Archive for March, 2021


THE SPIRITUAL WARFARE OVER ME CONTINUES

Filed under: healing, heaven, Possess the Vision, spirtual warfare — Leave a comment
March 31, 2021

BACK FROM DEATH

Although I miraculously lived through that first night, my troubles were far from over. My life would continue, but now the devil had me on the ropes, and although I did not know it at the time, he was coming in to finish me off.

He continued attacking me in the hospital as I fought for my life. Several of his attacks damaged my body, while others aggravated my job standing and relationships. When all else failed, he influenced my doctors to persuade me to consent to a risky and unneeded operation. He repeatedly brought mayhem into my life with a relentless wave of events designed to abort my destiny and life purpose.

As strange as this may sound, I paid no heed to the Judgment Day messages I experienced that first night in the hospital (MY DAY OF DEATH, When You Disbelieve The Devil’s Existence…, Entering The Spiritual Realm, MY JOURNEY TO SPIRITUAL GOLGOTHA, IN HELL – CONFRONTED BY THE DEVIL, SWIMMING IN THE LAKE OF FIRE AND BRIMSTONE, Standing On The Seat Of Judgment Before God, MY EXPERIENCES IN HEAVEN AND HELL.) 

This entire encounter was so unbelievably dreadful and depressing that I often doubted if these terrifying experiences could even be real. So, I blocked all my reflections of that night because I no longer wanted to dwell upon them or think about their consequences. I rationalized them away as being nothing more than an awful dream. I pictured them as being very small and far away in my mind. Unfortunately, the consequence of these measures is that they exposed me to a new series of demonic attacks. I was about to experience the truth of living without God to block the devil’s attacks.

THE NEXT THREE MONTHS

I spent the next few weeks in the intensive care unit (ICU), and quite frankly, I could not have been any sicker. It was so bad that I remember thinking, “oh well, at least I’m still alive.”

Seriously ill patients in intensive care unit with a artificial — Stock Photo, Image

The doctors confirmed that my pancreas was the problem. They explained that it had exploded into hyper-production, generating thousands of times the required volume of digestive enzymes and discharging most of them into my bloodstream. They said that these digestive enzymes decompose proteins resulting in massive deterioration over most of my body. My blood, veins, arteries, muscles, nerves, organs, bones, and brain were all decomposing. That would explain my sensations of needles and pins all over my body and the numbness I felt after I entered the hospital.

The physicians continued to divulge that this hyper-production of digestive enzymes created immense pressure on the internal lining of the pancreas. This force became so powerful that it forced the inner lining through the outer wall, forming a balloon-shaped cyst outside the pancreas. The doctors called it a pseudo-cyst, and they deemed it to be a potentially deadly condition. They articulated that even though my pseudo-cyst was leaking, it had not yet ruptured. Eventually, it would harden and break open, abruptly releasing massive quantities of digestive enzymes into my bloodstream, creating even more impairment to my body. My surgeons said my pseudo-cysts were a ticking time bomb and would require defusing before this explosion struck me.

I believed that surgery was on their minds and in their hearts from the very start. I also knew I was not strong enough for surgery then, as my body needed to heal and gain strength.

In the meantime, the physicians proceeded with a recuperation strategy founded on food abstinence. They asserted that total fasting would slow enzyme production considerably because food consumption activates the digestive processes. Beginning this program would also give my body time to purge itself of the harmful toxins in my blood. To confirm that the program was working, they monitored my blood regularly. Within a week, they declared that my enzyme levels were consistently descending.

I made it through the first few weeks without eating anything and lost 30 pounds in the process. They then started IV feedings that consisted of sugarwater and vitamins. The physicians said afterward that my body responded as desired, and I had gained strength. While this was good news, I still felt very sick.

THE STENCH OF DEATH

It was more than physically feeling very sick, however. I began to sense there was something very different about my behavior. One thing that I noticed was my inappropriate speech. Vulgarities were now flowing out of my mouth, seemingly with every sentence I uttered. For some reason, I did not seem to care who it offended as I spared no one from my bad speech, not my mother, father, or even my children. Physicians and nurses were daily victims, and things like my handwritten notes strangely included vulgarities. It was so bad that even though it was clear to me, I seemingly could not stop. I wondered to myself, why am I saying such disgusting things? It was obvious to everyone around me that my vocabulary had changed. In reality, the stench of death was all over me. I was still alive and in this world, but the scent of death had wrapped me like a blanket.

My mind was also influenced. My thoughts were of sensual pleasures and flirting with nurses. This conduct was inconceivable for someone so sick that they could die at any moment. I recall thinking, what is wrong with you? You’re so ill you cannot stay awake for more than an hour at a time, and you are harboring these absurd thoughts?

BREATHING PROBLEMS

One morning soon after relocating to a conventional hospital room, I labored to get air into my lungs and found it difficult to talk. I notified the nurse’s station and was startled when they considered my breathing difficulty insignificant. They declined to do anything, proposing I wait for the physician to come around on his usual rounds. But I had been in the hospital long enough to know that this could take several hours and that it was also possible for the doctor to not show up at all.

I was getting scared as my disorder worsened rapidly, and I did not want to leave things to chance. So I phoned home, and they convinced our family physician to come to the hospital. He discovered that my vocal cords were swollen and restricted my airflow. He then explained that digestive enzymes damaged my vocal cords and proposed that this happened when I puked entering the hospital. He stated that if left unaddressed, a total blockage would eventually ensue, and I would suffocate. He ordered that I be placed on oxygen immediately and scheduled a tracheotomy for the morning.

The operation required that the physicians enter through a cut in the base of my neck. They then had to cut a hole in my windpipe just below my vocal cords and insert a small metal pipe into the hole. This mechanism ensured that the passageway remained open, allowing air to flow into my lungs through the tube even when my vocal cords closed completely. This device became my lifeline to the oxygen that I needed for the next several weeks. This event was another attempt by the devil to end my life while in the hospital. The next attempt attacked my digestive system.

EATING PROBLEMS

After I had been on IV feedings for a while, my physicians grew concerned about their ability to preserve my weight and health on continuous IV feedings. So they decided to see if I was healthy enough to begin ingesting natural foodstuffs again. They gradually introduced a liquid diet, and when that was successful, they pursued a soft nourishment diet. Everything went well for about a week, but unexpectedly my enzyme levels shot up dramatically again. 

So they paused these tests until my enzyme numbers turned back down, and when they did about a week later, they reinstated the exact meal plan strategy. Unfortunately, my enzyme levels shot up again, and they suspended the feeding program for a second time. Through all of this, the IV feedings never ceased, and their effect began to take its toll as the veins in my arms, legs, hands, and feet broke down. Things were getting more alarming, and I wondered if they had a resolution.

A CATHETER IN THE AORTA

I was gradually moving toward a no-win crisis. My large veins had broken down, forcing the nurses to use smaller ones, therein reducing the amount of nourishment I could obtain in a day. They also had an increasingly challenging time locating a vein, often having to make several sticks were now becoming common.

After agonizing about this predicament, my physicians eventually resolved to take the risk of inserting a semi-permanent catheter into my Aorta. That’s correct, through the center of my chest and incredibly close to my heart. They were reluctant to perform this operation because one slip could result in permanent heart damage.

But there were several advantages to taking the risk. One benefit is that it would solve my nutritional issues. Once this catheter was in place, I would get all the nutrition required in just four hours. Secondly, it was considerably easier to use; merely attach an IV bag to the catheter and eliminate the needle sticks. Things would become more comfortable and pain-free. I could get up and move about more frequently as I would no longer have an IV bag holding me back.

They performed the Catheter insertion procedure in my hospital room, and I was conscious throughout the operation as the physicians required feedback from me. They began by cutting a small opening in my chest so they could gain access to my Aorta from between two of my ribs. Then they injected the catheter through that hole and inserted it into my Aorta. But as fate would have it, they encountered considerable trouble piercing my Aorta wall. The Doc had to gradually exert increasing force to propel the catheter into the artery. This exertion persisted for several minutes until, finally, the physician leveraged all of his strength and body weight to get the job done. As all of this was happening, I became very concerned as I recollected the danger warnings they gave me before the procedure began. But the catheter finally pierced the aorta wall, creating a loud sound like the crushing of a giant beetle’s shell as the catheter punctured the Aorta wall. The good news is that the operation was a success. There were no slips, thank God. I was delighted and relieved that this ordeal was over.

A MEAGER ATTEMPT TO FIND GOD
Someplace along the way, I picked up a Bible. I had never read it before, but now that I had the time, I believed that perhaps it would be as good an opportunity as any. I was still tired much of the time, and I napped several times a day. I would often read just a few chapters at a time because even reading tired me. I started reading the book of Matthew and hung in there until I eventually completed the entire book. I read the words, but they somehow did not hit home. I remember thinking that the book did not make any sense. The book of Matthew seemed like a series of beautiful stories, but not much more. I wondered why anyone would get so passionate about these simple accounts. After finishing Matthew, I resumed reading, but after a while, I gave up. The Bible did not make much of an impression on me then. Little did I know that God would reward my modest attempt to reach out to Him.

A HEALING MIRACLE

After being in the hospital for a couple of months, a staff surgeon came to talk to me about my second CAT scan results. He conveyed that my pseudo-cysts had not been reabsorbed back into my pancreas. Further, it would be perilous to leave them in their present state indefinitely. He then provided me with a long list of the perils of this disorder, followed by a recommendation that I have a pancreas operation to eliminate the dangers. 

I then inquired about the dangers of surgery, and he explained that the procedures are complex and risky. It involves making a fifteen-inch cut in the abdomen and then physically removing the stomach, kidneys, and some intestines. The pseudo-cysts would then be lanced and stitched to the inside wall of the intestines. Once finalized, they would reinstate the extracted organs and stitch me up. The surgeon reacknowledged the riskiness of the operation. On the other hand, he remarked that the risk is justified because I would eventually experience conceivably fatal episodes without it.

But the complexity and risk of this operation seemed unreasonable to me. After all, I had believed from the very first day that I would recover and that everything would be fine. I refused to let negative thoughts into my mind. Bad news from the doctor did not change my mind regarding my positive outcome. It also seemed to me that the risk of the operation was higher than any potential future damage caused by my pancreas. I did not want to die on the operating table. This surgery just seemed intrinsically a bad idea to me. It seemed wrong in my head and my gut.

Some of my family thought differently, however. Of course, they knew considerably better than I, just how fortunate I was to be alive. After a discussion with them and thinking about the right decision for some time, I chose to get a second opinion. So I contacted my family doctor to see if he could help. He searched and found a very experienced pancreatic specialist who worked in another hospital in town. So I asked him to set things up for me.

Little did I know what a firestorm I initiated by bringing in a doctor from another hospital. My mindset was that I wanted the best I could find and could not comprehend why anyone would do it any other way. I also understood that a second opinion from another doctor in this hospital would tend to agree with their surgeon’s assessment. I wanted a fresh set of expert eyes and an open and independent mind, and my family doctor did an extraordinary job playing the middleman in making this happen. He pulled all the strings required to get the second evaluation set up.

On the morning of my second opinion, I was sitting in bed, and I could hear the nurses and the doctors talking in the hall about the outrage of having an outside doctor coming in to examine me. It seemed that every staff member in the hospital was talking about it. They were deeply offended and outraged. With all the fuss they were putting up, you would have thought that someone had robbed a bank, and perhaps, that is what it was all about.

In any case, the external physician showed up and did an excellent job. He asked me several questions, examined me, reviewed my records, and ordered a second battery of tests, including CAT scans, X-rays, and blood tests. A few weeks afterward, he reported his findings, and the results were shocking. He said that by comparing the latest CAT scan with the preceding one, he could see that my pseudo-cysts were shrinking! He indicated that they were reabsorbing into my pancreas and forecasted that they would disappear within three to six months. My body was healing! What great news!

I did not give God any credit at the time, however. I believed that it was my positive attitude, healthy body, and good luck getting me through. It was only much later that I apprehend the truth about Jesus that I understood the healing was all God’s doing.

When I look back at it now, it is as clear as crystal. Something occurred between my first and second series of tests, and that something was that I had sought God’s help by picking up a Bible and reading it. Regardless of how feeble the effort was, God responded with a healing miracle! It did not even matter that I found the experience empty; God honored my attempt to find Him. It was as if God was saying to me, “Okay, son; you took one step in My direction, and you thought that nothing would come of it. But, you have My heart. I am going to show you that I am real. I desire that you live.”

I did not ask for healing but simply reached out to try to find Him. Sweet God in heaven, I praise Your holy and sacred name. I praise You for loving someone unworthy of Your love, who could not have changed the error of his ways without it.

As you can see, God was there again for me. He was watching out for me and taking care of me even when I did not know it. I think about these things now and wonder why the Lord would love me so. He has saved me from the lake of fire and brimstone, the pit of hell and the devil’s savagery. He has given me life even though I stood before Him with the stains of sin on my garments on Judgment Day.

DISAGREEMENTS ABOUT THE GOOD NEWS
When the hospital received the second opinion report, I was not surprised that they disagreed. Nor was I shocked when the hospital surgeon suggested that I would experience severe consequences if I did not have the surgery. I remember thinking at the time, “After all, a surgeon only makes the big money when they operate, right?” But the surgeon was not the only one pressing me to go ahead and have the surgery anyway. Members of my immediate family also tried to persuade me to go forward with the procedure. After all, they were fearful of losing me. I understand.

I knew in my heart that I would live from the very outset. I may have picked up this positive attitude by merely living through the first night. I, therefore, rejected the risky surgery and accepted the path of natural recovery. You see, I had believed in a good report even before there was one to contemplate. I knew that I did not need the operation, and I told my hospital doctors and everyone else of this belief. Many people tried to change my mind, but I declined them all.

The physicians tried several strategies to get me to recant, but my response was always unwavering and to the point. In the end, they pressed me so hard that I had to rudely tell them that this was the end of the line. There would be no more discussions about an operation.

Interestingly enough, by chance, I ran into a surgeon who recommended the operation on an airport shuttle bus several years later. I was in much better health by then, and he may not have known who I was, so I reintroduced myself. Would you believe that he started preaching to me about the operation again? I guess he just did not get the message. He refused to accept the test results that confirmed that the pseudo-cysts had disappeared and that there was nothing left on which to operate! So it is with the unbelieving, they see with their eyes, but their minds don’t comprehend. They hear with their ears, but they don’t understand.

GOING ON HOME CARE
Just as the second opinion foretold, I began to feel much healthier as my body recovered. I still had some difficulties with food digestion and therefore had to stay on aorta IV feedings for quite some time. I no longer had to nap several times a day, and with this added time on my hands, I walked the corridors of the hospital out of boredom.

My family doctors believed that I was now out of severe trouble and suggested that I go on home care. One advantage would be that I could manage my IV feedings without the aid of a nurse. Of course, being home had to be the most important factor. After months in the hospital, going home seemed like a dream come true.

Another advantage of going on home care is the significant cost reduction. Since my healthcare coverage was paying for my entire hospital stay, they had the most to gain by this move, and yet they for some unknown reason balked at funding my home care. Eventually, my family physician had to call the insurance company executives to get home care approved. I was fortunate to have this man in my corner, making things happen for me, time after time. It was a long struggle, but I was pleased to be finally going home.

The home care outfit delivered the IV equipment and demonstrated its proper operation. They also furnished a miniature refrigerator to keep the IV solutions fresh. They furthermore promised to provide additional solutions bags each week. After that, I became responsible for my home care procedure. All I had to do was hook up the IV line to my aorta catheter at the proper times and visit my doctor frequently for check-ups.

PROBLEMS WITH INFECTION

For the first few weeks, everything performed remarkably well. Then one day, for no apparent reason, I suffered what I would describe as severe icy chills and uncontrollable shivering. Blankets did not remedy my symptoms either, as I shook for around ten minutes. Eventually, my lips turned blue from the cold. Then, just as quickly as they formed, these chills ran their course and suddenly ceased. I then went to the hospital, where they performed a series of tests. I afterward spoke with the physicians, and they were baffled. I became very concerned regarding this situation, so I walked them thru the chronology of my illness and my home care program. Despite this added information, they advised me not to worry about it as it was likely nothing. I remember contemplating that perhaps something was amiss with my catheter. After all, what else could it be? But then I also reasoned that they are paid well to unravel people’s health crises. They are doctors. It is their job! They have studied for years and are competent in reasoning this out. They are professionals! They know what they are doing, right?

Roughly ten days later, just as I began believing that maybe the doctors were correct, the chills hit me a second time, only much more acutely. I am not sure how this reoccurrence of shivers remained, but when they ended, I was exhausted. In my way of reasoning, this attack drastically reversal of my recovery. When it was over, I mustered up the energy to return to the hospital, where they completed an even more exhaustive set of tests. But the results were identical; they found nothing wrong and sent me home. I confirmed they understood the details of my condition and home care treatment. I explicitly questioned if my Aortic catheter could be the source of the difficulty. They replied that if they could see me when I was experiencing an episode, they might identify the origin of these perplexing shivers and convulsions. I was beginning to doubt if they believed what I had told them.

A week afterward, my third episode commenced. Luckily it happened at my family doctor’s office when it happened. The doctor was examining me on the exam table when it all started. I became ice cold and started shaking violently in front of my doctor. I saw my lips turning blue in a mirror across the room. The physician had the nurse cover me with heavy blankets, but they were ineffective in controlling my coldness. The convulsions became much more fierce, and I felt numbness in my fingers and toes. The muscles of my body then began cramping from the exhaustion of the shaking. In the thick of all of this, the doctor checked my heartbeat with his stethoscope. I felt an irregular heart rhythm awkwardly pounding in my chest and knew he was hearing it as I watched his face turn white. I saw the fear in his eyes, and I knew he thought I could die there in his office. I also knew I was weak enough to expire, but like before, I knew I would be alright.

But my body started shaking even more violently, and the doctor directed a nurse to lay on me to provide body warmth. An ambulance soon arrived, and the emergency responders wheeled me out on a gurney right through the patient waiting room. I saw the horror and disgust on the faces of the people as I passed by them. I guessed that they likely presumed that I was dying!

Like the other two episodes, the extreme shaking and coldness abruptly ended inside the ambulance. My physician must have phoned ahead because the medical staff there immediately concluded that something might be wrong with my catheter and removed it as a precautionary measure. Later, tests performed on the catheter confirmed their suspicions as a strand of staph infection was growing at the end of the catheter. 

According to my family doctor, they speculated that a long chain of staff infections formed on the end of the catheter and grew as time passed. Once it reached a critical mass, however, the strand would break, and the staff would be instantaneously released into my heart. This caused my body to react the way I identified above. 

SIGNIFICANCE TO THE VISION

I did not know it, but these things were a part of the spiritual warfare against me. Satan kept hitting me because I did not know to seek the protection of God. God was trying to get my attention, but I was not paying attention. He had something He wanted to tell me.

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Chapter: 2 The Spiritual Warfare Over Me

Filed under: Golgotha, heaven, hell, judgment, judgment day, Possess the Vision, satan, spirtual warfare, the book of life, the devil, the judgment, The Lake of Fire, the second death — 6 Comments
March 30, 2021

THE DAY I DIED

It was November 7, 1986, a day that I would prefer to forget but likely never will. My chronicle of this day and its aftermath will seem unimaginable to many. It was the day death came calling, and I crossed over into the spiritual reality of our human existence. When I look back on this experience, I understand that it was a period of change for me, an essential lesson in the truth about our reality, and an education on why we are here. I knew almost nothing about these things you are about to read at the time they occurred.

It all began when, for some reason, I had stopped believing in the existence of the devil and disregarded the terrifying encounter I had as a child (documented in the section entitled, A Terrifying Memory.) I believe that this left me a vulnerable victim for what started on that November day.

I was not feeling well on that day, which was a bummer because I was very enthusiastic about going to a concert with friends that evening. As the day progressed, my condition worsened. This condition was something I had previously experienced, off and on, for many months. The symptoms included low energy, facial flushing, and high-temperature, and I frequently experienced them after dinner or a couple of drinks. I had also gained over thirty pounds during this time. I had gone to see my doctor about all of this on two separate occasions, but after several sets of tests, they found nothing wrong.

Despite all of this, I decided that the concert was just too good to pass up. So that evening, I met my friends at a restaurant before the show for dinner and drinks. Even though I was not hungry, I went ahead and ordered a Mexican dish and a beer anyway. The aftereffect of this combination made my stomach feel full and backed up.

We left the restaurant ad walked across the street to the concert hall and took our excellent seats just before the show started. The music and the performances were outstanding, and everyone was having a swell time, except for me. I was getting nauseous and sick to my stomach, and I tried to delay the inevitable but eventually had to leave the performance to go to the restroom to vomit. As I returned to my chair, I thought that there must have been something wrong with the Mexican food I ate. My illness proceeded to worsen throughout the evening, as I had to depart to the restroom several more times for relief by the time the concert ended. My friends all wanted to go out for drinks afterwards, but I had started to develop sharp abdominal pains and had to decline their invitation and drove home instead.

When I arrived back home forty minutes later, my abdominal pain had become severe. As I exited my car, I found that I could not stand upright due to the pain, but rather, I had to stoop forward at the waist to minimize it. My wife and I called our family doctor, and he recommended that I be taken to the hospital emergency room immediately. Ironically, the trip to the hospital brought me within a block or so of the concert hall I had left a couple of hours ago.

THE INTENSIVE CARE UNIT AND THE INITIAL PROGNOSIS


When I eventually arrived at the emergency room (ER), I stepped out of the car, and I meandered inside, clutching my stomach while bowing 90 degrees at the waist. I was understandably irritable and demanded immediate attention when I arrived at the admissions window. The nurse there gave me some forms to fill out and requested my proof of insurance. All of this took so long that I was starting to wonder if I would get the treatment I needed in time. I gave her my insurance card and continued to fill out the forms when I suddenly had to bolt across the room to the restroom to vomit once again. I reasoned that if I had food poisoning, I should be getting better by now because I was emptying my stomach, but this certainly was not the case.

Now sensing that I was acutely ill, the ER nurses immediately came into the waiting area with a wheelchair and drove me into an examining room. Then, a very young man came in and examined me and pressed on my stomach. He looked like a high school student, and I remember thinking, this certainly can not be my doctor. But as it turned out, he was the intern on duty, and yes, he was the doctor who performed the preliminary examination. He had the nurse take blood samples, and as I waited for the results, the pain grew steadily worse.

The young doctor returned an hour or so later and informed me that he had reached a very unusual diagnosis. As a result, he had requested the assistance of a resident doctor for validation. Thirty minutes later, the resident doctor came in to examine me, and after reviewing all the data, he told me that he concurred with the intern’s diagnosis. However, he would also require a review and validation by the hospitals top doctor. I asked about what my infirmity might be, but he was unwilling to tell me anything about his diagnosis. Things were becoming scary. What could be so bad that it needed this level of consideration and secrecy?

So I waited in pain as the head physician drove in from home. When he arrived, I received my third examination, and after a lot of deliberation, they all agreed that I was suffering from a malfunctioning pancreas.

They transferred me to an intensive care unit and gave me morphine for the pain, which had now spread throughout my entire body. It felt like I had needles and pins implanted in every square millimeter of my flesh. The discomfort was so great that certain parts of my body were now starting to go numb. Although I did not know it at the time, the doctors had already advised my immediate family that they did not expect me to live through the night and that they should call any distant family members who might want to see me before I died.

The initial shots of morphine proved ineffective, so they gave me several additional doses, but these didn’t help either. Eventually, a nurse connected me to a morphine injector pump that allowed me to regulate my medication level by merely pushing a button. Interestingly, all this morphine never made the pain completely go away. It just got me into a mindset where I didn’t care about the pain anymore. I remember thinking at one point when my stomach pain intensified, oh well, so what!

The doctors never communicated that they had done all they could do, that there is no cure or medication to address the pancreas condition I had. They planned to shut down my digestive system by discontinuing my food intake and hoped I would pull through. They never inform me of the gravity of my ailment. But this turned out to be a good thing because, through this entire ordeal, I always believed that I would recover.

I remember the nurse shutting the curtains in my ICU room and turning out the lights as she left. I laid there for a while, just staring up at the ceiling while wondering what my fate might be. Eventually, I became groggy and drifted off to sleep.

LEAVING MY BODY


While unconscious, I had an out-of-body experience in which I found myself seated in a transparent spaceship, hovering in the blackness of space with the radiance of billions of stars all around. I knew that I was sitting on a solid surface because I could feel my bottom and crossed legs touching it. Mysteriously, I also knew that I had a transparent dome above me, shielding me from the environment while also allowing me to see in every direction.

Once again, I was receiving information pertinent to my circumstance. I suddenly knew I had left my body and was about to travel through space and time. I soon noticed the first sensation of movement. Slowly forward at first and then gradually accelerating. I then began to hear voices, bits of peoples conversations that I was passing by. One statement after another in succession, as if I were slowly driving a car past an unbroken line of people engaged in dialogue.

Initially, I could hear complete sentences, but as my ship accelerated, the words also came in quicker, were higher-pitched, and less recognizable. Soon, there were very few recognizable words, and eventually, there were none. They sounded like a 33 RPM record played at a 78 RPM speed. Then, as the acceleration advanced, the sound transformed into something like Morse code and soon into the squelch of an old-time radio when someone quickly turns the tuner across a wide range of stations. I felt that my ship was traveling through time and that I was passing by the voices of my life’s future conversations. I had a feeling that they were the voices of a future that I was not going to have. Suddenly these sounds just stopped. I thought that I would have had a very long life if I had lived.

With the sounds of voices now behind me, I focused on trying to identify my location. At first, all I could see were the stars and the blackness of space all around me. I soon noticed, however, that I was zigzagging back and forth through space. The ship was advancing in S-shaped curves, like a snake, first veering to the left, then curving around to the right. Back and forth, I went while maintaining one precise heading forward. I was moving ahead in the form of a sine wave.

SPIRITUAL GOLGOTHA


I proceeded to look around as I progressed through space, and I noticed an object ahead that was slightly larger than all the others in the endless sea of stars ahead. As I advanced, I saw that its shape was different from the other stars. For one thing, it was not spherical, and yet I couldn’t quite make out what it was.

Abruptly, a strange repugnant stench came into the craft. It was faint at first, and I found myself sniffing to identify it. But when the full strength of that putrifying odor fell on me like a giant wave crashing onto the shore, it choked and sickened me. I was the horrid stench of decaying human flesh, the odor of death, and it repulsed me.

I then began to hear a faint melodic sound that I could not identify. I noticed, however, that the volume was increasing as I neared the unidentified object before me. A chill ran through me when I recognized that the sound was the voices of millions of souls, simultaneously wailing in torment and despair. It was this perpetual melody of misery that evoked in me a very depressing and gut-wrenching feeling.

I glanced up to check my heading and observed that I was nearing the now much larger-looking white object in space. I also noticed that my s-curves appeared larger. I determined that I was moving directly toward this irregularly shaped object and that both the putrified stench and wailing sounds were emanating from within it. I soon saw what I wish I had not, a gigantic, human skull suspended in space without a body. It had bits of muscle and hair in various places, but, in general, it was severely deteriorated and decayed. Much of its skin was gone, exposing underlying muscle, ligament, and bone. Most areas were missing the muscle and ligaments, revealing only the bony structure. The jaw had seriously degenerated except for a few teeth and exposed jawbone that projected an evil smirk. The right eyeball was missing, and it was from this open cavity that the stench and the wailing sounds emerged.

The closer I came to this skull of death, the more I became in awe of its enormous size. My sine wave flight path now swung me from one edge of the object to the other, and before I knew it, all I could see before me was the skull. Yet, I proceeded onward, and soon all I could see was the open eye socket before me. I then realized my total insignificance relative to the massiveness of this object. Nevertheless, I extended my approach, now entering the empty eye socket, and watched as it engulfed me. Once inside, I got a close-up view of the remnants of ligaments and muscles inside the eye socket. Yet, I proceeded, now moving into total darkness, eventually passing through an invisible passageway. It appeared that my journey was over for now, and I wondered what might lie ahead.

THE LAKE OF FIRE AND BRIMSTONE


I soon found myself swimming in a phosphorescent yellow-orange plasma with millions of other lost souls. The plasma delivered a punishing heat and immense pressure on everything there. I thought that these conditions must be like our suns fusion, where enormous gravitational forces cause extreme heat and pressure.

The heat agonizingly stung and scorched my skin, and the weight of the plasma felt like a million atmospheres of pressure, squeezing everything right out of me. The other souls there looked similar to white tadpoles, as they swam wailing in agony through the hot orange ooze, the scorch of the heat, and the pressure of the plasma driving them into madness.

Every soul there was continuously enduring the horror, sorrow, pain, and misery they had inflicted on others. More than that, they were experiencing them precisely as their victims had at the time. All of this emotion was broadcasted into the plasma and was simultaneously experienced by every other soul there. The compounded effect of these simultaneous sorrows would seem unbearable, but they had no alternative but to live in eternal torment, a torment that drove them into enraged madness. As a result, they darted back and forth like pollywogs in a heated chemistry beaker, frantic for an escape without hope or rest, searching continuously for relief without end, wailing in despair.

I discerned that there was no escape from the Lake of Fire and Brimstone, but somehow I was mysteriously transferred out of this place and instantly relocated to a large searing hot cave.

HELL


The sculptured rock surfaces are blackened from scorching and glowed red in various spots. The walls also contained many large fissures that periodically opened to release fire and a repulsive sulfuric smelling steam. I guessed that these conditions must be like those in the middle of the earth. When I looked around and noticed that I was alone, I started walking down a passageway, through the flames and the steam, looking for a way out.

THE BEAST


Suddenly, a giant beast magically emerged in front of me, blocking my way. This offensive looking ten-foot-tall monster had a frame comparable to that of a husky man. Its large arms and legs were thicker than my torso, and its muscles bulged like those of a world-class bodybuilder. Its skin was predominantly darkish brown with hints of black splashed in, and its surface resembled scorched leather, tempered in the fire of this place. This leathered skin had sharp thorns of various sizes, all across its body, and the larger thorns even had smaller thorns on them. These rose-like thorns had to be an exceptional weapon as anyone who engaged this monster in battle would be cut to shreds.

I stared at the face of the beast, and as its red eyes glared back at me, I felt its immense contempt for me. Its head sloped backward like the head of a Raptor, and I knew that this beast was the master of this place and that there was no way for me to defeat it; at least not here where it rules. We stood there, glaring at each other for a while, and once again, I felt the great loathing and hatred it had toward me. It hated me with a prejudice that I had never imagined, with perfect malice. I knew that it found me revolting, disgusting, and even repulsive. There are no words that can adequately convey the depth and completeness of its hostility toward me.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, I attempted to run, but my feet stuck to the floor, and I could not lift them. The beast then made numerous thrashing motions at me, swinging its arms at me, but luckily its feet stuck to the ground as well. This realization was a good thing because I understood that it would rule over me in the halls of hell if ever released. I also knew that it would torture me, obtaining sadistic pleasure in my suffering. All of these things, I somehow knew as if someone had inserted knowledge directly into my brain. I felt it all with powerful emotion. But, the beast’s restraints held, and then, as before, I was instantly transported to yet another place.

THE GRAY PLACE AND JUDGMENT DAY


I found myself in a tranquil fog, one that mysteriously had no misty dampness. I looked all around but saw only the greyness that engulfed me. I pondered on my recent rendezvous and felt fortunate to be in a place as peaceful and calming as this one.

All of this suddenly changed as I started to re-experience the sins of my life much more vividly than when I lived them. Interestingly, I was also experiencing the feelings, emotions and perceptions of the people I had sinned against as well. I felt what the people I had harmed felt, and it humbled me. These interactions transpired instantaneously. Instead of taking hours, days, months, or even years, I re-experienced them all at the same instant.

Suddenly all of this ended, and I heard a voice that came from beyond the fog. It was a mature comforting voice, one that projected love. It emitted confidence that drew me toward it. It was firm and yet unintimidating. It had a perfect tempo. Its strength, language, and pronunciation were precise, yet the voice conveyed a sense of caring and concern. I perceived all this from just the four incredible words the voice spoke.

I thought, how could I decern all of this with just four words? After all, it was only a straightforward question, yet one so profound that it cut me to my heart. It had taken me by surprise and hit home like a sledgehammer. “Why should you live?” is all the voice spoke without expression of judgment or anger. It left no clue revealing what a satisfactory answer might be either, and the fog kept me from observing the source, so I had no visual clues to help.

Eventually, I got over being intrigued by the voice as the ramifications of the question overwhelmed me. I had realized that my answer would determine my fate. I thought that there had to be a correct answer, one that would make a difference. If not, why ask it? Frantically, I started to search for reasons to justify my poor conduct.

While I was doing this, another insight came to me from out of the blue, and it rocked me. There were no lies in this place, only truth. Lies do not exist here because the one who asks the questions knows the truth. Everyone here knows the truth.

Soon another truth hit me. The inquiry pertained to more than just mortal life and death on earth. It was a question relating to life forever, either in paradise or in the Lake of Fire and Brimstone, the second death. Then I thought, but, how can I know this because I never heard of the second death before. I began to understand the significance and gravity of the question and the consequences of my answer. Death forever! Agony, torture, and suffering for eternity in the Lake of Fire and Brimstone. Unending torment at the hand of Satan. Then that “oh, no” feeling came over me in a deluge, a sensation you get when your actions severely hurt someone.

I heard a commotion coming from somewhere beyond the voice, and then a second voice said, “What about good works?” Then, I heard more rustling and commotion that must have been several souls searching for good works. Soon the disorder stopped, and a third voice said, “There are none.” I stood there dumbfounded and thought, how can this be since I have certainly performed good works? Then another truth followed. Even the good deeds I had accomplished were for the wrong reasons.

I knew the focus was back on me, and I was desperate to find an answer. I had to come up with something. At first, I blamed others and waited for a reply, but received only silence. Then, I realized that I should not blame others for my poor choices, so I gave in and told God that I would change and asked Him for help.

That was the last thing I recollect about being in that place because I awoke in the Intensive Care Unit the next morning. I had lived through the night by the mercy of God. Yes, someone had been watching out for me again. Someone had saved me from the greatest misfortune of all. You would think that this time there would be no mistaking who was watching out for me, but regrettably, I was still blind. I saw all of this as one terrifying dream and moved on.

SIGNIFICANCE TO THE VISION


This chapter reveals the devil’s evil desire for us to fall from God’s grace, just as he did. He wants us to serve him by tempting us to do evil against humanity because it is against God’s will. He wants us to go to hell where he can rule over us. He wants us to suffer with him in Pit of Fire and Brimstone for a thousand years, where we will experience the suffering of all the evil that he did to the people of earth.

The ministry of Jesus Christ is a ministry of spiritual warfare where we cast out the evil around us. Jesus came to save us from the consequences of the devil’s activity here on earth. Jesus came so that everyone who believes in Him will have a life with Him forever in paradise. He desires that we love one another as He loved us. God demonstrated this love to us when He healed the sick, cast out demons, fed the hungry, told us about the Father, died on the cross for our sins, rose from the dead, defeated all evil, and ascended into heaven where He is our advocate with the Father. These things are the heart of the vision—that we become like Jesus and do the things that He did. We do this by entering into a life of spiritual warfare and victory over evil.

I certainly did not understand any of this at the time I experienced them that day long ago. I know now that what happened that day was not just a bad dream. I know because scripture validates it all.

I will now present Chapter 3: Points for Reflection so that you may also know that all of these things are true as well.

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