I was in a large multi-story hotel in the Nevada desert near Las Vegas, looking out of a large window at the bleak landscape. Brown parched hills baking in the hot desert sun, formed by layers of sedimentary rock that had been pushed upward by great tectonic forces. Many other people were around me. So the room could have been a mezzanine or gathering place. Suddenly I saw a black pillar of smoke rising from just behind a nearby ridgeline. Like a raging wildfire, it grew very fast, coming toward the city, expanding into two or three pillars, and then a solid wall of firey smoke, black like burning oil. I was surprised by the intensity of the fire because there was no visible vegetation burning—only dry rock.

An image of the Liberty Bell flashed before my eyes with the voice of Mac Powell singing: “Forgiveness is Your Name. The sounds of grace ring forgiveness.” I felt the peace of the Lord and sensed that the United States while struggling with many difficult issues, was still in a season of God’s grace that I pray will lead many to repentance and forgiveness because the only true freedom in this world is the forgiveness in find in Jesus.

This was a funny dream, and I kept hearing a jingle singing repeatedly, “It’s a dry day.” The song sounded familiar, but I could not exactly remember where I had heard it. Like a television show, the dream moved quickly from one group of people to another. I pondered over the dream for several hours. At first, I thought it was about a day without drinking alcohol. But then I realized the Lord was saying: “It’s a dry spiritual day,” implying the world is in a season of spiritual apathy towards Him.

I was in an empty classroom debating the merits of Christianity versus Islam with a college professor. He was a well-dressed man in his early forties, wearing tan dress pants and a white striped button shirt. He was quite knowledgeable and articulate. I let him speak for some time, and when he finished, I said: “But Christianity has one thing that Islam does not offer. The bodily resurrection.” The professor looked stunned, and I saw him pondering how to refute the statement. But he had nothing to say. I prayed my words would cause him to read the Bible and find his Savior.

I was looking down on what appeared to be a traditional Roman Catholic church and could hear a beautiful oratory of voices coming from inside. My heart was drawn towards it, and as I came down to listen, I saw a young worship leader standing on a stage with a peculiar-looking instrument. It was washed out grey and looked like a cross between an ancient stringed lute and a modern electric guitar. He began singing a contemporary worship song I had never heard before. I could feel the overwhelming presence of the Holy Spirit and began worshiping with him. I sensed that God was pleased with His people and was not dissuaded by their denominational affiliation.

I was in a classroom with about a dozen young adults late teens to mid-twenties, sharing the gospel of salvation and telling them about Jesus and His Kingdom. They all seemed uninterested, and when I pressed them about wanting a Savior, one young overweight man angrily stood up shouting, “You are trying to make Jesus my King.” I looked at him with compassion saying, “Don’t you want a Savior?” He and the others in the classroom wanted nothing to do with Jesus, so he stormed out.

I was invited to teach at a church. It was not a traditional building, more like an expansive home fellowship. Walking around wearing my prayer shawl and kippah, I saw groups assembling in different rooms, praying and worshiping, each room singing a different song. Some of the rooms were large, and others smaller and more intimate. I knew I was supposed to teach at some point and was anxious to begin.

I was driving on a broad highway, heading westward toward San Francisco. Piled up on both sides was debris from destroyed homes and industries. Even the bridges that crossed the road were covered with debris. The road began to narrow as the waste increased, eventually leaving just one lane. At the end of the road, I came to where they were shedding the garbage to haul it away and possibly recycle it. I then found myself standing with a small group of church members, loading documents and other objects onto a conveyor belt to be shredded. The pastor and associate pastor of the church and a few leaders looked at the useless things with sadness, pining over their loss. I stood beside them, comforting them in their time of loss.

My spirit floated outside my body in the dream. I saw a futuristic cylinder that had a single eye staring at me. Encapsulating the cylinder was another made of translucent glass. The eye drew me towards the cylinder until I entered the round chamber and began circling it. Initially, I felt peace and comfort in the presence of the eye, as if we had spiritually connected as one. But then I realized the mechanical cylinder would eventually break. It was finite, and there was nothing eternal to sustain it. At that moment, my eye went dark, and a feeling of dread came over me at the thought of not having an everlasting presence to support me.

I was driving in my car on a two-lane highway. It was dark outside. I approached a low area in the roadway and noticed it was flooded with about a foot of water. There was a commotion as people were trying to get away. Immediately to my right, I saw a wall of water, maybe ten feet high, rushing towards us. In a panic, I quickly turned the car around and barely escaped the flood. While the flood was not extensively deep, it was destructive and covered much of the land.

I looked up and saw dark saw storm clouds on the horizon. They were ominous, yet behind them was a luminescent red glow that looked spectacular and overwhelmingly beautiful. Suddenly, a white head of a man appeared in the clouds. He had curly hair and a round Greek-like appearance. He looked a bit like my father, but this man was sinister. Then, three white skulls appeared in the clouds and descended upon the United States, one after another. I felt the presence of death in these skulls.

This was a terrifying, almost vision-like dream. There were two parts, each representing a different aspect of the same Myan spirit. The first was feminine. I saw what appeared to be a woman. She was tall, thin, and made clay. Two demonic figures stood at her side, one behind her left arm and the other behind her right. Her mouth was taped shut with an X, in a wide-open gaping position as if wanting to scream in terror, but nothing came out. She has been continually sexually exploited and physically abused.