Tag-Along To The Angels

(Journal entry from May 7th, 2001)

I tried different medicine last night, (had to; the old one was discontinued.) It was ‘Entex PSE’, for the sinuses. I sensed God telling me not to try it at bed time, but to wait until morning. I shrugged off the warning and took it.

Twenty minutes later I started feeling strange, dizzy, nerves all jumpy, and my sinuses getting drier. Forty five minutes later, I went to bed.

The nightmares were horrendous.

I sensed I was not alone, I sensed evil spirits by me, waiting to pounce on me. But I shrugged that feeling off too, and went to sleep.

It was then, that they fell upon me and tormented me.

At first, I could hear them, their taunting laughter, but could not see them. Then their laughter and their shadows, came closer and closer, till I took flight and ran from them.

Then they caught me. They fell upon me in groups, gnawing and chewing, hitting and grabbing and pulling. I’d try to ignore them, then I tried to shoo them away. But they remained. It wasn’t until I cried out for Jesus, that they gave pause. Then they tried to silence me, by sitting upon my mouth. They talked about all the worst things they could do for me, and decided to try taunting me about my weakness with food. They got me to eat and drink, knowing how awful it was for me to do so, mocking my inability to say no. Again, I tried ignoring them, and then shooing them away. In the end I broke though, and cried out for my God.

They silenced me again. This time, they decided to have me raped, and taunted me of what my husband would think of me then. But this time I did not ignore them or try to shoo them away. I distanced my spirit-self from my body, and told them that it would not matter; my husband knows how faithful I am to him, and so it would not matter, he would still love me. This gave them pause and great anguish, I guess I was very convincing, and they guessed what I spoke was the truth.

But they decided to have me raped anyways. As the one they had chosen was about to begin, I again cried out for Jesus. Again, it gave them pause, as they re-focused on closing my mouth.

But I kept crying out for Him. Louder and louder, till my whole being shouted out His name. Then I broke through the barrier, and knew my God had heard my cry.

And so had my husband laying next to me.

Slowly, I struggled out from under the dream, and awoke.

I reassured my husband that I was o.k., and that I’d had nightmares from the medicine.

Then I got down on my knees to God, and prayed.

I cast all haunting demons from my presence and house, by calling on my Jesus to do so, claiming that as the daughter of a King, I had the right to ask.

Then I asked that He send His angels down to keep watch over me and my family, even in my dreams, and prevent satan and all his minions, from troubling us.

And last, but not least, I then asked Him, on amore personal level, if He could please have me dream instead, of HIS angels.

I told Him, how sorry I was, for disobeying Him, and that I would not go back and take any more of the medicine. I told Him, I knew (sensed) He would not completely remove the consequence from my sin, and that I’d still have the physical distress from the medicine till it wore off, but I asked Him for mercy, for His lenience, to please gift me with dreams of His angels, while I slept. (I knew I could not stay awake for the night.) I knew my subconscious, touched and distorted as it was, would still give me odd dreams all on its own, from the medicine. And I figured that dreams of angels would be good dreams. (In the past, I sometimes would ask God to send me dreams of His will for me. But I thought that might still be too upsetting to my nerves, while I was still on the drug.)

I then climbed back into my husbands arms, and went back to sleep.

And I dreamed of angels. I observed them as they went about their work, gathering together in the heavens, going to and fro, from our dimension to theirs, from theirs to ours. Doing the will of God, assisting someone here, rescuing another there.

All through the night, I played ‘tag along’ to the angels, and went wherever they went. I stayed within the limits of their glow, their presence, and watched them.

The last one I watched work, before waking to this world, pulled a child out of the path of an awful auto accident. Two cars were colliding with each other, and the child, high elementary age, was caught in the middle of it. The people, the places, were foreign to me, and the time was daylight, so I knew I was seeing what was happening on the other side of the earth from where I came from.

At first it troubled me, that this child, its parents, never even knew how close they came to the child dying. Only the angels and the God they served, stopped it from happening. But right before waking, I realized that it didn’t matter, and all would work out and they would ‘come to’ in the end. I marveled how the angels didn’t care AT ALL, if they were noticed by those they cared for. If they did, so be it, if they didn’t, so be it. (I wished I could be like them!)

Towards morning, I drifted back down into my sleep, and awoke, heart untroubled.

Immediately, upon consciousness, I smiled up at my God and thanked Him for the angel dreams.

What an awesome God we have!

A Sticky Corrosive Substance

An uncomfortable dream…

(This was first given to me on November 24th, 1997. The Lord told me right after posting my last post, that this was to be the next post on this blog.)

The dream doesn’t seem too important at first, but God presses me to record it in my Bible, and lets me know that it is.

I was living at my Grandparent’s house out in the country, (a double bungalow that they had built when they were young,) and had rented out the other side to a Hindu couple from India.

I thought it was harmless, but soon found I was wrong.

They liked to work with this ‘stuff’ that was yellow, sticky, and corrosive. It acted like acid, eating through things. But they never noticed. To them, it was harmless. – Or so it seemed. I tried not to touch it or even look at it. I prayed to God, that He would keep me from it. Yet simply doing things – little things – with them, I would get some on me. It was painfully sore, and created small blisters that scabbed over on my fingertips.

I tried to explain this to them, but as far as they were concerned, I was being foolish, for they couldn’t see anything. Not on my hands, nor on their stuff.

I then began to notice that a concentration of that sticky, corrosive stuff, was found on the photos or statues of their gods.

This helped me to realize, that the ‘stuff’ was affecting me because I was a Christian, set aside for God. The sores were visible to Him, and caused me to be disfigured, and somehow not as beautiful to Him in His eyes.

After a few months, this Hindu couple from India gave their notice and moved out, having found a closer apartment in the city in which they worked.

They hired others to come in after them, to clean up their mess, and restore the apartment to its original move-in condition. As I watched them scrub everything down, I kept thinking – don’t they realize what they’re working with? They can get hurt too! Yet the professional cleaners were oblivious.

I thought of keeping in touch with these tenants after they moved out, for they were friendly and interesting. But sadly in the end I found I had to break away from them COMPLETELY, in order to not get any more sores.


After being awake for a while, I realized the sticky corrosive ‘stuff’ was sin. Most of the sins in this dream, were small influences on me, ones I first thought nothing of, but then later they would show up in my life as sin. In the dream, these influences were very hard to detect and remove.


This was the first hint given to me, back in 1997, that showed false religions and the sin that surrounds them, as being a sticky and corrosive substance that could cause a believer physical pain and spiritual disfigurement. Years later, (after I learned about using olive oil to bless others,) whenever and wherever I would touch such idolatrous ‘stuff’, it would cause an actual, physical burning sensation upon the skin, that could only be removed by applying the blessed olive oil and asking God to heal me and make me clean again. Then and only then, would the burning sensations go away. This now tends to happen to me, (and to my  children,) whenever something is handled that is from another religion.

Isaiah 52:11 (KJV)
” Depart ye, depart ye, go ye out from thence, touch no unclean thing; go ye out of the midst of her; be ye clean, that bear the vessels of the Lord.”

2 Corinthians 6:14-18 (KJV)
14 Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? and what communion hath light with darkness? 15 And what concord hath Christ with Belial? or what part hath he that believeth with an infidel? 16 And what agreement hath the temple of God with idols? for ye are the temple of the living God; as God hath said, I will dwell in them, and walk in them; and I will be their God, and they shall be my people.

17 Wherefore come out from among them, and be ye separate, saith the Lord, and touch not the unclean thing; and I will receive you. 18 And will be a Father unto you, and ye shall be my sons and daughters, saith the Lord Almighty.

*  *  *  *

A Strange Dream Of A Stranger

     A strange dream- of a stranger.
     Only an hour or so long in reality, but a lifetime in the dream.
     He was an old homeless man who lived out of his car. (The car had deep red seats that could change into a flat bed.)
     He looked like my grandpa, but reminded me of my father.
     He did not believe in Jesus, for the seed of faith that had once grown within him, had been trampled upon and died. (I sensed this had happened in his Catholic past.)
     I met him one day upon my travels, and offered dinner with my family to him. He paused, and I knew then if I ever remarked on his homelessness, he’d be gone. So I did not, but it was hard.
     We grew close to each other through the days, I, the daughter, like the only child he wished he could have had, (he never married or had kids,) and me, he was the father, the relationship, I could have had with my father, had things been different. (If he had known that I forgave him of the physical abuse and that I still loved him.)
     We reminisced, and debated life and God.
     Through the days shared, he seen me work for God, and I could sense him soften somewhere inside. But he never made the choice for God, at least while I was with him.
     Then one day, as I was thanking Jesus out loud, for the seasons of the world – all of them – (it was raining hard,) I stood in the storm shower, and thanked Him for the sun, the storms, the snow…especially the soft crystal-globe snow, that falls like a kiss on the cheek,…-
     He came to me to say goodbye.
     I cried and cried, not wanting him to go, (I loved him deeply already,) but he told me it was his time to go, “he must be moving on,” and as we embraced, I felt the heat of his skin as if it was on fire, and knew that he was sick, and would die. I cried all the harder, all the more, and pleaded with him to stay. But I think he knew, though the words remained unspoken, that I would end up caring for him till he died. And he did not want this – pride or reasons, remained unsaid. And a part of me realized the truth in the unspoken; that I should be about my family’s business, (not consumed by his,) but I still cried and it still hurt.
     I knew then, that his mind was made up and that he would leave to go die.
     So I grabbed his face in my hands, turning it to meet mine, and asked him point blank, “So, will I see you in heaven someday?” And cried all the harder when he would not answer.
     “Well…” he hinged, as he seen the grief in my heart that his answer brought me, and I knew he was going to say ‘yes’ just for me, so I stopped him.
     “No, don’t say it unless you really mean it.”
     He paused and admitted to me, “I don’t know,” and I knew he thought of his past and the church.
     “Don’t let the Catholic Church do this to you!” I said, and sensed it had been like a mantra between us.
     Then he said, “It’s my conscience, you see; there’s something in there still, and it won’t rest.”
     Then I sighed as my heart lifted a little, for I knew then there was hope still that I would see him someday in heaven.
     So we said our goodbye’s and parted, and I cried and cried and cried for days.

*   Then I woke up.
     No tears were upon my face, (not yet,) but the grief within me was hollow, real, and sharp.
     “Was he real, Lord?” I asked out loud, but got no answer at that time. I sensed though, that it was best I pray for him, just in case it was.
     So I went down on my knees before my God, and pleaded his case to Him. “His faith did start to grow, Lord,” I pleaded with Him, “It just got trampled upon by the church. And some of it did survive Lord, for how else could he have come to care for me? Have mercy for him for my sake Lord, please? I’d like to see him in heaven again some day…”
     And as I write this, to record the dream, I cry.
     I cry and wonder, was this a soul on his way to heaven, given a last chance to be loved by another, through my dream?
     Reality enters, guilt washing over me – oh how silly this is, crying for someone I never knew except for in a dream… People would question my sanity, and think I had gone insane. But the energy-in-motion, still deep within me, cries out past those thoughts, and says out loud “Lord, if it be so, then let him in! Let him be with You. Set his spirit free…”
     I sensed a presence in the room beside me, slight, (not overpowering as my father’s had been,) and knew it was the old man from my dream. I sensed him say “thank you,” then give me another hug, and then leave.
     So, o.k., am I nuts? Just the imagination being over active?
     Sigh. All I do know, is that one day in heaven, I will know for sure.
     He sure was ‘neat’ though.
     And in the back of my mind there is a response: “You were to him, too.”
     Later on in the day, as the dusk descends, I recall and remember the odd dream. I remember and cry. I cry for him again, for his story, his life, touched me deeply. I’d like to think (if it really wasn’t ‘just a dream’,) that my tears, my caring, my prayers was not ‘just a waste’ from ‘just a dream’. Was it real? Did a soul, embarked on its journey, stop to reach out to mine in a dream?
     It caused me to pray for him, whoever he was, wherever he spent his life.
     My God answers my prayers; so if he did exist, my prayers were not for nothing!
     But what if it was only a dream? Not real? What then? Have I not just wasted all this time?
     Then my God answered me, softly, surely.
     He placed His conviction upon my heart, and I smiled.
     “I waste nothing.”
     I felt His great peace settle upon my heart once again.