The Vision of the Chalice and the Blood

 Written in the quiet… remembered across the years.

There are some visions time cannot erase.

Though 25 years may have passed, the memory of that night lives in my spirit as though it happened yesterday. It was more than a dream—it was a visitation. A moment not from the world of sleep, but from the quiet place where heaven meets the soul.

I remember being pulled upward by a force I couldn’t see.
It caught me from behind, lifting me toward the sky. At first, I felt fear—why from the back? I cried out for Jesus, and in that moment, the force released me. I fell. Fast. From such great height. But just before I could touch the earth, another presence lifted me.

This time, there was no fear—only stillness, wonder, and the beauty of the view below.

I was taken into the clouds.
There, surrounded by a sea of white, I saw a chalice.
Glowing. Sacred. Mysterious.
Inside it was blood—not just blood, but something alive, something divine.
Then, something beyond words happened…
I became a single red drop—a living essence of myself—and I fell gently into the chalice. No fear. Only purpose.

I knew: I belonged there.

This vision etched itself into the deep places of my soul.
I didn’t understand it fully then. But now I see glimpses.

The chalice was more than a vessel.
It was a calling.
It was communion.
It was a seal of something holy—something being poured out in me, and through me.

It whispered of surrender, of identity, of being chosen—not for status, but for sacred silence.
Not to speak loudly, but to write quietly…
...and to remember.

The one who writes in the quiet, marked with the signet of the King.

Let me be the pen. Lord, you be the writer!  

Mercy