This is from My Dreams and Visions blog:
After all, no one can lay any other foundation than the one that is already laid, and that foundation is Jesus Christ.
I had a vision start 09/17/2014 and received clarification on it today. In the vision I saw a beautiful white church with a beautiful white steeple. This was odd. but I saw people standing around the church instead of in it like you would normally picture things to be. The people seemed to be admiring the building called church. Whether or not they had built it or not, I do not know. I just got the sense that they were admiring it. Then I saw the building called church begin to crumble beginning with the steeple. The building began to collapse in upon itself until it was destroyed. The word that I heard was faulty foundation. The foundation of any church must be Jesus and Him alone.
General George S. Patton
Dreams from the LORD 2011-2014
8 September 2014
Last night I had a dream where I was staying at a homeless shelter in Algona, Iowa. I talked with some homeless guys for awhile and then I walked to this grocery store. At the grocery store, I was walking down this aisle when I saw a relative of mine walking towards me—she was walking with a cane. I walked by her and did not say hello.
I then walked towards this fast-food restaurant and there was General George S. Patton outside the restaurant; he was sitting down talking to several people I listened to General Patton talk for awhile; some of the people were asking him a lot of questions.
It was a long dream; I don’t remember all of the details. I have had three other dreams about General Patton, so I believe this dream has something to do with spiritual warfare: exposing the devil and defeating the devil in Algona, Iowa (I was born and raised in Algona).
A Dream About General George S. Patton
Two Dreams: General George Patton and Clint Eastwood
This is from My Dreams and Visions blog:
I had a dream 9/06/2014 where I saw a sword. Then I heard the following, “a sword, a sword, a sword, a sword, a sword is destined for this country.” Upon waking I could see a huge sword over the United States and it made a shadow upon the land. Then I saw what looked like a swarm of locusts descend from the sky. Whether they actually were or not, I don’t know it is how I am describing what I saw. They descended from the sky at the northern border of the United States and Canada, at the southern border of the United States and Mexico, the Atlantic and Pacific Shores and then I saw the land being razed. I saw state boundary lines disappear as these creatures from the sky destroyed the country. When it was over, America the beautiful had become America the ugly. I am not sure as of this posting what the locusts represent or how they fit into the picture of war. But from photos and movies that I have seen I know that they can devastate a land. I noticed in the dream that none of the countries that bordered the United States were harmed. Only the United States. Once again, something to take to the Lord in prayer and to ask him for mercy.
This is from the blog See, there is this thing called biology . . .:
I write a lot about how perception is not reality, because God has pulled the rug out from under me on more than one occasion. Always gently, often humorously. I’m not sure if God has a sense of humor or if He even needs one, but there is no doubt in my mind that he uses the power of laughter to teach us things and to heal us. In fact, that is often how I recognize His presence, He makes me laugh, a bit like a delighted child witnessing a slight of hand. It’s awkward at funerals.
When we are told to make a joyful noise unto the Lord, I suspect it’s our laughter that he finds most pleasing, not the kind that that is full of ridicule and mockery, but the innocent kind that just catches you unaware. Like His presence sometimes does.
Last year I had a prophetic experience that was somewhat humorous. I was having dreams about the return of Christ, beautiful dreams, so real, but oddly, a bit medieval. There was no rapture, no lake of fire, no destruction or any sort, no plagues, no four horseman, no blood moons, none of that, just the most pleasant and delightful return of a King, like a wedding or a family reunion. There was much feasting, horses, laughter, and gifts.
God is aware of the fact that I love literal translations of music videos. That’s where you remove all the metaphors and take the lyrics literally, often running video in the background that reflects the literal translation. They can be quite funny. “Total Eclipse of the Heart,” is a famous literal translation of a music video.
Anyway, God took me through this literal translation of the Book of Revelations. It got very surreal and I only share a few highlights. I literally whacked my head on metal man, this creature made out of tin cans hanging on a porch. I went inside and stepped on a 7 headed plastic beast which impaled my foot. (If you’ve ever stepped on a plastic toy, there’s this new and improved pain scale doctors now use to measure pain, it goes from zero…to stepping on a lego.)
So, with a lump on my head and bleeding profusely from my foot, I went home to take a nap. A few hours later, my second daughter called from Philadelphia. She had literally left work and flown across the country to go to a BBQ. As soon as I hung up the phone I got another call, from a church in Philadelphia, with a sales pitch that began, ” I have a bone to pick with you…”
At this point I’m starting to recognize the story, metal man, a seven headed beast, and the church in Philadelphia, but I didn’t think much of it. I was just grateful my daughter wasn’t calling to tell me she had eloped. So I got up and went to the store for some milk and sure enough, while walking into the store, our resident schizophrenic guy screamed at me, “hello! it’s the end of the world!” So I screamed back, “I know, isn’t it awesome?” So he smiled and tipped his hat at me.
Inside the store, walking through the wine aisle, a shoe box slid off the shelf and fell on my head. This is the second time I’ve been whacked on the head that day. I kid you not it was full of small plastic angels, 7 of them, each with a little gold trumpet.
That night I went to bed and something shook me awake, saying, “I come like a thief in the night.” I took that literally, not prophetically, since I was hearing noises in the backyard. So, a bit irrationally, I didn’t wake my husband up, I prayed. I asked, “what do you want me to do, Lord?” He said, “call out the window that you are alone and unarmed.” We had a bit of a discussion about the wisdom of doing that, but God just waited patiently for me to obey like He always does. So, I called out the window, “I’m alone and unarmed, are you okay?” “You,” fortunately turned out to be a girl, a very lost and confused girl, who collapsed on my pile of weeds and started to cry. She wasn’t high on a King, that’s for sure. God said, “preach,” so preach I did, out the bedroom window, everything I could think of, about how precious and worthy we are too Him, about how much love He has for us, about how it much it grieves Him when we don’t realize it. I preached about how there is nothing so big and so bad, that He won’t forgive and cover with His mercy and grace. So the girl calmed down, said she felt better, said thank you, and left.
About this time my husband wakes up and asks, “what are you doing?”
“Preaching out the bedroom window,” I told him.
To give you some idea of how graciously my husband has adapted to having a crazy wife, he said, “Oh, well alright then,” rolled over and went back to sleep.
The next morning, stuck in the pile of weeds I call a lawn, was a little wooden cross made out of two sticks tied together with a piece of yarn. I’m not sure if God left it for me or if the girl did, but it was the sweetest gift and it made me laugh.
I suspect that what God really wants us all to know more than anything else in the world, is how much we are loved.
Cover Design by Gary Kelley
Walkin’ Joe and the Midnight Marauders
By Dennis R. Waller
Page 241: “Joseph Smith. Born in Buffalo, Wisc. on Sept. 9, 1901. Died in Cherokee, Ia. on Dec. 21, 1970. Occupation, retired farmhand. Relatives (living or dead), none known. Activities, organizations, military service? All blanks. The newspaper obituary fact sheet is pretty bare for Joseph Smith, who is being put to rest today, Thursday, Dec. 24, after services at McCullough’s Funeral Chapel at 1: 30 p.m.
“To many of Algona residents over 25, Joseph Smith was a colorful character known as ‘Walkin’ Joe’. Many people can tell a tale or two about this big man who walked the streets of Algona for some 30 years. That Joe could ‘work like any two men’ is an often-heard remark. Some farmers in the area can vouch for his strength, endurance and appetite by first hand experience.
“But the black and white facts that should fill in a normal obituary form are missing from Joseph Smith’s 69-year term on earth. According to that cold sheet of paper the only things that ever really happened to Walkin’ Joe were his birth and death.
“He was mysterious as he was colorful, but not by his own choice. He talked to very few people and when he did he said very little.
“He’d spend his hours walking and resting at various locations near downtown when he couldn’t get work as a farmhand. For the past few years, he spent a lot of his time dreaming and napping on a bench in front of the courthouse.
“Residents in Algona during World War II recall that Joe used to work with the crews of German prisoners-of-war around town. He evidently was of German descent and could speak a little of his native language.
“Working with the POW’s led to nicknames like ‘Dutch’ or ‘Kraut’ and were yelled at him for years after the War by local youth. The tradition of teasing this grumbling, big man (6’2′ and 260 lbs. in his prime, he told one man) was passed from kid to kid by the bicycle generation. Tormenting taunts led to rock throwing and even shooting with BB guns by youths with an ignorant impression of how to have a good time. He became a real source of amusement because he would chase his tormentors.
“It must have been out of fear and wonder that young boys bothered this mysterious, powerful man, who only wanted to be left alone.”
Page 243: “He was taken to Cherokee, where he died. Leo Cassel last visited him six months ago in Cherokee. He was confused and having some leg trouble, but seemed happy.
“Exactly where Joe came from and what he did for his estimated 69 years is unclear. By talking to those who knew him casually, you can pick up tiny pieces of what seems to be a sad giant puzzle.
“He must have gone through life with only the clothes on his back. When his body was shipped here from Cherokee, his personal property included work clothes, underwear and shoes. No papers, pictures, identification or mementos.
“Holidays probably didn’t mean much to him, since he didn’t have a family with which to spend them, but he’ll be buried at Riverview Cemetery on Christmas Eve. I’ll be there, because I owe him for some rocks and name-calling.
“In the years I knew of him, I never once saw a grin on that weathered old face. I would hope he’d smile if he knew how sad his blank obituary form makes me.”
Page 245: “So that’s the end of ol’ Joe, right?” he asked. “Guess you have some interesting recollections, now don’t you?” He showed a sly smile. “I know you do for sure, Skag. Probably all of you. Wish I’d known about your story, Mr. Waller. There was something about Joe’s background that you didn’t mention. He was on one of those orphan trains as a kid. I was never able to find out anything more on that. He always clammed up.”
Larry recalled the time guys were bellied up at the bar, talking about the old days, when passenger trains were a new big thing. “Heck, we’d take Marykay and Judy down to the depot just to see the big locomotive come chugging in. Kids screamed at the big, loud monster coming right at us, but they loved it.
“Anyhow, Joe came walking up to the bar for his glass of beer and he’d been listening. Never did that before. He stood back, but I could tell he was interested. When the topic changed and I turned to leave, Joe tugged at my sleeve—something he’d never done. He was a man of few words, but that day he said, very plainly—with his German accent—‘I come on orphan train. Mean Wisconsin farmer. No pay.'” Larry said he had tried to ask Joe a few questions but Joe had said all he cared to and the subject never came up again. “My assumption is that some Wisconsin farmer needed a hired man, but Joe wasn’t yet big and strong enough to do the work, so got bounced and either was on an orphan train or simply hopped freights. Eventually landed in Algona. But hey, I really don’t know.”
Page 268: Even now, many years later and at unexpected times, my mind often travels back to the bittersweet memories of our childhood days seeking adventure. They always trail off to the snowy vision upon leaving the pauper’s gravesite on the Christmas Eve of 1970.
We drove away from the chill at Riverview Cemetery and returned to the snug security of our families, warm homes, hot meals and the fruits of love and labor. But if I think back upon my life, the earliest regrets are there. They’re in the deep part of my conscience, where I am unable to wish away poor decisions of my youth.
And it is there, in the recesses, where Walkin’ Joe trods silently.
Walkin’ Joe website
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A Man’s Foes Shall Be They Of His Own Household