her story
The visions and the dreams have begun. I thought they were results from the doxycycline (malaria meds), but it’s not. About a week ago the Lord told me to anoint my head and my eyes that I would know that He’s the Lord of my dream hours and sleep. That no man made drug would alter the trust I have had with the Lord in the gift of visions and dreams. "I will pour out my Spirit on every kind of people: Your sons will prophesy, also your daughters. Your old men will dream, your young men will see visions. I'll even pour out my Spirit on the servants, men and women both. - Joel 2:28 (The Message)
What I am about to share with you is a dream that I just woke up from. The dreams are starting now. The travailing for Africa has increased. My intercessory dreams have begun.
I was in waiting to have dinner in a village. It looked the the wharf in San Francisco, but instead the village was made up of a bunch of aluminum huts. There were people from every nation and tribe present. There was such a waiting list that people were gathering around the parking lot of a town square. Some were waiting to see a dentist and others were waiting to have a bite to eat. Others were there wanting to see a lawyer about land rights, others were waiting for friend that they had not seen in a very long time.
My mom and I were waiting to have dinner and for our name to be called. When all of a sudden we realized that they entire village had left. They all had been called to the appointments, and they all had been asked to their designated regions. My mom quickly ran to the front desk to make sure we still had a spot for dinner.
An Asian woman approaches me, grabs my hand, and tells me, I know where your mom is, she wanted me to call you. She pulls me through stair wells, homes, ocean’s edge, and through a dirt alley, and I could hear the wailing. I enter a small commune of mud homes that have square holes for windows, but there are no glass coverings, and there are no wood shudders.
There are no floors; it’s only all too familiar red clay dirt. There are no doors just a small man made lip of mud to announce a threshold. I am not sure where I am, or where my mother is located, and the Asian woman holding my hand turns to me and tells me she is suffering too. That she didn’t have time to cut the umbilical cord and it rotted her insides. And she shows me her belly and it is bloated and hard as a rock, and she winces with just the tap of my hand. And then points into one of the rooms, and I begin to walk towards it.
As I walk into the first threshold, I notice that there are people all around me walking in and out. Medics/nurses on an onsite trauma unit. My mother runs out of a threshold and says,
“Do you really want this?...Are you sure you want to go in there?...It’s bad! Really bad!...My God! My God!”
She says this as she’s trying to catch her breath and when I walk over towards her, I can see through the threshold of one home that there are seven beds and nine African women wailing in pain. The smell coming from the mud hut is so overwhelming that I want to throw up, and other nurses and medics are throwing up while they are assisting the patients. There is a testimony of bodily fluids that show evidence of many day’s worth of pain and suffering in these rooms. I am convinced by what my eyes have seen that Death truly was present. I walk back out of the room to find my mother in shock, still standing just outside the threshold in the hall. I give her my purse and my bomber jacket, and say, ‘pray mom, pray.’
And I walked back in. When I walked in, I notice that the women are covered in some type of disease that is eating away at their bodies. It wasn’t leprosy, but a water born disease, uncommon to other regions. One woman is naked and her breasts have been eaten by a termite like disease. She didn’t have a nipple on one breast to feed her child, and the other nipple was barely attached to the rest of her to even be able to feed her child. One nurse had completely embraced a soon to be dead woman, and the patients’ skin was so dry, her body emaciated, soared, that she could only shake. Someone swung by me with an IV, and was trying to give her fluids but the fluids ran out like a river between her legs. She could not hold anything in her system. A local woman was on her knees next to me praying. She too was ill, and knew what symptoms were coming to torment her soon. Right next to her was a heavy set African woman. She was fully dressed with a pair of cotton summer pants on, and a loose cotton pull over top. It has been soiled from her tears, and the red clay dirt. She was sitting on the dirt, crying.
She told me,
“Sister, they gave me the title, but they didn’t give me any help. What am I suppose to do? Pray? I have been praying every day, every minute, every every every…”
She begins to cry.
“Never in my life have I won an award, or a certificate, I never have accomplished a thing in my life, and now in my resume shall I claim, director of a death village?”
She goes on to weep some more. I go to her and want to hug her and pray for her and she rejects me.
“No, no, no Sister, it’s of no use. These women will die today. The widows will die today!”
I look around the mud huts and realize that they are actually four homes that belonged to a local village and had been given to the woman crying on the floor to look after the widows and their children. The four homes were used as a small income generating business (seamstress), school, and living quarters for the widows left vulnerable to the deaths of their mates. But a disease came upon the village and they were all quickly dying. The woman sitting on the floor were giving up, and didn’t know what to do but die.
I stood in the center of the room, looked around, lifted up my hands, and began to just pray in tongues, cry, mourn, and weep alongside the women. Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. -Romans 12:15 (NIV) The medics began to pray too. I told the woman on the floor to try, try, try, to sing to her Creator. Sing Him a song of sorrow, and sing! Soon more medical attention arrived, and more IV’s.
I woke up from the dream at 5:50 this morning. I sat in the dark for a moment, and I could hear the whisper of the Holy Spirit tell me.
`“The funding stopped”
He got my attention.
“People stopped giving money. There are places all over the world that promised to support the vulnerable widows and children, but because of this economic fear put into the minds of my people, they stopped giving. That woman sitting on the floor is a Director of a woman’s village, and has been left to fend for herself. There is no one else that was going to help her, and she knew that these women were soon going to die. The medicine had run out, and the food had run out, and the diseases never stopped. This is happening all over the world. Because there has been a pause in care for the very vulnerable and forgotten of this world.”
I spent the next hour crying and praying in my room. I will never ever forget this dream.
Never ever forget.
Daniel 1:17-As for these four youths, God gave them knowledge and skill in all learning and wisdom, and Daniel had understanding in all [kinds of] visions and dreams. (The message)
Comments