Saturday, July 31, 2010

My Backpack

Tim Shey in Montana
Dreams from the Lord 2003-2006
30 March 2005

I think I should write a little about my backpack. I carry it everywhere I go; it has been invaluable in my hitchhiking journeys.

Back in September of 1999 I was hitchhiking in northern California--somewhere on U.S. 395 north of Susanville--and this guy picked me up and asked me if I would help him do some carpenter work. I agreed and worked for him for about three hours.

After we were finished, he said he would give me his backpack because he didn't have any money to give me. I gave him my bag that I carried on my shoulder, took his backpack and put my stuff in it and have had it ever since. It was a real blessing because the backpack's weight is better distributed on your shoulders and back and hips than the bag that I carried on my shoulder--and I can carry heavier loads. I think my backpack has weighed up to forty pounds.

The things that I carry in my backpack are: a U.S. Army sleeping bag; a water bottle; a zippered folder that holds my manuscripts, CDs, a floppy disc, pens, address book, an atlas of North America and other papers; clothing; a shaving kit; batteries for my flashlight; a little all-purpose tool; toilet paper; moist towelettes; a little Gideon's New Testament; a pocket atlas of the United States; a King James Compact Reference Bible; some disposable Gillette razors; a plastic carrying case for six mini-CDs; two stocking caps; a small roll of duct tape.

My backpack has shown a lot of wear and tear over the years. There are rips in it; it is somewhat dirty. There are places where I sewed it up with monofilament fishing line and there is a piece of duct tape on the bottom of the pack. Without duct tape, we would be a people no more.

I believe the weight of my backpack averages around thirty-five pounds, so I get some good exercise everyday when I have to walk several miles on the highway. The guy who gave me the backpack told me that he spent $200.00 for it back in 1979. It is still hanging in there pretty tough. It is an interior frame backpack. I don't know the brand name.

It has been through rain, snow, dirt, mud, sand (e.g. I slept on the beach at Cambria, California), crude oil (in the back of a pickup in New Mexico), hundred-degree heat, and twenty-below-zero cold. I use it as a pillow when I sleep outside. I use it as body armor when somebody drives by and sprays me with submachine gun bullets (just joking). My body armor is a wall of fire that surrounds me--the Holy Ghost Fire.

My backpack and myself have hitchhiked countless thousands upon thousands of miles throughout the United States. Somebody once offered to buy me a new backpack two or three years ago. I graciously declined their offer. I'm going to keep this backpack as long as I can. You see, it never argues with me, it never disagrees with me, never talks back. It is very low maintenance. When I get tired of carrying it, I stop, take off my backpack and sit on it on the side of the road and rest for a while.

When I die, it doesn't look like I will be able to take it to heaven with me--I guess this is something that I will just have to accept.

A backpack, a backpack, my kingdom for a backpack.

Without a backpack, I would be a hitchhiker no more--or just another hitchhiker without a backpack.

The first backpack was probably invented somewhere between Cain and Abel and the time of Noah. The first hitchhikers probably came about just after the Tower of Babel: the Lord confused the languages of the people and the people were forced to migrate to the four corners of the known world, so there must've been a lot of people looking for rides on oxen-driven carts and on camel caravans.

I have heard that U.S. Marines carry eighty-pound backpacks in boot camp and that British SAS (Special Air Services) men carried two hundred-pound packs in Operation Desert Storm (1991). Thirty-five pounds doesn't feel so bad. It's my backpack and it doesn't complain: I'll keep it as long as it holds up.

[Originally published by]

Hitchhiking Stories from Digihitch


The Things I Carry


I weighed my backpack about a week ago and it weighed 56 pounds.  It is a North Face backpack.  My friends bought it for me at a garage sale in Jackson, Wyoming in October of 2006; they paid 50 bucks.  It has a lot of duct tape and gorilla tape on it.  In 2009 I voted gorilla tape my Most Valuable Player.

This is what I carry in my backpack:

     1 summer sleeping bag
     1 Coleman winter sleeping bag (rated at 10 degrees F)
     1 two-man tent
     1 Muleskins winter coat
     1 Cabelas hooded sweat shirt
     1 pair Billabong shorts
     1 insulated flannel shirt
     An extra baseball cap
     1 compact pillow
     1 roll toilet paper
     1 package Bic shavers
     2 stocking caps (1 full mask)
     1 pair winter gloves

     1 Duracell flashlight/radio.  (This is one of the best things ever given to me on the road.  You don't need batteries; there is a handle you use to wind it up and recharge it.  This Canadian Army veteran of Afghanistan picked me up outside of Lolo, Montana and gave me a ride to Lolo Pass.  He said the flashlight was brand new.  He was from Alberta, Canada.)

     2 water bottles (1 liter each)
     1 can opener
     1 pair reading glasses
     1 watch
     Shaving kit
     2 Bic lighters
     Ear warmers
     Leatherman all-purpose tool
     Various articles of clothing (socks, underwear, etc.)
     1 compact King James Bible

     A Mead folder that holds:

          A road atlas
          A pocket-sized daily planner/calendar for 2010
          3 pens
          A 100-page notebook
          A folder that holds some photocopies (11 pages) of Milton and the English Revolution by Christopher Hill
          A copy of my seven-year contract with PublishAmerica

     1 spoon

[Originally published by]

Old Backpack, New Backpack  

Sleeping at the Post Office in Bridgeport, California

I am guessing in December of 2006, I was hitchhiking up U.S. 395 from someplace--maybe Ridgecrest, California--and heading north to Reno. I ended up in Bridgeport that evening.

I walked around Bridgeport for a while. I was looking for a barn or an abandoned car to crawl into to keep warm. It was going to get down below 20 degrees F that night. Finally, I walked over to the post office and put my backpack in the corner and sat on it for a while--I was cold and tired.

I had been sitting on my backpack for maybe half an hour, when this cop walked into the post office. He saw me sitting there and said, "Well, it's going to get cold tonight. This is probably the best place for you to sleep."

I said, "Thanks."

I was grateful that he didn't kick me out of the post office. I had been kicked out of post offices in South Dakota and Nebraska. I have slept in several post offices in my hitchhiking travels.

So the next day, I packed up my things and moseyed toward Reno.

Six months later, during the summer of 2007, I was again hitchhiking up U.S. 395. I got a ride from just north of Lee Vining to Bridgeport. It was a California Highway Patrolman. He was friendly and we had a nice chat.

He told me that he lived in Bridgeport. He said that sometime last winter, he walked into the post office and there was this guy sitting on his backpack.

"That was me!" I exclaimed.

"So you're the guy!" He started laughing.

"Thanks for not kicking me out of the post office. It was cold that night."

"No problem. The next time you come through Bridgeport during the winter, just go to the Sheriff's Department. They will let you sleep on a cot in the lobby."

And some people think that the post office is just for mailing letters.

[Originally published by]

Friday, July 30, 2010

A Hot Meal at a Campfire in Montana

I believe it was in January of 2002 when I got dropped off at the Flying-J Truckstop on the east side of Billings, Montana. I began to walk east on I-90 and walked past the intersection of I-94 and I-90. I continued walking on I-90 up that big hill due south. I probably walked several miles and got into ranch country. By now it was close to sundown.

I noticed this big culvert that ran underneath the interstate, so I walked down into the ditch and put my backpack in the culvert. I found a water tank nearby and walked to the tank and there was a hydrant, so I filled up my water bottle.

I gathered some sticks and anything that would burn and made a fire in the culvert. By now it was dark, so the light of the fire could be seen by anyone driving by--and it threw off some good heat, too. I think it got down to 27 degrees F that night, so it was good to get warmed by the fire.

Within a half hour this pickup pulled off the gravel road a hundred yards away and drove down to the culvert. This man got out of the pickup and asked, "Hey, what's going on?"

"I'm just passing through. Heading south tomorrow," I replied.

"Sounds good." He walked back to his pickup and drove off.

A half hour later, that same pickup drove back down to the culvert. Two men climbed out of the pickup and walked to my fire; one man was holding a plate of food in his hand.

"We thought maybe you could use something to eat," the older man said.

"Hey, thanks," I said. I was very grateful.

We spoke for a while warming ourselves at the fire. I began eating my hot supper--it really hit the spot. The older man was the father of the younger man. They had a ranch up the road.

I then said, "The Lord really knows how to provide."

The older man just shook his head and smiled. They stayed for a few more minutes and then walked back to their pickup and drove off into the night.

After my meal, I found a piece of plastic styrofoam and laid it on the concrete and rolled out my sleeping bag on top of it. It is very difficult to sleep on a slab of cold concrete--there needs to be some insulation between your body and the cold concrete. I remember I tried to sleep under this bridge on I-90 east of Butte, Montana one March or April, but I didn't have any insulation on the ice-cold concrete: I didn't sleep at all that night. We learn through experience.

In that culvert, I had a fire and some insulation to sleep on and I had a hot supper, so I slept well that night.

The next day I headed south into Wyoming.

[Originally published by]


A Conversation with a Vietnam Veteran

Back in November 2001 through August 2002, I hitchhiked in and out of St. John, Kansas quite a bit. St. John was my home base during that time. I would stay at one of a few places, do odd jobs and then I would hit the road.

A couple of people that I would stay with were a man and his wife. He was in his late fifties and she was in her early sixties. I don't remember their names, but let's call him Frank.

Frank was a Vietnam Vet who served in the U.S. Army in 1965-1966. He was exposed to Agent Orange and was on full medical disability. Frank was on his second marriage.

One day Frank and I were in the kitchen--I was sitting at the table and he was standing at the counter. I told him some of the things that I had experienced in my past: I went through a lot of rejection from family, friends and church people because of my Christian faith. 

Dad put me in mental hospitals, had me pay $5000.00 worth in hospital bills and then later told me that he paid for everything. My dad had absolutely no integrity whatsoever. 

Frank then turned around and stared at me. He said, rather forcefully, "You're suffering from PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder)!"

I replied, "No way! You're crazy! I never was in the military and I never was in combat!"

Frank said, "You don't have to be in combat to have PTSD."

I said something like, "How can I have PTSD? There is no way I have PTSD." I was dumbfounded.

Then Frank got really angry and said, "I was in Vietnam. I saw many guys who were in serious firefights and you have the same symptoms as they do."

I didn't know what to think. The Lord puts people in your path for a reason. Maybe I was meant to hear what he had to say.

Eventually, I quit hitchhiking through St. John, Kansas and started hitchhiking in Wyoming, Idaho and Montana more often.

In the spring and summer of 2008, I passed through St. John, Kansas and tried to look up the people that I knew back in 2002; most of them had moved away.

I sometimes think back on that conversation. There may have been some truth to what Frank had said. I do know that through Jesus is great redemption. Repentance from sin and forgiveness for other people's trespasses are very powerful.

The moral of the story:

Don't call a Vietnam Vet crazy and. . .

. . . Sometimes a blind man doesn't know he is blind until someone tells him that he is blind.

[Originally published by]

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)
"His mind is broken. We broke it." - The Bourne Supremacy (2004)

"Whoever has experienced the power and the unrestrained ability to humiliate another human being automatically loses his own sensations. Tyranny is a habit, it has its own organic life, it develops finally into a disease. The habit can kill and coarsen the very best man or woman to the level of a beast. Blood and power intoxicate … the return of the human dignity, repentance and regeneration becomes almost impossible."
--Fyodor Dostoyevsky
"An abnormal reaction to an abnormal situation is normal behavior."
--Man's Search For Meaning by Viktor E. Frankl M.D., Ph.D., World War 2 Holocaust Survivor

My commentary on the film FIRST BLOOD (1982):

Sylvester Stallone does a great job of portraying someone who is suffering from some serious battlefield trauma and the effects of torture. Look at his thousand-yard stare: classic PTSD. He serves his country in an unpopular war and comes home where people spit at him and call him “baby killer”. He goes through hell in Vietnam and is rejected by so many in his own country.

The last scene with Colonel Trautman at the sheriff’s office where he is weeping before being taken into custody: a very powerful and moving scene. The war is not over for John Rambo. Painful memories persist. All of his friends are gone. A stranger in a strange land. I don’t know why Stallone did not get nominated for an Academy Award.

“As George Orwell pointed out, people sleep peacefully in their beds at night only because rough men stand ready to do violence on their behalf.”

–Richard Grenier

High Plains Drifter (short story)

High Plains Drifter
By Timothy Michael Shey

The big Kenworth roared west through Wyoming.

"So how long've ya been on the road?" the truck driver asked.

"A day or two," the young man replied.

"Where'd ya start out?"

"Western Nebraska. I was working on a ranch for a couple of days and got sick of it. I have a friend in California I want to see."



The truck driver was heavy-set and wore a short-cropped beard and baseball cap. The young man was slender and wore glasses. His only possessions: a backpack and sleeping bag.

"Ya got a long ways to go," the truck driver said. "I'll get ya to Salt Lake. Then I'm headin' north."

"Thanks for picking me up. It was cold standing out there."

"No problem."

The rugged, rolling terrain of Wyoming. The sagebrush. The dry air.

"So what'd ya do before the ranch?" the truck driver asked.

"I was in school in Manhattan."

"New York?"

"No. Kansas."

"Where ya from?"

"Garden City."

"I see."

The young man looked over the horizon to his right. There was silence for ten minutes except for the noise of the engine and the bounce of the tractor-trailer.

"So who's this friend of yours in California?" the truck driver asked.

"She's a poet."

"She?" The truck driver smiled and looked at the young man.

"I've never met her before. I've read a couple of her books and we've exchanged a few letters, that's all."

"I see."

"She has a daughter going to school in Santa Cruz that I thought I might like to visit, also."

"I don't know much about poetry. Is it like drivin' a truck?" the truck driver asked jokingly.

"Exactly." Exactly. Poetry is breath and fire and pain. Poetry is getting drunk or stacking hay on a ranch in western Nebraska. It is holding a beautiful woman in your arms; it is holding a baby in your lap. It is dropping out of high school because of the shallowness and stupidity. Exactly. Poetry is hitchhiking all the way to California to see a brilliant woman who loves the letters you write.

"So where'd ya stay last night? It got pretty cold out there."

"A rancher picked me up outside of Laramie. He drove me to Rock Springs where his parents live. They let me stay overnight. Wonderful people. Gave me supper and breakfast."

"No kiddin'?"

"It was pretty incredible."

"I'll say. All a person hears about are people gettin' robbed or killed on the road."

"Yeah. Really."

The big Kenworth was going 80 miles per hour, passing cars and trucks. The speed and the power, the stress of steel and bolt, piston and axle and 18 wheels. Going west. Going west.

"So where you going after Salt Lake City?" the young man asked.

"Headin' north of Pocatello. Then I'll head back to Denver with another load."

Fire and breath and pain and heading north to Pocatello. Pocatello of your dreams. Pocatello of your nightmares. Six men die in gun battle with federal marshals at the Pocatello Corral. Southern Idaho desert. Dry heat, dry grass, dry blood on dry earth. Exactly. The breath of the moment, the heat of the battle--firefight in the Pocatello Corral. One federal marshal wounded. Dry sun on another horizon. This is not Kansas. This is not Nebraska. This is Pocatello. Pocatello of your nightmares.

"This sure is wide open country," the young man said.

"It's a wasteland. Desert."

"I like wide open spaces."

"Then ya won't like California. Ever been to L.A. or Frisco?" the truck driver asked.


"Where does your poet friend live?"

"Big Sur."

"Never been there."

California of your nightmares. Big Sur of your dreams. Fire out of Kansas. Wheatfields and golden landscapes and dry air and blue sky and. Words, ink on paper, meter and fire. The anvil and the hammer and the fireblood of a wounded heart. Laceration and pain. Fire. The wordsmith labors and sweats and bleeds and brings forth new life. Anvil and hammer. The hot steel is shaped. Blow after blow. Sparks fly in the hot and dry air of Kansas.

"So how old are ya?" the truck driver asked.


"So what do ya want to do with your life?"

"I want to be a bounty hunter or President of the United States."

The truck driver smiled and chuckled. "Sounds good to me. Ever see High Plains Drifter with Clint Eastwood?"

"I am the High Plains Drifter."

Flame out of Kansas. Riding west to the gold rush of your dreams. Desperate, unshaven, sunburned and hungry. Big Sur on your mind. Leather boots, leather skin, the stink of horse sweat. Shot six men in Pocatello just to watch them die. The bullet wounds of your heart, the anguish of the moment. Six men in Pocatello. Just to watch them die. You cinch the saddle down tight and ride west with the hot wind of Idaho at your back. You will ride west where the Pacific meets the edge of the Universe. There you will grow new muscle and ride a horse of a different color.

West. Flame out of Kansas. Exactly.

The big Kenworth rolled west through Wyoming and eternity.

May 1995
Iowa State University

[Republished by]

Book Review:  High Plains Drifter

Thursday, July 29, 2010

Then He Arose, and Went After Elijah

I Kings 19: 15-21: "And the LORD said unto him, Go, return on thy way to the wilderness of Damascus: and when thou comest, anoint Hazael to be king over Syria: And Jehu the son of Nimshi shalt thou anoint to be king over Israel: and Elisha the son of Shaphat of Abel-meholah shalt thou anoint to be prophet in thy room. And it shall come to pass, that him that escapeth the sword of Hazael shall Jehu slay: and him that escapeth from the sword of Jehu shall Elisha slay. Yet I have left me seven thousand in Israel, all the knees which have not bowed unto Baal, and every mouth which hath not kissed him.

"So he departed thence, and found Elisha the son of Shaphat, who was plowing with twelve yoke of oxen before him, and he with the twelfth: and Elijah passed by him, and cast his mantle upon him. And he left the oxen, and ran after Elijah, and said, Let me, I pray thee, kiss my father and my mother, and then I will follow thee. And he said unto him, Go back again: for what have I done to thee? And he returned back from him, and took a yoke of oxen, and slew them, and boiled their flesh with the instruments of the oxen, and gave unto the people, and they did eat. Then he arose, and went after Elijah, and ministered unto him."

Sometimes a man has to burn his bridges behind him and obey the Lord.

Friday, July 23, 2010

The Strange Wanderings of a Perfect Shepherd

"The greatest cathedrals in the
world are only monuments
to the ideals of men. God does
not dwell in temples made
with hands."

"It is the empty basket that
is ready to be filled with fruit."

"To pray, you must quiet your mouth,
both without and within. It is only
in great silence that communion
with God is found. Silence
without and within.
True and total silence is the key.
Try not to think. Try not to speak.
The voice of God can only be found
in the still depths of silence. Quiet
yourself and wait upon the Lord. In
time you will begin to hear His Words.
They will guide you in everything."

--from Perfect Unity


"This path makes no sense
to the structured or religious mind.
It is the strange wanderings of the
perfect shepherd that have captivated
my soul and crushed my perceptions
on the path of no self."

"Detachment from self,
and the world, will be your path.
The world will hate you.
It hates what it cannot control.
Cast your gaze into mine and
come away with me."

--from Prelude to Light


"Your works are your garments.
Do not be found naked.
Do not be found in the attire
of a harlot. Do not be found
without the wedding garment
of submission and fidelity."

"If you can be manipulated or controlled,
you are yet the servant of another."

"There is no greater force dwelling
on this earth, than a man of God."

"Eternal life is knowing God and Jesus
Christ whom He sent. Knowing about
Him will not be enough on that day.
Beware of doctrines that excuse you from
the responsibilities of relationship."

"As you walk in this body, the three
main promises of God are provision,
protection and health. They are yours
if you walk with God. You are under
an umbrella of protection. Step out
from under that umbrella and whatever is
falling on everyone else will
fall on you as well."

"The New Testament refers to Jesus
as savior seventeen times. The same
book refers to Him as Lord nearly seven
hundred times. Connect the dots."

"He did not live a life
of comfort. He owned
nothing. His path was stained
with blood. He said,
'follow me.'"

"Seek and ye shall find. If you do
not seek, do not expect to find."

"Run from those things that are loud,
noisy and continually chattering or
speaking. Otherwise you will find
no silence within."

"Your Word is a lamp unto
my feet, and a light for my paths."

"That which represents itself as the church
today, is lifeless, powerless and fragmented.
If it were the body of Christ as it claims to
be, it would be dead, impotent,
and cut in pieces."

"All the world operates on a system
of manipulation and control. How is
it that I have found this system within
the walls of that which you call
the church? There are tares
among the wheat."

"Jesus said, 'Upon this rock I will build
my Church, and the gates of Hell shall not
prevail against it.' In the modern church
there is the evidence of
the gates of hell."

"Come out of her my people.
Do not say that you belong
to this church or that church. Belong
only to Christ. Be His possession."

"Surrender, give up, lay down
your life. Accept what God
has set before you. Walk in the
moment of your own path without
any resistance. Don’t be manipulated
or controlled any longer.

The teacher is only an old man
dressed in rags. Everyone is
thirsty and he is the one who
carries the pail of water."

--from Like a Leaf on a River:

Like a Leaf on a River

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

Brownsburg, Indiana

Dreams from the LORD 2003-2006
7 July 2006

I am staying at a motel in Brownsburg, Indiana. This guy named Jeremiah picked me up just outside of Pendleton, Indiana and kicked me down some money so I could get a motel room.

Yesterday morning I walked for probably four or five hours before this young lady picked me up and took me all the way to Washington Court House, Ohio. I had been walking on U.S. 50 in West Virginia and the Maryland panhandle. West Virginia on Highway 50 is absolutely beautiful: green hills, trees, farms—very picturesque. The young lady’s name, I believe, was Leeann. She was a Mennonite; we had a good talk. She gave me some money, so after she dropped me off, I hitchhiked to Dayton and got a motel room last night.

Two nights ago I had been walking for at least a few miles in the rain and I walked to the intersection of U.S. 50 and U.S. 219—somewhere between Mount Storm and Aurora, West Virginia—it was in Maryland. Anyway, it was raining, and I saw this church with a porch. It was the Fresh Fire Church of God. I slept there on the porch and out of the rain. I was very grateful.

Brownsburg is on I-74, so I will continue on I-74 (God willing) till it connects with I-80 in Illinois. Then I will head west into Iowa and Nebraska. I may look up some people on U.S. 20 in Nebraska and then head back into Wyoming.


Washington, DC is NOT the capital of the United States

Dreams from the LORD 2003-2006
3 July 2006

I am here in Lafayette Park across from the White House in Washington, D.C. It took me eight days to hitchhike from Riverton, Wyoming to Washington, D.C. I hitchhiked to Vienna, Virginia and then took the Metro to downtown—within a few blocks from the White House. I believe the Lord wants me to camp out somewhere in the vicinity and then check out the 4th of July festivities around the White House and then head back west.

I got a ride from a Lt. Colonel Ty Hoffman from central Missouri to Greenfield, Indiana on July 1st. He is with the B2 Bomber Program. When we got to Greenfield, he took me to a bar and bought me a couple of beers and a sandwich. He was very curious why I was hitchhiking. I told him the Lord told me to hitchhike. He asked me how I heard from God. I told him I apprehend Him in my spirit. I know God’s voice in circumstances, also, but it has to bear witness in my spirit; there has to be peace in my spirit.

It has been very hot and humid on this trip—especially from eastern Kansas to Virginia. They had a lot of rain and flooding here on the East Coast a week or so before I got here. It is very humid this evening. The last time I was in Washington, D.C. was back in July of 2004; they had Pennsylvania Avenue all ripped up in front of the White House. It looks real good now. Looks like they planted a lot of trees along Pennsylvania Avenue.



Isaiah 14:12:  "How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations!"

Lamentations 1:1: "How doth the city sit solitary, that was full of people! how is she become as a widow! she that was great among the nations, and princess among the provinces, how is she become tributary!"


Destruction of Jericho 2.0:  The Satanic Stronghold of Washington, DC Falls Flat

Holy Ghost Fire

Dreams from the LORD 2003-2006
14 June 2006

Exactly a week ago (7 June 2006) the al-Quaida terrorist Abu Musab al-Zarqawi was killed in a U.S. airstrike. Thank God, he’s dead. The interesting thing is that the Holy Ghost was burning me up for at least two days before I heard that al-Zarqawi died (I heard about his death on Thursday). I told Jeremy on Wednesday night that something big was going to happen because I was burning up in the Holy Ghost. The same thing happened just before Saddam Hussein was captured—the Holy Ghost was on me very powerfully the day and night before I heard about his capture.

I don’t know if all intercessors go through what I go through, but I do believe when the Holy Ghost is burning me up like that, a principality or power of darkness is taken out. The anointing breaks the yoke of sin; the anointing breaks the yoke of oppression.

It is nice to know that the United States has such powerful secret weapons in its arsenal: Holy Ghost intercessors; Holy Ghost warriors.

I do believe that the power of the Holy Ghost causes great confusion in the enemy’s camp. About two or so months ago, I was at the shelter in Riverton and there was this guy staying there who just got out of prison. He didn’t like me very much and started to become very loud and obnoxious towards me. All of a sudden, the Holy Ghost came on me very strong, so I went for a walk. I came back to the shelter and that guy’s attitude totally changed—he was confused and convicted of sin. The next morning he was very nice to me and talked to me in a very civilized manner. I later learned that he had spent seven years in prison for aggravated assault, so the guy has some violent demons in him.

I believe the power of the Holy Ghost is getting stronger and stronger in intercessors everywhere. We will see more and more victories over sin and wicked men. The fortresses of Satan will fall and crumble because of the Holy Ghost Fire.

Holy Ghost Fire (WordPress)

Ronald Reagan's Dream

Dreams from the LORD 2003-2006
1 June 2006

I have been reading An American Life by Ronald Reagan. It is very good. President Reagan was a gift from God to the United States and to the world. On page 245 Reagan writes:

“Back when I was governor, I started having the same dream, often night after night: I’d find myself in a big old house that had huge rooms—not always the same house, but always one with huge rooms. Each time somebody would take me for a tour of the house; usually it was up for sale at a bargain price. I’d wander around, walk from room to room, stare up at high ceilings and great staircases and balconies above me. Although the house in my dream might be run-down, I’d see great potential for it as a place to live, and I’d want to buy it. I guess there was a yen in me for a big house with big rooms, and the dream even spilled into my waking hours. After we bought the land near San Diego for a new ranch when I was governor, I told Nancy I wanted to build a ranch house with one really huge room, a combined living room and dining room. After we discovered that there wasn’t any water or electricity available on the land, and we had to sell it, we happily settled for our little adobe ranch house near Santa Barbara, but living in a house with big rooms was always on my mind and I still got the same dream year after year.

“Funny thing: Once I moved to Washington, I never had that dream again. Somehow, living in the White House, with its ceilings that reached up to eighteen feet, cured me of my yen to live in a house with big rooms. I guess something inside me said: ‘You’ve made it.’”

The Ronald Reagan Family

Freed from the Prison of Sin

Dreams from the LORD 2003-2006
4 March 2006

Last night I had a dream where I was in this prison in Georgia. Earlier this year, I had a dream where I escaped from that very same prison—I did not stay one night. In the dream I had last night, I walked up to the prison cell that I had escaped from and this prison guard walked up to me. He had a concerned look on his face, and he said something like, “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be in this prison cell?” Then he became very angry. Just at that moment I wondered why I came back to the prison that I had successfully escaped from. I said to the prison guard, “The Lord freed me from this prison.” All of a sudden, the countenance of the prison guard changed and he began to smile. He told some other guards and they began to talk with me. There was a lot more to the dream, but it is gone from me now.

If the Lord has freed us from the prison of sin and demonic bondage, we must tell others (prisoners and prison guards) how the Lord has set us free.

During the preceding dream, I was real uneasy about being in that prison—I thought the prison guards would try to capture me—but that did not happen: I was able to walk and talk freely with the prison guards.

Obedience: The Bondage Breaker

The American Flag: A Christian Symbol

Back in 1986-87, I was living in Ellensburg, Washington. I was attending a small Pentecostal church called Bethel Gospel Church. Some friends at the church invited me to a church conference in Seattle, so I went along.

We were staying at some friends' place in the Seattle area when there was a knock on the door. This older lady walked in and she talked with our friends for a little. Then she turned to me and said that the Lord told her to come and give something to me. I was pleasantly surprised to hear this. She gave me a piece of paper and she had written some things down for me to read.

On the piece of paper was written Psalm 60: 4: "Thou hast given a banner to them that fear thee, that it may be displayed because of the truth. Selah." She also wrote that there are thirteen stripes on the flag: seven red stripes and six white stripes. Thirteen stands for rebellion--in this case rebellion against Satanic oppression (King George III and British mis-management of the Colonies, breaking away from the world system of governance). Seven is God's number; the color red is the Precious Blood of Jesus Christ. Six is man's number; the color white stands for man's sins washed white as snow by the Blood of the Lamb. The fifty stars represent Pentecost or the power of the Holy Ghost.

I have always remembered that lady and what she wrote on that piece of paper. Whenever I see the American flag (I think it is the most beautiful flag on the planet--I also like the British flag and the Israeli flag), I don't see another flag waving in the breeze, I see the Stars and Stripes of Jesus Christ.

Freedom to Bear Arms
A Revolutionary People at War
Michelle Obama's "All This For a Damn Flag" 

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Two Dreams: General George Patton and Clint Eastwood

Dreams from the LORD 2003-2006
6 February 2006

Last night I had two dreams. In the first dream, there were all of these soldiers (U.S. Army) in parade dress standing at attention on a football field. Then General George S. Patton walked onto the football field with a few other soldiers; he was wearing a helmet and dress uniform. He became very angry and pulled out his sidearm and began shooting and killing the soldiers on the football field. The soldiers broke ranks and began to flee in all directions. General Patton continued to shoot and kill the soldiers as they tried to run away from him.

In the second dream, I saw General George Patton and Clint Eastwood and they were dressed in combat fatigues. They were wearing winter coats. They were not wearing helmets. Their faces were smudged and dirty. They were smiling at each other and laughing. It looked like they had just gotten back from a successful combat mission.

A Dream About General George S. Patton
Another Dream with General George S. Patton
Clint Eastwood's film High Plains Drifter (1973)
Prophetic Photographs:  Patton and Trump

A Dream About General George S. Patton

Dreams from the LORD 2003-2006
12 October 2005

This afternoon the Lord gave me a dream while I was taking a nap at Jeremy and Felice’s place. I was sleeping on the floor in Jeremy’s office. In the dream, I was with somebody who was building houses on a big jobsite. Then somebody arrived on the scene: he was pushing a small cart. In the cart were two dead bodies—they had been slain in battle. I walked up to the cart and looked down to see the dead bodies. One of the bodies had been decapitated. All of a sudden, this intense white light emanated from the head that had been decapitated—the head became reattached to the trunk of the body. Light was coming out of his face—it was General George S. Patton. I began to weep tears of absolute joy. The light was very intense. It seemed like General Patton (as he was being raised from the dead) was imparting something to me—something was being engrafted into my spirit. Then the dream ended.

Two Dreams:  General George Patton and Clint Eastwood
Patton Uncovered
A Fast-Moving Battlefield
Another Dream with General George S. Patton
The Art of War
The World is the Battleground
Prophetic Photographs:  Patton and Trump

Wes Barron's Dream

Dreams from the LORD 2003-2006
14 September 2005

In the past week or so, Wes [Barron] told me that he had a dream from the Lord that was very interesting. Here is Wes' dream:

"In my dream, I was in the army. I was on the west side of the Teton Pass fighting Germans with my squad. Everyone in my squad died except one guy and myself. We ran over the top to the Jackson side of the pass. As we came over the top, we laid bombs--like really big pipe bombs. Then we hustled down the pass, and as soon as the Germans came over the top, we blew the bombs and all the Germans died. Then we continued down the mountain. When we laid the pipe bomb, I asked, 'We're laying pipe bombs?' The guy I was with said, 'We always lay pipe bombs.' I don't know what this part meant. Once we were off the mountain, we started hitchhiking. We walked through a field, and on the other side was a highway where we could hitchhike. On our way across the field, we walked through a shed with a well in it. The guy I was with started to sink in quick mud. I grabbed him with one arm and pulled him out quite easily. He said it felt like he was being pulled down. I think this was a demonic attack. We then crossed the field and got to the highway to start hitchhiking. Right then I saw Tim and talked with him for a bit. There was a really pretty young woman who was the daughter of the owners of the land we crossed. Tim knew her because he stayed there whenever he passed by. Then the dream ended, I think. It was like I was teaching this guy how to hitchhike just as Tim does. I think hitchhiking stands for walking in faith. Seeing Tim was confirmation of walking in faith. The Germans we were fighting had a lot of heavy firepower. There were quite a few tanks. All were destroyed by the pipe bombs."

Mayor's Son Dies in Fall
Wes Barron, Rest in Peace with God