In this one, I am a mother, with a husband and our three teenage boys. Our family was traveling, along with a large group of other people, when we were all ‘chosen’ to be in a ‘reality game show’ of some kind.
We were given no choice In playing it or not, but we were all told (by someone,) that if you were really Christian, then you would be fine.
Almost everyone there, breathed a sigh of relief, for most of us considered ourselves to be Christians. (Those who were openly not, were suddenly very scared.)
We started out being told that there would be a nuclear bomb going off (in the distance,) in ten seconds, and that we were to program this countdown into our computers, and watch it on the monitor as it imploded.
We all did so, some hitting panic and going insane, but our family did not see it as real, so we did not panic. Instead, my children did not obey me, and did not program their computer clocks for the countdown. So they watched mine instead and then looked up at the monitor right when the explosion took place. After this, I warned my kids, that they MUST follow my directions, or they could die.
Then we were told to quickly move on, following the only path that was open to all of us.
They herded us out of there so fast, that I ended up forgetting my pillow and my purse. When I turned back to go get them, those in control of the show physically prevented me, telling me how I would die from the radiation if I did not immediately do what they were telling me to do.
Finding myself blocked from returning, I told them that I’d better find it safe and in secure hold for me to retrieve from them once the game was over. (They nodded in agreement, willing to tell me anything, just so they could get me to go along with all the others.)
So I returned to my family, and we, (our group,) all continued down the path placed before us by these producers.
All along the path, we had to make choices, and do whatever the producers told us to do. When someone didn’t do what they told us to do, they would ‘die’, and then be removed.
As we traveled, our numbers slowly declined.
As we went along the path, a wide ‘slide’ that you could slide downwards on, I was able to go more slowly, over the bumps, thereby helping my kids to do the same. Because of this, I managed to ‘catch’ a pair of souvenir coffee mugs, to remind us of our journey.
Others were not so fortunate; they went so fast down the wide slide, that they flew right off the edge, and disappeared.
We found a place to rest, out of the way from the rest, a small room filled with people, who were all listening to a lecturer talk about silver dollars and how they had tracers somehow on or within them, that allowed the government to know where they were, and that the only way to get rid of the tracer, was to put the coin in your oven on high heat. This heat would then deactivate it. I asked him, (them?,) if this would ruin the value of the coin, because it left the coin blackened with soot, and one would need to remove this dirt by polishing the coin. (And polishing it would cause the coin to be less valuable.) But the guy told me that there were other ways
to make the coin look like new again, that did not damage it or remove it’s value. He spoke of how beautiful these silver dollars were, and looked to me for my agreement. I told him that my grandfather had given me my first silver dollar, and that I have liked them ever since. “Well then,” said the man speaking on the platform, as I watched his eyes begin to calculate, “You must have acquired quite a collection of them by now.”
“Oh!,” those nearby began to chime in, “how many do you have now? You must be really rich!” I shook my head back and forth slowly, looking at the one who said I must be rich, indicating to him and them, that I was not. Besides, even if I did have some, I knew that coins did not make one rich. Our family walked away from them, with me still sadly shaking my head.
We arrived to a place that reminded me of an airport or a transportation terminal, and we were forced to enter along with all the others. Inside, my husband was directed to a different path from me and the kids. I noticed this immediately, and went back to turn around, for I most definitely did not want to be separated from him. Once again though, the directors refused to let me go back to where he was. I was about to make a big fuss over it, (to me it was worth dying over,) but suddenly the voice within me calmed me down, and promised me that He would make sure that we were reunited again with each other very soon, and to go ahead and go where they were directing us. So I did, and just a few minutes later, our paths were somehow directed, so that I found myself (and the kids,) along side my husband once again.
Our group worked its way through the busy terminal, and found ourselves walking along side a cliff, that had a slight overhang to it. We had paused to rest for a moment, when I suddenly sensed from my God, that there would be an earthquake. Not part of the staged production, (not planned,) but a real one. He told me, that only those not sheltering under the side of the cliff will get hurt. So I told everyone else there, and many of them took the shelter, but some were stubborn and refused to take my advice. I warned them again that they would die, but they ignored me or laughed at me. When the quake happened just a few moments later, all those that had not believed and sought the shelter, were killed by the falling boulders.
It was at that moment that I realized that we had to FOLLOW GOD, NOT MAN, if we were to survive.
Next test on path, we were told to move forward onto a platform that was just ahead of us, if we did not want to be shot and killed by bad guys. (No one could turn back, For that way was now blocked by the fallen boulders.)
Everyone started to move forward into the platform container, but I stayed behind, for I felt God telling me that we were to remain where we were. I called out to everyone and told them to stay where we were, if they wanted to remain safe.
Everyone except my family and those closest to us, rushed quickly past us and onto the platform.
The producers then lifted up the walls of the platform, and locked them into place, leaving only a small door, open.
“Anyone else care to go into the platform?,” the producers asked those of us who had remained behind. “It is the only way you’ll have a chance of being safe. You will surely die if you remain outside the platform.”
At this, everyone else except me and my family and a few others, went into the platform.
My family argued with me, demanding that we, too, go into the platform, but I remained where I was, stating firmly that God had told me to stay where we were.
So my husband and kids remained with me, though I think they still doubted. (My kids didn’t want to live without their mother anyways, and my husband couldn’t live with the thought that he’d be the only one to survive from his family.) So the platform was sealed off, leaving us and a few others behind.
Then I sensed from God to duck. So I called out to everyone to duck, and all except a few, did. Shots rang out over our heads, and those who had not ducked, were killed.
Next I sensed that we were to jump. So I told everyone to jump up as high as they could, when I gave them the signal. Moments later, I gave the signal, but only my family jumped. As we were in the air, shots rang out beneath us, leaving those who refused to jump, dead.
Next I felt God tell me to have everyone jump and widen our legs apart, like jumping-jack exercises. So I told them, but one of my kids didn’t do it fast enough, (I think he got tired of believing, and began to doubt?,) so he got shot in one of his legs.
The platform in front of us then began to heat up like an oven, glowing red and shaking, and slowly make its way forward, allowing us to do the same.
But my child was still laying there on the floor in his pain and panic, wondering if he was now going to die, and fearing we were going to leave him, but we stayed.
I got down on my knees before him, and went to my God in prayer. I Asked Him to please help me heal my son’s leg.
So my Lord told me to very gently suck on the wound. As I did, I spit out lots of blood. God then told me to stop and to VERY carefully remove the bullet from his leg.
I looked and seen the bullet right at the surface of the wound. It was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was made out of some kind of plastic, somewhat clear and transparent, filled with some kind of greenish fluid, but still in the usual bullet shape.
“Put it very gently aside,” my Lord told me, “and have no one touch it, for if it breaks open all of you will die.”
I warned my family of this, so we left it alone and lived. I then removed a strip of cloth from my shirt, and bandaged up my son’s leg.
The platform had been moved, off to one side, and was no longer in front of us. It had opened up its walls again, and as we passed it, we looked inside, to see if anyone was left, but we could only see piles of ash and smoke. We could tell, by some kind of clue or sign that had been left behind, that all those who had entered it had been killed.
We were the only ones from our group to have survived.
We went along by ourselves, till some soldiers came upon us. They demanded that we go with them.
Then they demanded that we renounce our God, and follow them instead, or be beheaded.
But we refused.
My husband came to stand along side me, put his arm around me and hugged me, giving me his sign of support.
“As for me and my house,” I told them, “We will serve the Lord.”
They then turned to my children, and told each of them, that they would die if they did not renounce the God of their parents.
I looked at them, my grief and sadness overwhelming, for how could I possibly tell them and convince them now, that it would be better to die at the hands of these men, than renounce their claim to God and try to live without Him? I sensed that their answer had to be given in scripture, or God’s spiritual protection would not be upon them. How could I tell them this? There was no way. I knew, that if I spoke, we would all be killed. So I held my breath, and waited for their answers.
My youngest spoke up first, his voice ringing out clear and firm, quoting some bible passage that was too long and complete for me to remember. I think a part of it, contained John 3:16.
My other son then spoke up next, standing there tall and proud, as he recited the first part of The Lord’s Prayer. “Our Father, who is in heaven, HALLOWED be HIS name!”
Then they turned to my oldest, and I could feel my heart sink, for I could see that he was struggling, still undecided in his faith. After a pause he looked up to the heavens, and all he could get out, was “I believe Lord; help my unbelief!”
But to our great relief, it was enough!
We gave a sigh of relief, as the men then threw us into one of their prison cells, and told us to get ready to die, for we were now scheduled to be beheaded at the first morning light.
But hours later, as we all huddled together in the small dark cell, we heard a big boom, and wondered if a bomb had gone off. We found that whatever it was, it had removed the lock from our prison cell door, and killed off all our captors. It reminded us of what had happened to some of the apostles when they awaited death in their prison cell so long ago.
So we stumbled out of our cell, thanking and praising our God for His protection and deliverance, and then continued on our way.
I then awoke.
* * * *