Chat
06-02-2010, 09:23 AM
In the mid 1980's I was working in an auto parts factory in central Indiana-a job from which I have since retired. I had a supervisor named Steve, who was a young family man with a toddler son. There would later come opportunities for us to go to a related plant in the state of New York. But before those came, I had a dream around 1985 or 6.
In the dream, we had taken the jobs in New York. Steve was still a supervisor. He was in a hospital in New York City, for minor reasons. I was chosen by co-workers to take him flowers and a card. When I arrived at the hospital, his son was with him, helping him check out of the hospital. But the son was a man in the dream, not a toddler anymore.
The dream had a sense of foreboding. Everyone was tense, as though something bad might happen. Steve was fully dressed, packing his suitcase that laid on the bed, readying to go home from the hospital. We chatted briefly as his son was down the hall getting his discharge papers. His son came into the room, and looked like such a fine young man.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light through the windows. None of us were looking toward it, but we knew what it was. There was a door to the basement stairway just outside Steve's room. I yelled, "The blast wave!" And we headed for the stairway. I was ahead of them. After the first four steps was a landing, then the other steps went down to the right of the landing.
I made it down the first four steps. One foot touched the landing, and I was still facing forward toward the wall. Something like a huge, searing hot hand slapped me in the back of my body. Almost without feeling any pain, before even hitting the wall, I was dead. Incinerated.
To this day, I recall every second of the dream. I do not call myself a prophet. But if you never believe a word anyone tells you again, or never again believe in prophecy, please believe this: New York City is toast. Act accordingly.
Disciple of The Nazarene,
Roberta
In the dream, we had taken the jobs in New York. Steve was still a supervisor. He was in a hospital in New York City, for minor reasons. I was chosen by co-workers to take him flowers and a card. When I arrived at the hospital, his son was with him, helping him check out of the hospital. But the son was a man in the dream, not a toddler anymore.
The dream had a sense of foreboding. Everyone was tense, as though something bad might happen. Steve was fully dressed, packing his suitcase that laid on the bed, readying to go home from the hospital. We chatted briefly as his son was down the hall getting his discharge papers. His son came into the room, and looked like such a fine young man.
Suddenly there was a blinding flash of light through the windows. None of us were looking toward it, but we knew what it was. There was a door to the basement stairway just outside Steve's room. I yelled, "The blast wave!" And we headed for the stairway. I was ahead of them. After the first four steps was a landing, then the other steps went down to the right of the landing.
I made it down the first four steps. One foot touched the landing, and I was still facing forward toward the wall. Something like a huge, searing hot hand slapped me in the back of my body. Almost without feeling any pain, before even hitting the wall, I was dead. Incinerated.
To this day, I recall every second of the dream. I do not call myself a prophet. But if you never believe a word anyone tells you again, or never again believe in prophecy, please believe this: New York City is toast. Act accordingly.
Disciple of The Nazarene,
Roberta