Thursday 29 June 2023
A morning of visions, words and Peace.
It is beautiful and warm this morning, I’ve got all the windows in the truck open as I’m driving through a nearby town. Trees and lawns and gardens are lush green, and the air is full of humidity. The Lord has me thinking of the rains that nourish everything and I am letting praises come out of my mouth into the air I’m driving through. I am blessing all the people in all the houses that I go by, blessing the road crews, blessing children who are in summer programs at the local schools. It is trash collection day in this town, and there are bins out in front of every house, waiting for workers to empty them into the big trucks. “Bless them, Lord, bless all these moving parts of our lives.”
The road noise sounds like IamIamIamIamIam.
He has me feel the presence of my armor, reminds me of my helmet.
You are on-duty for Me, my navigator, my watchstander, so you remain clear and vigilant. Report, watchstander, tell me what you see and hear.
“I see all people, Lord, woven into this fabric of living and working together. I see systems bigger and more complex than I can describe, and all these people in complete dependence on “everything going right,” and that dependence is on the systems, and not on You. It feels and sounds fragile, Lord, brittle almost. I see a battle-front of complexity, where we are being attacked and forced to keep track of too many …”
He completes my sentence:”
Details.
I am a God of details, child. As I know you, I know the infinite and intimate details of every life that you drive past, and every life you do not see. I know the details of the renewal, rebirth, and restoration that is happening, and that is yet to happen. I hear the cries asking, “But what about this, God, and what about that?”
As though I would reply, ‘I forgot about that detail.’
There is a pause, and my eye is taken to a row of trash bins, as I slow down to make a turn. There is a warmer breath that seems to fill the truck.
I know you, child, and I know you are thinking of the waste, of the by-products of your living engines. Hear Me now:
I will cleanse everything, renew everything, and you will live in joy, awe and wonder of Kingdom existence. Your inputs will be clean and pure, your outputs will serve and nourish, once again in majestic harmony with My living earth. This is your prayer: “On earth as it is in Heaven.”
I make that so, for I am a God of details.
I finish my chores and try to comprehend what I have heard. Consider, as He so often reminds me. The road noise sounds different, somehow, and just as I am wondering if it’s the tires, I have an open vision of the Lord’s armies, returned and reunited after battle.
There are thousands of soldiers and horses spreading out from I am standing, covering the landscape, and suddenly the sky is full of all manner of flying warriors. Just as suddenly, the sea is nearby, and it is teeming in equal numbers. There is a thunderous chant going up, a victory chant by every living voice, rising and falling in unison:
We are, We are Yours …
We are, We are Yours …
We are, We are Yours, Jesus!
We are, We are Yours, Jesus!
The sound from the sky from the sea, from the animals is in other tongues yet fully understood. The men’s and women’s voices are in a harmony that is ringing the air itself. And then, the Lion begins to roar in response, a roar that turns our chant into colors, mixing it like living liquid. The vibrations are overwhelming, shaking everyone and everything in pure joy.
The healing tents I had seen on Friday have been busy tending to all the wounded, and the healing is astonishing. I see Judith standing outside a tent with many of the other healers. She is holding a long pike with a battle streamer snapping. As I look at the vastness of the scene, the vision closes, but the chanting remains:
We are, We are Yours …
We are, We are Yours …
We are, We are Yours, Jesus!
We are, We are Yours, Jesus!
As I am chanting in the truck, the Lord begins to fill me with a different song, a song that I wrote a couple of years ago called “The Rough and Rutted Ground.” The first verse goes like this:
Oh Lord, pick up my feet and put them down
I’m havin’ trouble on this rough and rutted ground
Can’t hear your voice, can’t feel you anywhere at all
Know I’m failing, Lord, and I’m sure I’m gonna fall
But I’m not in the rough and rutted ground now, so he has me sing:
Oh Lord, you lift my feet and put them down,
I’m walking on your good and solid ground,
There’s angels in the air, they’re all around,
In rhythm with your frequency and sound!
I am nearly home again, singing my songs into the morning warmth, when I drive past a small pond. The dark blue water surface is sparkling in the sun. I think of all the water drops that fall when it rains, think of the life-giving flow of water from the sea, through the air, underground, in ponds, rivers, streams, and the Lord says to me:
Communion.
I think about Jesus teaching the woman at the well: “Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give them will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give them will become in them a spring of water welling up to eternal life.” (John 4:13-14)
Then there is a swirling motion, like the air is liquefied, and I take a deep breath: diaphragm breathing, in through the nose, out through the mouth.
I want you to drink of me as deeply as you can, child, all of you, when you commune with me. Take handfuls and armfuls of me to eat. Reach into me with your hands, take as much as you can, for I am limitless.