In a dream, I spied a business office, the entire floor of a skyscraper. The professional space reminded me of scenes from superhero movies, the ones where a super-villain is pillaging an entire downtown section of a sprawling metropolis. It appeared that someone, or something, had been flung through the building’s wall creating a gaping hole. You could almost feel the mild breeze traversing a space that should have been buffeted from nature.
File cabinets were toppled in huge, scattered piles. It looked as if a tornado had passed through. Wires were hanging from the misplaced ceiling tiles. Lights flickered at intermittent, random timings. Out of the mangled file cabinets, file folders spewed, as if the drawers were vomiting them out. Protruding from the individual file folders were blank pages of paper. My attention was drawn to the pages. They were a brilliant, almost glowing, supernatural white.
Against a wall, there was a little child cowering. The boy was a considerable distance from the wreckage. He was seated on the floor with his legs drawn in tight. His head was faced-down in the center of his criss-crossed arms. The storm had long since passed. Everything was completely still, the silent calm after the storm. The child was still defensively seated as if he had not noticed the change in atmosphere and fortune. He had become so accustomed to the sounds of the wind and rain rearranging, and destroying property, that phantom sounds played like soundtracks in his head. God himself had strategically placed the boy so none of the flying debris had harmed him, no scars, cuts, bleeding, nor bruises were evident. God’s own hand had been the shelter. No child would have run to that spot of their own fruition. Though no physical injuries ensued, clearly his heart and emotions were traumatized.
I felt like God gave me the interpretation to the vision: the destruction took place over the course of the entire childhood. The mess was disastrous, but he himself had been spared as God’s son and heir. God’s desire was to work side-by-side with the child to bring restorative healing to each and every memory of past events. As the two would work carefully to place the file cabinets into proper order, the files would be easily accessible. The goodness of healing and restoration would inspire story, upon story of hope. These, once written, would be copyrighted as “property” of both heaven and earth. This was evidenced by the breathtaking brilliance of the paper.
Once transformation was attained, the flow of creativity would be limitless. The destiny of the child was intricately connected to the ordering of past events in accordance with the authority won by the blood, power, and authority of Jesus.
Isaiah 61:4 (NKJV): They shall build up the ancient ruins;
they shall raise up the former devastation;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
the devastation of many generations.
Hebrews 12:1 (TPT) So we must let go of every wound that has pierced us and the sin we so easily fall into. Then we will be able to run life’s marathon race with passion and determination, for the path has been already marked out before us.
Dear Father, I give you my trauma and all past wounds. I trust You with all the things that worked against me in the past. I plead the blood of Jesus. Father, I recieve back all that You died to give me: peace, joy, healing and restoration. I want the destiny that You have me on earth to accomplish. In Jesus’ name I pray. Amen.
Broken but Beautiful 