Golden grain lies scattered about on a stonework floor out of place in the sacristy and that is the Travesty Among holy vestments there is evidence of the slightest presence of the treasure that brought
This Meager amount just one godly person and that was only by accident on shoes that hurried past the Harvest field from these prostrate seeds a silent cry is haunting every day and night a holocaust is taking
Place anew death it did strew among the whole of life depicted by a child’s dream it occurred when she Was only twelve and at eighty six it was as vivid as it happened yesterday I let her tell you in her own
Words “at this point in my dream I found myself on a very narrow path it was so narrow I had to lift one Foot slowly and place it exactly in front of the other foot or I would lose my balance how carefully I had
To walk I exercised even greater caution when I realized that the narrow walkway spanned a very deep Chasm an abyss filled with great billowing waves of flame more terrifying than the sight of the flames
Was the realization that people were being tossed about in that raging infernal their screams of anguish Were so freighting that I wanted to rush away from these sights and sounds of horror my fear of missing
A step on that narrow path and falling into that horrible pit made my progress slow and agonizing then Out of that nightmare of screaming anguish came the unmistakable voice of somebody calling my name
Oma a familiar voice pleaded Oma go warn your father and my brethren to never come to this place I am In Hell” she subsequently found out that this man who spoke was a fellow preacher in her father’s
Religion that had ***** a young woman and had been sent to prison and then died there but from this Dream in the coming years she became a minister of the gospel a work she continued for well over
Fifty years and she stated that dream of hell was an ever driving force to reach the lost yes a genocide Of people of uncommon value sun drenched fragrant is the fields that glistens nowhere in all of
Existence does any treasure compare to you and me the bleating of the sheep of his pasture rises Through air and misty clouds carried most softly and deepened by the quantity of distress from sheep That is the most helpless of creatures thus the need of Sheppard’s and labors to enter these golden
Fields nothing must be missed but we are losing a generation while the greatest church buildings Compass the land without question richness pervades within every detail is complete fashionable
To a fault the pews numerous enough but emptiness carries the stamp your duty you are failing When the riches of family and friends are missing out on being fed heavens sacred bread nothing
Else can and will sustain real life all else is illusion a spell that cloaks the sight of people in richest Clothing that are no more than starved prisoners of a total war against humanity they blissfully
Parade on they can’t see the front of the procession in the far distance as it passes through the Gate of Hell that glows and melts the screams within that touch it then sizzles keeping it secret and warning
Hidden from the dammed that are marching to their doom but oh the sacristy holds such wondrous Items as vestments and other church furnishings and sacred vessels and parish records but as you open
The door you are blasted with the cold reality only a precious few enjoy their value and comfort a Mocking laughter is heard as the devil throws his head back with contempt and laughs even harder
As he drives the multitude to the end that was supposed to be his and his demons end all through History the travail of mans plight has shaken a few from compliancy the robe of righteousness never
Hangs in cloistered suffocating gloom no as Wesley and George Whitfield they went out into the open Fields and brought heaven down as a thunder clap that shook England to its evil core where gin was
So prevalent it reached from the poorest hovel through the church and into the palace where many Enemies evaded and were driven back but this enemy was an inner demon that only God could over
Throw this is a picture of how as these faithful men lifted the cross and its Holy standard high and As there proclamation reached a high crescendo the low laborers came out of mine pits stood there and
As the spirit mystified them with loves deepest truths there tears made tracks down through their cold Dust covered faces these vestments are the true and lasting outwear that indicates the brimming soul
Within shall ever be free
This is what I meant to write in the car Sunday night but I was overwhelmed and only tried to fix pain
And sorrow with the beauty of a child and its birth only one child can do that and He was born in a manger