would marvel at the kingdom of light!”
Me:
“I prefer death. All that proceeds from your mouth is a lie. You are as the father of lies, bent on stealing, killing and destroying. I can trust you only to fulfill your own self-interest.”
Lucifuge:
“This is true. But keeping you blessed and well look after until you fall asleep is well within our interests. As is expanding the kingdom of light and having it known as a religion that actually makes the world a better place. You will see Courier. When the time comes for the Courier to settle, you will see no provision, only disappointment. Your life will be one of heartbreak and hopelessness.
But know that when your darkest hour comes, I shall be waiting to rescue you from the lie that is Christianity. And I shall make your name great among every nation. And together we shall expand the kingdom of light.”
Me:
“The saints will not fail in this great awakening. They will rise to the occasion and they shall disciple millions of children to walk in the way of the son. And they shall send missionaries and resources as never before. Hear me demon, the Kingdom of Jesus Christ is all! He is the hope of the world and the light in the darkness. I desire nothing that you offer. Neither fame nor attention. I desire that His will be done and His kingdom come.
The kingdom of Jesus Christ is all!”
I am back on the land under Michael’s calf.
I sit down, exhausted.
I feel a hand upon my shoulder and hear a voice speak from behind me.
Voice:
“Only be strong and courageous and walk in the fullness of my love, forgiving all who do not know what they do.”
I wake up.