"Save me, O God, by Your name,
And vindicate me by Your power.
Hear my prayer, O God;
Give ear to the words of my mouth.
For strangers have risen against me
And violent men have sought my life;
They have not set God before them."
Psalm 54: 1-3
Way back in 2016, God gave me a special dream. It has stuck in my mind very vividly. Everytime I read it, I'm inspired by myself, which sounds super prideful, but let me tell you the dream and maybe you'll understand. Also, be prepared for a lot of dramatic action...
Three men ran out of the store...well, four if you count the man running after them. My brother Jack and I were about to get into our rented car, but abruptly changed plans and ran after the three guys too. My lungs felt like they would burst and a slicing pain was starting in my side too (I was rather out of shape). But then I just made up my resolve to go faster, knowing somehow that I could save the lives of people if I caught up to these guys. I sprinted up the hill to the sidewalk bridge that went over the busy street between many skyscrapers. One minute I was running and then all of a sudden I was grabbed by the arm and flipped around and then I was in a kneeling position with one of the three men I was chasing holding me at gun point! I couldn't move for a few seconds, paralyzed with fear.
The guy chasing the three men out of the store was Joe, my other brother; and now Joe and Jack were at gun point like myself.
"Do anything and we'll shoot," One of the guys said.
I could see them clearly now. They were dressed in desert camo with dark hoodies over the top and they had dark tan complexions, like from the Middle East. The guy with the gun trained on me had really white eyes, illuminated in the neon buildings, a big contrast to his dark skin.
I looked over at Joe, "I love you, Joe." Then I turned to Jack, "I love you, Jack." (One of the men scoffed at my emotions.) Feeling a bit unsteady, I prayed out loud, "And I love You, Jesus. Please, God, help us." I repeated, "Please, God, help us," over and over.
The gunner trained on me harshly barked for me to be quiet. He pushed the gun closer to my forehead as a threat. I could feel the cool metal sitting there.
"Pray again and I will kill you!" the gunner threatened with conviction.
My voice cracked and I felt my fear-compromised courage start to build again as I said, "In Jesus' name, put down the gun." Then I locked with his startling white eyes in the light of the city. In the instant I looked into his eyes, the realization struck me that there was no fear of God in them; he didn't respect Jesus Christ; he didn't know my Savior. All he knew was Allah and Muhammad and all that; he had despair, restlessness, and a heart void of peace and full of hate. All this flashed into my mind in an instant and my heart panged with sorrow for him.
"I-I for-forgive you." I said, "God, please help us...all."
The merciless gunner pulled back the hammer and cocked the gun. I shut my eyes tightly bracing myself. I heard a slow trigger squeak and I desperately prayed, "God, please, help us, please!" I heard a loud noise in my ear--the gunshot. I suddenly felt weak and toppled over with a thud.
...Was this what it was like to die? I could hear the muffled sound of the traffic on the street below and could sort of make out talking, but couldn't catch any of the words. It all felt distant.
I could see light, but it was like the light you can see through your eyelids when you've slept in on a sunny morning. I opened my eyes.
I was still on the bridge over the street. I didn't feel any pain and wondered if the bullet had just lodged somewhere in my brain that had messed up the transmitters or I was in so much pain my body shut down the-tell-me-sensors. No one was paying attention to me now-- me...the dead martyr.
"God, make me bold," I prayed in a whisper and swiftly jumped up onto the short railing of the bridge. "God's not dead!" I proclaimed. "And neither am I! 'Death where is your victory? Where is your sting?'!"
The gunners spun around, shocked. One of them ordered something in their native language and they set their guns to rapid fire. I had expected Jack or Joe to do some cool spy move while the captors were distracted, but both of them remained motionless, puzzling it all out.
Bullet after bullet struck my arms, chest, stomach, and sides, and with each I felt a piercing pain on my aching body. Somehow, though, I maintained my balance on the railing, One guy threw down his weapon-- he was out of bullets. Soon the other two were too. Jack leapt into action now and conked two of them out while Joe wrestled down the third. I wearily collasped down to the concrete bridge.
Next thing I knew, I was waking up in a hospital room and Joe was in the chair beside the bed.
"Thank You, God," I weakly whispered.
He quickly looked up and said with much relief, "Janelle!"
"I'll go get the doctor," Jack said, getting up from his seat at the food of the hospital bed. "I'm so glad you're okay, sister."
Joe smiled at me. His face showed his relief and pride. "You're a brave girl, Janelle," he said.
"To be honest, I was terrified. I was only brave because I serve a great God."
"Amen," Joe agreed. "Speaking of which..." Joe grinned mysteriously, leaned over to the nightstand and picked up something.
"What's that?" I asked, trying to see it.
"When the ambulance came and loaded you onto a stretcher, we found this tangled in your hair on the back of your head." He showed me an odd piece of twisted metal.
"The bullet?!" I sat up slowly and Joe put it in my hand so I could examine it closer. It was all twisted up like someone got really angry and twisted it up like it was an aluminum pop can. I stared at the bullet that could've taken my life and was in awe of the awesome caring and power of the God I serve.
The doctor entered with Jack behind her. She checked me over and then commented, "You're probably really glad of that bulletproof jacket. Any one of those bullets could've hit your heart and you'd be gone. It most likely saved your life."
"That and God's everloving provision. I was praying the whole time."
"He certainly made you brave," The doctor agreed.
So there you have it. Probably more than you ever wanted to know about the action sequences my mind contrives. In the Cancer Trials (which I'll tell you about on another post someday) God used this dream mightily to focus me to call on Him as the FIRST resort, not just toss up a prayer when everything else fails. If we ultimately are in desperate need of Jesus, why do we hmm and ha about coming to Him? Trying to fix it ourselves. Trying to solve it, whatever it is.
Jesus first.
You'll be amazed.
