Heaven’s Tour Bus

 

I dreamed that I boarded a tour bus, and I sat right up front so I could see everything up close.

First stop was at an enormous shopping mall. There were halls upon halls filled with little specialty stores. Each boutique was unique from the other, and displayed items from a place and time in history. Every place in the world had their own ‘wing’ of shopping stores, and each store represented a different time in its history. Every place and time was covered, from cave man to the future. Anything you desired could be had. All you had to do was ask the store clerk, and they then gave it to you.

The mall was crowded with many different people going in and out of the stores with their packages and purchases, each one smiling and enjoying themselves as they went about their business. But no one seen us or looked at us. It was as if we were invisible to them. They seen the tour guide angels, but they must have sensed that they were not alone, and so they stayed out of their way.

As I watched it all, my mind could hardly grasp all the choices before me. I knew it would take a lifetime to explore all the little stores. And oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful to explore them someday with my mother?

Just then, I seen someone walk by me, holding an old book open to their reading page, with a beautiful Celtic bookmark, hand-painted and stamped with gold leaf.

“Oh!” I exclaimed to my tour guide, “I’d like to have one of those!” And just then, someone else walked by from the other direction with a beautiful hair clip holding back her hair. It would be perfect for my friend. “And one of those,” I said. I turned to my guide. “Where is the store that has those?”

The guide told me it was in a different wing of the mall, and that we did not have time to go there on this tour. “Come,” the guide said to me, “we must go.”

“Wait!” I exclaimed, “couldn’t I just go into this store to get the bookmark? It’s right here in front of us.”

But the angel guide nearest to me shook its head no. “It will be delivered to you,” he said, and then we turned and got back into the tour bus.

After driving some distance, we suddenly came upon a valley as big as the Grand Canyon, with a cliff just as steep. The bus lurched out and downwards, and I screamed as I watched the earth come up to me. We tumbled, and then stopped for a moment, to see if everyone was still O.K.

Shaken but unharmed, we continued on into the depths of this valley, till we reached a small settlement of people, camped out by a big red rock. It was dry here, but pleasantly so, with the sun bright overhead, but without the searing heat. There was a light breeze blowing about, which made it a very pleasant day. Perfect picnic weather, I thought.

As I came closer, I could see the people walking about and going on about their business. They had trailer homes, propped up around each other, so they could all be together. Then, as I came close to one of them, one with a white sunshade propped up and out and a picnic table beneath it, my eyes caught a familiar sight and I stumbled.

“Is that my Father?” I whispered to the guide. I doubted it was, even though it looked exactly like him when he was in his twenties, for this man was laughing and smiling, something I had rarely seen my father do. He was talking and listening to the others around him tells him their stories, and him sharing his with them.

“Yes,” the angel answered me, “it is your father. But you must not stare at him, for that would cause him to notice you, and he is not to know right now that you are here.”

Oh! To turn my eyes away from his peaceful smiling face took everything I had in me. But I obeyed the angel, and looked away.

Our bus continued on again, and made it’s way to another grand canyon. When we came to the sharp drop again, I knew then what was in store for us, and I started to pray over and over again, “Oh my God oh my God oh my God!” till suddenly we were riding on the bottom of the canyon again. The angel must have seen the confusion on my face, for it explained to me, “this canyon is easier to access.”

This time, we rode on, till we came to a larger community, all green covered land, and mild temperatures, with little high-rises all around. Each rise, had everything that was needed in its building. The high rise was filled with people; many of them single women, all in the prime of their lives.

Then the tour guide talks to the building manager, and then the manager gives a nod, and leads us to a small room in one of the high rises. I enter and quietly look around.
The place reminded me of a laundry room, with washing machines lined up on one side of the room, while the other side had tables for one to sit upon and sort their laundry. I frowned in confusion, still not understanding. Why bring me here? I knew there must be something special about this room; I just wasn’t catching it.

Then I looked upwards to the wall and seen it.

My Mother’s cross-stitch. My mother’s ceramics. Her art work, up on the walls of the laundry room. I thought, “oh! How sweet of them to let my mother hang her work here!”
I looked closer, and seen there were several different small banners in cross-stitch, that had a date, name, and an emblem on it. Other ceramics that hung on the wall (bird, flower, bunny, dove, etc.,) was inscribed with a person’s name & date. There were several ones there with her name on it, among the other names on the wall. The manager told me the other names were Mom’s friends.

When I understood that, I looked around at the machines and wondered why heaven would even need washing machines. Then the angel stepped in and told me that these washing machines were different than the ones I knew of. These didn’t just clean dirt from clothes; they removed emotional stuff from things and cleaned it of all resentment, anger, bitterness, etc., anything that was un-Christ-like. An item could be put in the washer, and as a blinding white light would swirl in and around it, the person ‘washing their dirty laundry’, would sit at one of the tables and tell God all about their resentment, anger, bitterness, etc., and then leave those emotions with Him. The item associated with the ‘stuff’, then comes out clean and free of all ‘dirt’ and made new again.

My mother’s work, hanging on the walls, commemorated these events. Each piece of work had the person’s first name on it, along with the date. The last item on the banner or artwork was a symbol of what took the place of the ‘stuff’. The ceramics was the symbol itself, and had the person’s name etched into it, along with the date on the back of it.

How ironic! I had thought that God would somehow forcefully remove it (anger, resentment, etc.,) from a person, before letting them go through the gates of heaven. After all, I figured, why would God ever let such dirt into heaven? If He did, then it wouldn’t be heaven then anymore, would it?

But I was wrong. God does let it into heaven. He doesn’t forcefully remove it from the person. Instead, He waits for the person to get tired of the ‘dirt’ first, and then helps them to remove it. The tour guide told me that emotional ‘Dirt’ up in heaven, really stands out. It hinders the person’s joy in heaven, so one is naturally drawn to having it washed. When the spirit of God washes and purifies it, it enables them to let go of the negative emotions, which feels good and gives them more joy. All this takes place as commonly as we do our laundry down here on earth. (And mind you, unlike here, a person’s ‘stuff’ is seen as being quite separate from the people themselves!)

I was sitting on the bench and starring at my Mother’s work that hung upon the walls, when I seen my Mother walk in.

She was young and beautiful again, just like her pictures of when she was a young woman.

I quick looked at the angel again, to see if I could acknowledge her, and the angel nodded a yes.

Mom sat down beside me, and we turned to each other and held each other in our arms.
I was crying, and finding it hard to speak.

“Oh Mom,” I said, in a release of breath, “I’m so glad they’re letting me be with you!”
I wanted to tell her, all about my fears and second-guesses, of asking God to take her home to heaven, instead of having her hang on in pain down here. But in a sudden flash of realization, I sensed it wasn’t necessary, and that Mom fully understood and was glad that I had answered the way I had.

But then I found myself admitting something to her that I had not even voiced to myself down on earth. Something far deeper and uglier.

“Oh Mom,” I cried, still in her arms, “you want to know what’s really awful? If I had known just how hard and painful it would be for me without you, I would have never asked God to bring you to heaven!”

And at this, I cried more, and felt all my shame at this ugly truth revealed. I had expected her to turn away with disgust, once she realized how very self-centered and selfish I really was inside. (To think of keeping her here with me simply for my own comfort, even though it would cause her such pain!)

But she didn’t. She simply held me as I cried, and whispered words of comfort to me. “Sh, there, there, it’s O.K., I understand. It’s O.K.”

I stayed there, in her embrace; till I could feel some of her calm and peace blanket my own soul. I breathed a sigh of relief, as the last sobs racking my body faded away.
Then I looked up, to see her leaving, just like how a mother tiptoes out of her child’s room after finally getting them back to sleep. Only she wasn’t tiptoeing, she was walking, and I wasn’t quite asleep yet.

I was about to ask the angel why she could not stay longer, when the angel told me that she needed to get back to her crafts, for it was time for one of her ceramic pieces to come out of the kiln.

I got up then, and turned to the angel, thinking we would get back on the tour bus, for I was now eager to see more. But the angel let me know that the tour had ended, and with a gentle lift of her hand, I was sent back to earth and then I woke up.

 

*

Rev. 21:4-5, KJV “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away. And he that sat upon the throne said, Behold, I make all things new…”

A Reality Game Show

Another dream…

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.

We refused.

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.
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