Rains of January

She was walking through the fields when it was evening. The sun still lingered with its warm rays gliding the paddy fields that stretched wide before her. It was then that she noticed him to her right, standing in the marsh that interrupted the farmland like a mystery.

It was the Evangelist.

She recognized him instantly. He had known her since she was a young girl and used to occupy the place of a father. Years had passed since their paths crossed, yet there he stood unchanged in attitude as if they had met only yesterday. He stood ankle deep in the marsh. He was dressed in sky-blue shirt neatly tucked into his tailored navy trousers, impeccably groomed, carrying the authority and charisma of a seasoned and faithful evangelist that anyone would love.

He lifted his hand in greeting, and she returned it astonished, not at seeing him, but at where he stood. It was a square marshland submerged amid the cultivated field, but lo he stood firmly within it. She did not understand the significance right away, but she walked closer, equally happy to see him and careful not to step into the marsh herself. They exchanged warm greetings and a gentle side hug.

Her mind then was opened to understand how the former rain had softened the soil for sowing. It had fallen so heavily that the place where the Evangelist stood had become marshland, and as he sow his words brought souls into the Kingdom. 

The sower sows the word. 

Mark 4:14

She saw his face break into a broad smile showing his teeth and his prominent cheeks bearing the unmistakable roundness of genuine joy. There was no trace of distance, of time passed, no misunderstanding or pain as she had imagined. Only pure gladness and enforced love of two people reunited after long. 

As she bid goodbye to him she returned to the spot where her journey had begun and now turned to walk toward the left, away from the Evangelist toward another field. A narrow path ran through its center, bordered on both sides by crops so high, heavy, and ripe, ready for harvest. As she moved forward, she noticed a man approaching her along the path.

He wore dark trousers and a deep purple shirt, casually tucked in and she recognized him instantly.

It was the Prophet.

She wondered how he had come there at all. Was he not a man constantly in motion, traveling, ministering, carrying a demanding schedule across nations? How, then, did he time to be here? Someone beside her seemed to answer her unspoken question. He said, "The Prophet visits this place often."

The thought struck her. She lived so near, yet she seldom passes by the fields. And the Prophet, amid his global journeys frequented here?

The Prophet walked easily through the ripened field. The field of ripened grain had received the latter rain too, the rain that matures what was planted, preparing it for harvest. 

Lift up your eyes and look at the fields, for they are already white for harvest! 

John 4:35

And the Prophet—standing amid the harvest—had reaffirmed her place in that divine plan. Now beside him stood an Elder who encouraged her to receive prayer. She knelt, and the Prophet placed his hands upon her head and began to pray.

Her thoughts wandered and she failed to grasp his words. Suddenly, he paused.

“Did you hear what I prayed?” he asked.

Ashamed and a little scared she replied honestly, “I’m sorry. I’m struggling to focus.”

She braced herself for a rebuke. Instead, he continued repeating what she had missed, covering her again in prayer. She bowed in awe at the unexpected response. 

As she got up her memories surfaced to the words he had once spoken over her life, that she would be a voice in the end-time revival, and that from her family, revival would break forth, not through her alone, but through her household, as part of God’s greater plan.

As she returned once more to the place where she had first stood the words of Jesus resounded in her ears.

The harvest truly is plentiful, but the laborers are few.

Matthew 9:37

In these end times, God has allowed the former and the latter rain to fall together. And now I'm a part of it? I'm witnessing it? Good Lord! 

For He has given you the former rain faithfully,

And He will cause the rain to come down for you,

The former rain,

And the latter rain in the first month.”

Joel 2:23

It was no coincidence that this vision unfolded to her in January—the first month of the year. The pattern of heaven was happening on earth. What God had promised through the prophet Joel, He was now revealing through lived experience.

The fields were ready.

The rain had fallen.

And the call to labor remained.

And so she found herself once again standing at the place where she had begun.

She turned not toward the fields, nor toward the marsh, nor toward the path, but she is now looking at the Reader. Her posture is no longer merely reflective but resolute call to return, to respond, to arise.

And with that assurance, she spoke boldly not her own words, but the words of the Lord.

“So rend your heart, and not your garments;

Return to the LORD your God,

For He is gracious and merciful,

Slow to anger, and of great kindness;

And He relents from doing harm.

Who knows if He will turn and relent,

And leave a blessing behind Him—

A grain offering and a drink offering

For the LORD your God?”

Joel 2:13–14

The rain had fallen.

The fields stood ready.

And now, the call was clear.

To Mama, With Love

She lay in her bed, suspended between wakefulness and rest. A friend had once told her that everything we project through our senses while awake inspires what we project in our dreams or, more precisely, in the realm of the spirit. So this time, she spoke the words aloud and let herself drift.

I have fulfilled my divine purpose and calling.

I am known as the girl who loves Jesus.

She spoke them in the accomplished tense, as though they were already written into reality. There was confidence in her voice that it would be so one hundred percent. And then, in a fleeting moment, she was no longer here.

She saw herself moving through space. A vast greyish-black expanse stretched endlessly around her. Was there a sound? She could not recall. But that was not all. All around her were millions of stars, alive, shining with astonishing brilliance. Each star was surrounded by a glowing, hazy light. She thought it impossible to capture them on a painting canvas. The closest anyone could try would be to paint them like bokeh lights, soft and radiant, suspended in that stark and contrasting darkness.

As she gazed at them in awe she became aware of a voice, because "heard" would not be quite the right word to convey it. It was as though an unseen Interpreter made her understand that these were not stars at all, but these are hosts of angels of the Most High.

She wondered agape at the beauty of the spectacle before her. Shining brighter were a million stars and it felt unbelievable, and yet entirely believable at the same time. That was when she realized she was flying.

Yes, flying through that vast expanse. She leaned into the moment. It had been a while since she had flown. When was the last time? She could not remember, and she did not want to. In that instant, she only wanted to live in the present, to neither look back nor ahead, but to seize what was unfolding. To fly among angels aflame with glory, what more could she wish for? What words could she use from the shelves of learning acquired over the years to explain it?

So she opened her arms wide. Her thoughts guiding her every movement. She accelerated, and suddenly wooho, she was speeding through the hosts of glory all around her. Flying was the thing she loved most of all. There was no wind, or perhaps no such thing as wind in that never ending outer space, yet the speed itself was tangible making the experience utterly unforgettable.

The endless expanse of space slowly gave way to drifting daytime clouds, and then again to the deep darkness of night. She alighted on the roof of her home from among the radiant host of angels of the Most High still resounding their song of joy and peace that had heralded the Lord’s birth. To her surprise, on her roof lay the manger where the Lord had been born.

Mary was there, and the sweet baby Jesus rested in the open night, calm yet cold. She sensed the presence of others around them, but her memory couldn't recall any of them. They remained as hazy shapes, quiet presences, and in her heart the moment remained solely of a mother and her Son.

Her thoughts turned to her own baby, barely two months young, waiting back in her room just two storeys below. She thought of how carefully she tended him, how instinctively she protected him. And to see baby Jesus exposed to the chill of the night, no! It could not be. It should not be. So she stretched out her hands, and when Mary with her gentle gaze granting her permission of her Baby, she took Him from the manger and held him close to the warmth of her bosom. As she held Him tightly, her conscience opened to the voice of the Great Interpreter. 

She had often felt as if she were missing out on God’s purpose and calling for her. God had entrusted her with the sacred role of a mother, a role she often feared she might fail to fulfill perfectly. She thanked the Interpreter, finding deep solace in knowing that her restless search for purpose elsewhere had only drained her strength, when all along her calling for a time as this was already in her arms. To tend to her own "baby Jesus" at home, her suckling babe, entrusted to her care. The knowledge that God had faith in her, and the reminder that her love for her child mirrors the love she held for her Savior, filled her with strength, steadying both her heart and her mind.

A Dream of Intercession

Written verbatim, as narrated by the dreamer.

Dated 30 August 2025

I was in a classroom, a student among white students. When new students entered the classroom, the boys seated to my right bullied them. Watching this made me feel sad. If the new students didnt fit in, these boys chanted, “evil day, evil day.” They folded papers into horseshoe-like shapes, like pointed objects meant to harm people, and threw them at the newcomers.

As I watched this, I thought to myself that these people don’t truly know what they are doing or how harmful the chant “evil day” really is. So I sat there and decided, God, I will pray. While they continued, I choose to sit quietly and pray for them.

In front of me, I could see papers and boards stuck on the walls and as I sat there, I began to pray:

“Lord, please open their spiritual eyes. When their spiritual eyes are opened, they will know the difference between good and evil. Once they understand that difference, they will become good. They will know You, Lord. They will know the goodness of the Lord.”

At the same time, I think that if I keep praying like this, I might get bored after a few days because I won’t see any immediate change. If there are no visible results, it would be boring, and I know I would feel sad as well. Still, I told myself that I have confident faith—that God will do it one day.

So while those boys continued their behavior, I remain seated and prayed.

As I prayed, I prophetically came to know what was about to happen. I suddenly knew that lightning was going to strike inside the classroom. Then I heard myself speaking a testimony that I would give in the future: “I saw the lightning strike inside the classroom.”

While I heard this and was praying, it actually happened. On the front side of the classroom I saw it strike at the right end. The sound was incredibly loud—so loud that my ears rang for a considerable amount of time from the thunderous noise. The lightning was white in color. Even after I woke up, the sound lingered; my ears rang and ached from the thunder I heard in the dream.

My prayer was not long; it didn't take much time at all. It wasn't boring in any way. Instead, I cried out loud at the goodness of God. I even thought to myself, Won’t my mom come out of her room if she hears me crying this loud?

Then I heard the sound of a TV news telecast in my ear saying, “In 0.35 seconds, this lightning went to Netherland.” At first, I thought, it should have destroyed the entire classroom and these boys. But instead, it went to the nether “world,” as interpreted by me, the dreamer.

Then I said, God is so good.