April 2018 status report

Greetings. If you haven’t arrived at this blog accidentally, you are possibly checking in for a status report. These days, I’m generally trying to discern God’s voice amidst some apparently deliberate and malicious spiritual confusion. More accurate to say I’m trying to discern, for any given perceived “message”, whether it came from White Hats, Black Hats, or myownself’s brain. If any one of us humans comes into agreement with demonic suggestion, even accidentally, all hell can break loose. Pretty much literally. I do not recommend.

There’s a lot going on, to that end; but it’s not worth blogging right now. Lotta waiting around, watching spiritual paint dry. Unless something dramatic happens between now and the end of May 2018, I don’t plan to post anything new in the meantime. Please keep me in your prayers, and feel free to post any prayer requests as a blog comment. I will pray for you and delete the comment without posting to the blog.


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Old Testament prophet? Did I say that?

It has come to my shocked-face attention over the past week that some of my dreams/visions/words have been coming from less-than-reputable sources, for some period of time. I’m not saying it’s been “The Exorcist” or anything like that. But it’s been bad. Suffice it to say I don’t know exactly what to trust right now.

With that in mind, let’s dial back the rhetoric on what I think might or might not happen in my future. Ultimately, whatever will be will be. Que sera, even. In between this exact moment and The Future, I’ll be happy with just getting through any given night with all faculties intact. Job One: REALLY REALLY learn to understand how much God the Father loves any one of us. That part of my belief system is broken some how; and the compromise is fostering all kinds of lies and garbage that attract rats.

If you’re the praying type, I would appreciate all the cover you can offer. Thank you.

And thanks as always to Mary in Ecuador for her patience, insight, and wisdom. I am absolutely nowhere without her counsel.

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March 18 has come and gone.

The world still turns. As far as I know, I have not lost any favor in regards to whatever path God has me on. Never mind what the end goal is; right now, I’m simply doing my best to surrender my life to Jesus daily, in whatever way He wants. It took me years to give an inch. Now I’m giving miles per week. Technically, I think that’s how believers are supposed to live, anyway. It’s not something that gets a lot of play from pulpits and press in the Western church. Sacrificing one’s dreams, expectations, plans, desires, opinions, etc…, at the call of Christ is not something we humans are inclined to celebrate with our finances and attendance.

Many thanks to Mary in Ecuador and several (mostly) anonymous prayer warriors during this past week. I encountered spiritual darkness the likes of which I had never before. I keep wondering what in the world could possibly justify whatever training God is apparently putting me through. Assuming that’s what is going on.

I’ll plan to post another update around this time next week.

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I believe it’s time for a blog post.

Three lifetimes ago I wrote that September 23, 2017 was a pivot point in my life. I’d planned a grand and detailed explanation of all that. Then things started happening fast enough that grand detailed explanations were not feasible. Then I got so far behind in blogging that any explanation at all looked to be inadequate. But there’s a sense of responsibility with this blog that won’t go away. Ergo, I’ll try to summarize five months of warp-speed sanctification, adventure, failure, grief, and – ultimately – voluntary servitude. Actually, it will be a summary of what I think this entire years-long trial is about. This summary will be in the form of belief statements.

I believe that in 2018 there will arise on the scene somewhere in the world a man who operates in the full power and authority of an an Old Testament prophet. Creative miracles, weather control, impossible knowledge – the works.

I believe God has been conducting a contest of sorts, involving at least three men whom He selected as candidates for this task.

I believe I am one of those candidates.

I believe God has told me on multiple occasions that He specifically wants me to be the guy (referred to in communications as “The One” or “The Anointed One.” Very Matrix-y).

I believe there was a certain time frame in my own life during which I was given many encouragements, tests, and opportunities, that I should have waltzed right into this position that God has prepared for someone whom He’s been preparing for it.

I believe my distinct seven-year period (itself part of a greater fifteen-year stretch of trials) of testing for certain promises from God ended in late December 2017, shortly after I botched my final opportunity to reach the status of Anointed One.

I believe I had been potentially slated as a direct advisor to President Donald Trump, which belief was born from several years’ worth of related incidents and which belief was cemented in an early morning word from God (Jesus, actually; he’s a guy, and guys are oftentimes simultaneously brutal and good-natured in the way they deal with each other’s failings) in late January 2018: “Here you are stuck in Dallas, when you’re supposed to be in the White House. How’s that for a pick-me-up?” Great. Thanks for the reminder and clarification.

I believe God showed me many other wonderful things that did not happen over the years, due to my refusal to ultimately bend my will to His.

I believe that anytime any one of us gets an opportunity to bend our will to the Lord’s, we should take that opportunity ASAP; because there’s absolutely nothing we can come up with on our own that will compare to His plans, however improbable they might appear.

I believe God has shown me that there are two men still in the running for the final goal of being His modern-day prophet.

I believe that God has, in His infinite mercy and kindness, given me YET ANOTHER opportunity – that of being one of those two men;  an opportunity given, though, at the cost of unbelievably difficult, humbling (humiliating), and will-killing challenges.

I believe that the other candidate remaining is a rotund black man who prophesies without compromise while playing the drums.

I believe that the last man standing was known to God, like everything else, before the foundations of the earth; and that the man himself will know his status sometime on or after March 18, 2018.

I believe that the last man standing will be a man – as much as is possible at the time – emptied of himself, a true bond servant of the kindest Master a servant could have.

I believe I am of sound mind and reasonably sound body, and that all of the above beliefs are based on solid evidence and not on any self-deception.

I believe I will make some effort to blog something in the first week after March 18, 2018, at least for the sake of those faithful few readers who check in regularly.

I believe the year 2018 will be a pivot point for all us humans on Planet Earth.





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September 23 was a pivot point.

On May 6, 2018, I modified this title, removing the “pt.1” qualification. I never wrote any subsequent info about September 23.

Here follows what I originally started writing about September 23, before I decided to provide some backstory.


September 23, 2017 was not a non-event – in my life, anyway. I gained some perspective after a few weeks. I’d initially hoped and expected that some great, long-awaited promotion was going to happen on September 23. After all, my interest in the date had been spurred by a pretty extraordinary display. When the day came and went with no radical and obvious changes in my life circumstances, I was a bitter human. And confused. I’d effectively had a neon sign vision identifying the date, along with some significant accompanying words. When nothing of note happened on the day, I didn’t know what to do. I declared the day had been an uneventful disappointment.

But in the days after September 23 I recognized that there were a couple of things different, though not in the style of any kind of dramatic pivot point in my life. For one thing, a hotspot that had been present off and on in the left side of my face for weeks had become abruptly large and constantly intense. I also noticed something that was notable for its absence. On the morning of September 24 I took my first preoccupied steps out of bed. The apparent fizzle of September 23 was weighing heavily on my mind. Some minutes after I’d been up and about, I realized my foot didn’t hurt. Not much, anyway. The focal point of the pain I’d been experiencing for months was mostly gone; there was no lump. The pain was much diminished and was localized in a spot slightly closer to my heel than anything I’d felt previously. It was like the absence of the lump allowed me to step on some tissue that hurt to the touch but only in a secondary way. I don’t know how to explain it. The overall pain and trauma had decreased from a 9 to a 1 overnight, with no corrective effort on my part.

Sept 26 – I was waking/dozing early in the morning. I had a somewhat chaotic dream sequence going, although I’m not sure I was asleep. There was a lot of ambient noise. Amidst the noise I heard a vague voice that made me realize that the noise was happening in the first place. So I guess I wasn’t asleep. The voice in the noise said: “Something’s different.” Abruptly the noise stopped, and the voice continued, contrasted against the silence: “Do you know what it is?”

I figured it might have been Jesus doing the asking. I projected that Jesus was asking me if I knew what grand strategic thing was different, now that September 23 had come and gone. My initial answer was, “No. No, I don’t know what is different.” I spent the next week telling Him the things that I noticed being different since September 23; and I asked Him to let me know if I was missing something. Here’s what I told Him I’d noticed:

1) My foot improved daily. Talk about turning on a dime. The change in my foot injury was sudden, dramatic, and directly coincident with September 23.

2) Child’s diabetes was stabilized. By September 23 we were over a month removed from hospitals, although there had been one instance of urine ketones in August. More importantly: I think (I’m writing from old and incomplete notes here) there had been an abrupt stabilization in diabetes management starting September 23 that went above and beyond the general calming that had occurred from late July through August and September.

3) There had been no “invitations” in a couple of weeks. The two-week deluge of dreams/words/visions in April into May had preceded an invitation from God to quit my job. I refer to it as an invitation because the last dream I had in that day’s-long sequence was of words that read “This is an invitation.” Subsequently, I’d begun thinking of the morning visits from God – like “Wash someone’s feet tonight” – as invitations for that particular day. I’d grown accustomed to experiencing such an invitation every week or so, during July through September. I assumed that this pattern would last for the rest of my life. It didn’t even last through September. The last discerned morning invitation was on September 10. By September 23 I was getting antsy in their absence. Had I done something to short-circuit the process? I was confident that I’d been walking the straight and narrow path. Whatever the case, I knew something was different.

Incidentally, it was also around this time that I prayed a prayer of specific thanks to God that I’d never lost my children in the process of surviving divorce. We certainly haven’t seen each other more than a fraction as much as we are wired to unconsciously expect out of a father-child relationship; but my kids know that their father adores them. That’s worth something. I’m grateful for that confidence, even in the dust of lost and irreplaceable years’ worth of togetherness. So I told God thank you.

Sept 28 – We had a guest worship leader at our Thursday morning prayer set. I’ll call her Rachel, because that’s not her name. Rachel and I had never played together in a set that she was leading. During that morning’s set she began playing a song I didn’t know. For whatever reason, I had a hard time picking a beat out of what she was playing on her guitar. It didn’t seem like a complex song; but it took me a while to get anything going, rhythm-wise. Complicating matters was the fact that the song was having a profound spiritual impact on me, as I listened to the words. I’ve been playing in Christian worship environments for over twenty years. I’ve never been personally moved by a song quite like I was that morning.

I’m generally a “music over lyrics” guy; I don’t hear lyrics all that well. I’m primarily moved or not by the music of any given song. But the lyrics in this song Rachel was playing were (at least as performed that morning) custom written to fit my spirit. As she sang the words, it was as if Jesus Himself was sitting in the drum booth singing to me. I could almost feel a physical impact from the words against me. Wild stuff. I wept as I hacked around, looking for an appropriate beat to that wonderful song. The song is written as a conversation between Jesus and the listener. Jesus invites the listener to join Him on an adventure. “It’s gonna be wild. It’s gonna be great. It’s gonna be full of Me…”

Oct 2 – woke at 0237

Oct 3 – While waking in the morning, I heard, “As time goes on, you will be invited into more things.” Thank you, God! This was comforting. It let me know I was still worthy of such consideration. I knew that “As time goes on” could mean anything from “one second from now” to anything further in the future. It felt like it would be more of a “further in the future” thing. I resolved to busy myself while waiting patiently for the next invitation. I had been spending quite a bit of time working on learning more music theory and practice on bass guitar and keyboard. I was also trying to finish up a couple of songs that I’d had in the works for a while. Music would keep me busy while I waited for more invitations, was my immediate plan. Life was good. I didn’t have to go to an office job that day; and more invitations were pending, whenever.

I rolled over and checked my phone. There was a text message from a friend of mine, suggesting we should plan to have lunch together. It was the first time either of us had communicated with the other in many months. He had uncharacteristically sent a photo with his text message. The photo showed some text in a magazine, highlighting a quote attributed to philosopher Goethe. The quote said something like, “He who chooses is haunted by choice.” I assumed that the quote was a reference to my months-old decision to leave my job. I replied to the text with some lunch suggestions. I got out of bed and, sometime later that morning, noticed that my face had stopped burning. I hadn’t knowingly done anything that I’d previously learned could cause the hotspots to cool. But I’d just been reassured about more invitations in the future; so I wasn’t worried much about the change in my face.

The morning was a pretty routine one – breakfast, exercise, drums. Routine days had been in short supply recently. The kids and I had just finished something like five straight weeks of them being with me much more than usual. It was great to see their faces and live life with them that much. It’s a different lifestyle than the one that happens when they aren’t with me. When they are here and I am in full-time father mode, all forward progress with regard to music and writing, for example, generally grinds to a halt. Which is neither good nor bad; it’s just how things go with our family’s dynamics. Now that the long string of August and September visits was done, I’d have time to slide back into a productive groove.

Late in the morning, I got a text from The Ex. She wanted to talk to me on the phone about something. That meant that she wanted something from me. Something big. I didn’t look forward to the conversation, though I was curious what had prompted an actual and atypical conversation beyond email or text. No big deal, whatever the case. Life was good. I didn’t have to go to an office job that day; and more invitations were pending, whenever.

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September 23 was not a non-event, pt.2 – Backstory becomes story story

Here’s more backstory to help make sense of life after September 23, 2017.


Back in June I stepped on a small pointed rock, while barefoot. The full weight of my step pressed onto the rock, which jabbed sharply into some soft tissue at the base of my little toe. There was a small painful lump that grew up in the tissue, at was apparently the exact point of injury. I found that if I iced my foot before getting in bed at night, that would minimize pain in the morning. For the next few months, the first few steps I’d take on any given day were marked by varying degrees of discomfort and stiffness on the injured spot. For the most part, the discomfort would clear quickly after I’d walked far enough into the day. It was a nagging annoyance, but nothing that caused any alarm.

In the three weeks immediately prior to September 23, the morning pain inexplicably intensified with each day. The lump gradually grew during this time period. Just before September 23, the lump was as large as it had ever been, and those first morning steps went from bearable to excruciating.This magnified pain also began lasting longer into each day. My foot hurt even when I was in bed at night. By this stage of the game (of life) I was years into a constant experience of unusual and nagging physical problems; so the foot thing was just one more grinding burden to bear. But the escalation of symptoms was bizarre. I wasn’t doing anything beyond the usual walking that had not (so far) exacerbated the problem. It appeared I was faced with at least having to self-medicate with a plantar boot for the thing to finally heal. Is where I was with all that on the night of September 23.


One of my kids has Type 1 diabetes. A T1 diagnosis is the end of spontaneity with food; and it is the beginning of a regimen that turns every minute of every day into a non-stop exercise in health care and mathematics. Any pleasure remotely related to the dinner table can become strictly incidental.

We’ve been doing a great job of maintaining acceptable blood glucose levels, for years now. Our pediatrician told us that many parents use the emergency room as their kid’s treatment; that is, that don’t take care of the diabetes demands until the child is so sick that they have to go to the ER. We never had to do that. Until August of 2016 (Not 2017. We’re not there yet.). That was during a long summer visit where the kids were with me non-stop. Something went haywire in the diabetes maintenance process; and we ended up having to go to the ER. During the interview the doctor told my child that her parents obviously loved her very much, if she had never before been to the ER after so many years since onset. That was nice to hear; but I didn’t understand what had gone wrong. I wasn’t doing anything different than I’d done in the preceding years of care. Anyhoo, life goes on.

Fast forward through this year’s long spring break visit, which passed without incident. The next long visit was June of 2017. Two weeks straight. I was fresh off resigning from my job and was looking forward to a visit with my kids that wouldn’t be built around a work schedule. Everything was great until the end of the first week. We couldn’t keep blood sugar under control; ketones reared their ugly head; and we were back in the ER. This time we had to actually be admitted for a few days. Again, I was flummoxed as to why this was happening. The admission provided some really pleasant (ha) quality time for my family and my ex and her family to be in the hospital room together. People were looking at me sideways, wondering what I had done wrong. And through it all, my face hotspot was blazing away. “Why?” I wondered. Dunno. But it sure was.


July 4 – I awoke at 0233 due to a flash of light in my eyes. As I was waking I saw a subtle text vision; it was the letters “A I (something else).” After the image vanished, I noticed that my apartment seemed unusually warm. I got up and messed around with the AC. The unit was blowing uncooled air. I escalated deftly into “call maintenance” mode, wondering at the same time if the text vision hadn’t said “A I R.” I also noticed that there was a thunderstorm beginning, and I assumed it had been a lightning flash that had awakened me.

Later that day, around 3pm, I lay down briefly on my bed. My AC was not yet repaired, and the temperature in the apartment was in the mid-80’s. Once prone, I was immediately sleepy in the thick afternoon heat. I sank into quick slumber and straight away saw a vision of someone’s hand lifting a cup to my lips. They poured a clear, room-temperature liquid into my mouth. I actually felt it in my mouth. The sensation jolted me awake. As I lay there trying to figure out what had happened, I heard, “I look forward to raising your kids with you.” I was taken off guard by this sequence. I was also both encouraged and skeptical. I believed that I’d just heard a hopeful word from Jesus about my family. It made sense to me in that summer drowsiness that He would only bother telling me the thing about raising my kids with me if my ex and I were to be reunited and living with our children under one roof. But our own kids are practically grown, relative to their ages when their mother and I separated. Was He talking about those kids? Would she and I have more kids together? It would be a medical impossibility; but medical impossibilities figure to be a possible (ba dum tss) player in my future. One way or the other, if my ex and I were to end up together again, it would indicate some undeniably miraculous thing had happened. Jesus would surely have to figure into that scenario.

Some days after the July 4 visitation, I realized the dream/vision was reminiscent of a scene in the movie Ben Hur. (Going from memory here) In this particular scene we see Joseph the carpenter discussing his son Jesus with another man. Jesus is absent from the carpenter shop, to the disapproval of Joseph’s acquaintance. We then see Judah Ben Hur chained with other prisoners on a forced march through brutal summer heat. Roman guards stop the procession for a water break in (apparently) Nazareth. Judah falls to the ground in parched distress. All the prisoners are given some small amount of water – all the prisoners, that is, but Judah. The Roman in command specifically forbids anyone to give Judah water. As Judah languishes miserably in the dust, we see someone’s hands come into view, carrying a cup of water. The unseen person offers the water to Judah, who gulps it down. The Roman challenges this interloper who has brought water, starting angrily towards the stranger and the grateful Judah. We then see the back of the stranger, dark hair down to his shoulders. He is standing upright, facing the approaching Roman. He is silent and unflinching. The Roman stops in his tracks; has an evident epiphany; and meekly walks away from the confrontation that he’d created. He hesitates and briefly looks back at the unmoving stranger, uncertain in his fading bluster why he’s been faced down and utterly humbled by this unarmed Nazarene.

Ben Hur is loose historical fiction, so there’s no reason to believe anything like the water scene occurred in real life. As a carpenter in Nazareth, Christ was as yet unbaptized and without the infilling power of the Holy Spirit; and He was not yet tested by Satan in the Wilderness. So He was not likely challenging the authority of Roman soldiers on the streets of Nazareth. Still, it’s a powerful scene in a powerful movie. The scene will no doubt resonate with anyone who has been truly made new by the resurrecting power of the resurrected Christ.

This is getting off track. I first watched the movie Ben Hur with my kids in January of this year. I was at the time coming to terms with what I believed to be my failure to step into a long-anticipated destiny. Related blog posts abound. I was as miserable as possible. Here’s blog content from one of the January 2017 posts:

I gave one of my kids the Charlton Heston Ben Hur for Christmas. We watched the first part just after the New Year. We saved the second half of the movie for later in January. On the evening of January 21, we fired up part two. I’d never seen the movie before and wasn’t expecting anything out of part deux other than a chariot race. SPOILER for anyone who hasn’t yet but might watch a sixty-year old movie in the future: Jesus factors heavily into the second half of the Charlton Heston Ben Hur. Jesus and miracles and man, oh man, did I not see it coming. By the end of the movie, as the life-giving blood of Christ healed the lepers, I was demolished. “These are the things you will not do,” I told myself. “These are the people you will not help,” I told myself…

After December 18 or whenever I’d had the King Kong vision, every successive day had felt more unstable than the day before. I wasn’t aware of how much I’d been anchored into a relationship (real or imagined) with God until it appeared that He’d picked up camp and moved on to a more cooperative child. The span of days from December 18 to January 21 was like one endless taunt from hell, in which I felt spiritually rudderless and beaten. The chaotic sense of loss and hopelessness culminated in, of all things, the surprise appearance of Jesus Christ in Ben Hur. You know things are going south and quickly when the loving portrayal of His Only Begotten, in a shonuf Hollywood epic, is a trap door to more despair than there was before.

I find the Jesus scenes in Ben Hur to be moving and powerful, both of which a tired cliches. Which is itself a tired cliche. The important thing is I had personally identified with Jesus a little better while watching Ben Hur. The personal identification was facilitated by a belief at the time that I had possibly been on track to be Christ’s armor bearer. Whatever that might mean or look like, I don’t know; but it’s what I’d come up with after some armor bearer-centric things had happened and about which I’ve blogged. When I watched the movie in January, I saw only lost potential to be that thing. Then two days after viewing the movie, I’d had a dream about “starting over.” I came to believe I was indeed starting over on a path to something like the previously assigned destination. The notice of starting over didn’t mention anything being different or lesser in the second destined outcome, compared to the original approach, now that I think of it.

By July 4 I was over five months into the starting over process. I had quit my job based on a massive amount of preliminary communication from God to that end. I was already adapting to the idea that I was perhaps headed to the same destination as before. The personalized Jesus of Ben Hur had stuck with me, however far in the back of my mind He might have been hanging around. All of this July 4 section of material to explain why the dream vision of the hands giving me water was reminiscent of the movie scene. I think it’s also interesting that the vision occurred on Independence Day.


There were two more hospitalizations during the summer, both of which occurred while my daughter was with me. Her blood sugar wasn’t any less crazy at her mom’s house; but it was only on my watch that we had to admit her to the hospital for ketoacidosis. Through it all the medical personnel and probably everyone else but me were growing increasingly convinced that I could, inexplicably, no longer manage diabetes. I was defiant, refusing to believe I’d somehow suddenly lost the ability to count carbs and do the math necessary to get adequate insulin into my daughter. My ex suggested I was relying too much on estimating carbs, rather than counting meticulously. There had never been any problem with my method before. But we were now giving our daughter much more insulin per injection than we had in previous years. Perhaps that was the problem.

I tried counting carbs more exactly, and I tried using both unopened fast-acting and slow-acting insulin, multiple times. I specifically used insulin that had come from the hospital pharmacy during admissions. No matter all that effort; we had to do a second and third admission. In the build-up to the third admission my daughter was, by all appearances, insulin resistant. I was giving her much more fast-acting insulin than her diet required. We might as well have been injecting water. I was under a most unsympathetic microscope from The Ex and the medical humans involved in all that mess.

And through hospital admissions number two and three, just as had been the case in the first, my face hotspot was blazing. Just roasting hot, the whole left side of my face, for as many days as the hospitalization lasted. That presence kept me from going nuts. I didn’t understand what I was supposed to glean from it all. I wanted to believe it was a sign that something was about to change. We kept going to the hospital, and my face kept getting hot; but nothing changed noticeably. By the end of July, I figured it was just God saying, “Hang in there.” Something like that. It is also worth noting that the second and third admissions saw my ex and me spend the night in the hospital room with our daughter a few times. I slept on the fold out chair; Honey Bun was on the couch. Weird, weird times.


On July 29, I woke just before 0530. As I was laying there in the dark, not sleeping but almost, I heard: “Wouldn’t it be cool if she was able to joke about all this with you one day?” I believed the “she” in question was my ex. The “this” was presumably the stupefying gauntlet of hospital admissions, one of which had just ended. In the voice note that I made for that event, I mentioned that I’d also awakened at something like an absurdly early time, just after 11pm the night before. Upon waking at that time I’d heard what I took to be a word of knowledge for my ex. While recording the voice note I remembered and noted that, before I’d gone to bed the night before, I’d asked God to give me words of knowledge for people. I think there’s little that can be so immediately healing to someone than to have another person speak a secret word from God into their lives. So I asked for that before I went to sleep. Then I awoke ridiculously early into a spoken word of knowledge for my ex (which I emailed to her). Then I awoke again later in the morning into this thing about joking about “all this” some day. I could see how it might all fit together. But the idea of us getting to a point where we could joke about anything in our mutual lives – whether it was the current hospital madness or just the general unnecessary death of a family that had been dragging out for years – seemed impossible on that morning. I was beyond exhausted and confused.

***** *

I’m blogging more than originally planned about July (and possibly August) now. So this backstory thing has grown into more substantial content. Words have a knack for growing out of control.



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September 23 was not a non-event, pt.1 – Some backstory

Here’s how I ended the relevant blog post, in late September:

“For the record the face hotspot that began on 9/23 (or the evening of 9/22) is still blazing right along. This is the longest I’ve had a continuous hotspot in several years, I think. I doubt that the dream vision about September 23, 2017, was sent just to announce the arrival of a hotspot. Maybe there’s something significant at the end of this particular face heat.

Wait and see, as usual, again.”

The face hotspot continued for a total of ten days. This was unprecedented behavior in my experience with the hotspots. At the end of the hotspot was, in fact, something monumentally significant. In order to explain it all adequately, I’ve got to give some back story.


Somewhere early in the summer months, not long after I quit my job, I began kicking around an idea that went something like this:

We know from scripture that Jesus said He only did the things that He saw His Father doing. I take that to mean Jesus only did the things His Father showed Him to do. “Heal this blind man like so.” “Walk across the lake; freak out your disciples; and then teleport your boat to the shore.” Something like that.

We know from scripture that Jesus arose very early in the mornings to go and pray.

If it’s true that Jesus did only the things His father told Him to do or showed Him to do,
then maybe it was during Jesus’ early-morning prayer times that God the Father provided His Son with instructions for that day or for life in general.

And if Jesus got His instructions that way, then it made sense that we followers of Jesus might be able to receive instructions from God in the same manner each morning

I began to regularly ask God if we believers could get life instructions similarly to that theorized method. It was approximately two months later that I realized God had answered with a resounding “Yes!”


The summer months were an irregular mess of family medical crises and (mostly) peaceful adjustments to a life with no regular full-time employment. In the midst of it all, a curious pattern developed: approximately every week and a half, I’d dream or receive a word and/or vision on a given morning, in such a way as seemed like God was giving me actionable instructions for the day. If I ever get around to posting blog content about July-September, I will provide more details about several of the days’ activities. Right now I’ll just relate what I think was the most remarkable occurrence.

One morning in late August I awoke before my alarm went off, some time before I would need to prepare for that day’s early prayer set at church. I lay in bed and dozed in and out of consciousness. At some point I realized that God had probably awakened me early for a reason and I’d not yet acknowledged Him. So I said, “What would You have for me today, God?” Immediately I saw a vision of what appeared to be soap suds. I got a notion I was supposed to wash something. I started thinking, “Wash? My car? My clothes?” I heard, “Someone’s feet – tonight.” I rolled right along with the instruction, not stopping to be blown away by what I was hearing. I promptly decided I would wash my children’s feet that night. Easy enough. While I was relaxing into that path of least resistance, I heard a clarification: “Someone who is not an immediate family member.” That obviously made things instantly much more weird. I resolved to pray about the instructions and to get my kids to do the same thing. We could compare notes and see what, if any, revelation we got from God.

A couple of hours later at church, before we began our prayer set, two women entered the auditorium. I’d never seen either woman before. The two sat together on the front row, directly in my field of vision. After a few minutes of seeing the women while we played our worship music, it was obvious that one of the women was severely distraught. She was crying continuously. She would sometimes lean over to rest her head on the other woman’s shoulder. Otherwise she was sitting upright and weeping miserably. The other woman was clearly making herself available for the support of her crying companion.

After I watched this emotional display for a bit, I thought, “I should go offer to pray for her for one week. She can tell me what wrong if she wants to. Either way, she needs prayer.” I took a break from playing and went to the restroom. While I was washing my hands and preparing to go back out to the auditorium, I decided against the prayer idea. Too weird. I sat back down and began playing again. Within a couple of minutes, our worship leader said, “I think God is telling me someone in the room is dealing with cancer.” The weeping woman raised her hand. Nuts. I rebuked my timidity. It was a pride thing. If I had gone and offered to pray for the woman when I was first prompted, I could have felt good about being obedient to a call. Now that the cancer cat was out of the bag, if I offered to pray, then I’d just be tagging along with the crowd that had gathered around the woman to comfort her. That is how small I am, inside this bald head.

We continued our playing while the small group of pray-ers prayed for and consoled the grieving woman. I got over my self and also began praying in earnest for her. Before the two-hour set was over, I decided that I would ask her if I could wash her feet that night. Why not? I’d had no better ideas in the preceding five hours. And the instructions said only to wash the feet of someone who was not an immediate family member. I was evidently free to make it up as I went.

After we finished the set and I’d gathered up my things, I approached the woman. She was by then standing and talking with several people. I introduced myself and told her that I believed God had told me to wash someone’s feet that night. Could I wash her feet? She she said OK. Who knew it could be that easy? Seriously. I got her phone number and told her I’d get in touch with her later in the day. (I will hereafter refer to her by the fake name Claire.) Claire let me know that she was without reliable transportation, as she’d been in a car wreck the day before. I told her I would drive to her home, which was about a half hour north of where I live. I also told her I would have my kids with me that evening, which I hoped would minimize any weirdness she felt about a strange guy coming to her place with such non-standard and intimate intent.

Later that afternoon I called Claire and made arrangements to meet her at her condo. When the appointed time rolled around, not long before sundown, my kids and I headed north into a very new experience. We chatted about how wild life becomes when you open yourself up to God for the most basic things. “What would You like me to do today?” Ask, and you shall receive. Crazy. Jesus wasn’t just blowing smoke.

We found Claire and a female friend waiting for us outside Claire’s residence. We did a round of introductions for my kids and Claire’s friend. Inside the condo we exchanged a few pleasantries and got down to business. I explained to everyone the mechanics of why I believed God had prompted me to wash someone’s feet. Claire asked me if I understood the Biblical significance of foot-washing. I related the various instances of the original apostles arguing among themselves regarding who would be greatest in Christ’s kingdom. Christ countered that mindset by declaring that those who would be great must serve, not the other way around. He demonstrated this posture by washing His disciples’ feet before the Last Supper. I told Claire and the others that, as I strive to follow this Savior who is my king, I must do the things He calls me to do. And He called me to wash someone’s feet.

Claire and I went into the kitchen, where she drew a bucket of water. After she got the water to a temperature that was comfortable for the task, I carried the bucket into the den. Clair sat on the couch, and I knelt in front of her with the bucket and a rag. I’m pretty sure I prayed before I began washing. I washed Claire’s feet in the bucket. There wasn’t much to the process, practically speaking. The brief simplicity of the act stood in contrast to the profound spiritual implications. It was a powerful moment, there in that condo. There was zero chance that any of us had woken up that day thinking that was how we’d be ending it. I offered to wash Claire’s friend’s feet. She obliged, and I washed.

Afterwards, we talked for a bit about Upper Room and some of the things that have been going on there for a few years. One thing that Claire revealed was that she’d never been to UR before that morning. The woman who had accompanied her to the service that morning was a member who had suggested Claire should go to the service in order to ask prayers for healing. She drove Claire to the service since Claire’s car was wrecked. That was certainly one intense day for someone who was first attending a new church.

My kids and I left Claire’s condo soon after the washing was done. The whole business was finished within half an hour. We drove back south, pretty floored by what had just happened. The kids seemed genuinely affected (in a good way) by having watched their father wash a stranger’s feet. We had more discussions about the wild ways God will open life up for you, the more you trust Him with said life. And if Claire and her friend were blessed by having a stranger wash their feet, I was just as blessed by the opportunity to humble myself in that unexpected and unprecedented process.

With about a mile to go still to go before it mattered, I noticed the reading on my car’s odometer. I calculated that we’d be passing my former place of employment at around 123 miles on the odometer. I decided that if we were, indeed, at that location when the odo read exactly 123.7 miles, then I would know it was a “hello” from God. 1237 and XX37 in general have been have been major players for the past two years, and certainly for the better part of 2017. At the appropriate exit, I pulled off of the highway and looped east onto the major thoroughfare that runs in front of my former employer. As we passed the building, the odometer read 123.7.

Fun stuff.


I don’t know for sure that Jesus got his day’s marching orders from God the Father during His early-morning prayer time. But I do now know that it’s possible for us to ask Him to show us His vision for our day and expect Him to sometimes provide a distinct opportunity. He is a good father and He loves to see us grow and serve.


More backstory pending…

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