Monday night, August 17th, I dreamt I saw a calendar month in November. It was bent, torn, and dirty. I saw trees in the background that were leafless, but there were a few trees that still had a scarce amount of leaves on them. The leaves that were still on those trees had turned like it was about to rain. The sky was a dull gray with extreme cloud cover. I hardly ever see sunny skies in these dreams; that’s one thing I know for sure.

I saw that finger appear, and it circled November third continuously, in a clockwise direction. Then, suddenly, it changed to counterclockwise, and these images began to appear. I saw cities on fire, which was nothing new. I saw headlines that read “Trump Victory Challenged Everywhere.” It was on digital marquees like in New York, Times Square, places like that. There were protesters in the streets who were weary and asleep and appeared dirty and dingy like they hadn’t slept or showered in weeks. This bell rang, and suddenly these people came to life. They woke up and started salivating like a dog in a Pavlov’s dog situation—big buckets of saliva staining their shirts. I saw people screaming and getting violent over the election results to the point where people were firing weapons randomly into the air. People were angry and mad.

I saw a person with a sign that said, “The Obvious Winner is Not So Obvious,” like a placard you know—the world’s about to end, God is coming, you know, those little signs. He held his head in shame. But the crowd was in a frenzy of hatred. They were even hitting each other with their signs and banners. I saw more cities with pillars of smoke over them, like the wildfire storms in California right now. I saw crumbled and burned-out buildings in Washington, D.C., not monuments, but businesses and commercial real estate. Headlines declared that rebuilding would take time, and trust would take even longer, and the government could not do it in a timely fashion.

That’s when I saw a Treasury official, who’s in the Treasury Department right now, wink almost as if he was looking at a camera on TV—big smile, open mouth, wink with the right eye and held it closed, almost like a sarcastic type thing. Then I saw a Conestoga wagon, like in “Little House on the Prairie,” and Kamala Harris was driving that wagon. It was led by two mules, and Joe Biden was not sitting with Kamala Harris. Joe Biden was riding on one of the mules on the left, on the far left, so to speak. On our side, there was a mechanical box that would trigger dynamite, like you would see in the Wile E. Coyote movies or cartoons, where they push down, and it blows. It was in an upright position, though, like the trigger.

Then the wind started blowing the wagon covering back and revealed several cases of what I would consider to be Civil War-type cases of dynamite from the era of the late 1800s, 1860s, 1870s. Most of it was in cases stamped “Dynamite.” There were some loose ones in an open wicker basket, which didn’t fit the timeline, but it was there. Harris began to whip the mules with the whip, and she was hitting Joe Biden as well, but Biden had no idea he was being whipped. He was not aware of what was happening. The mules started moving and picking up speed. They were headed towards a target.

This is where I saw Hillary Clinton standing behind President Trump. President Trump was on his knees, and she was wearing a Wilma Flintstone dress. There were patches where it had not been finished yet; it wasn’t seamed up, it wasn’t sealed up. The collar wasn’t on, and there were little strings hanging all over the place. It wasn’t finished. It wasn’t ready to be worn for prime time or whatever she was doing. It was very ugly, and she had this gaudy ring on her index finger that looked like it had blood on it. She had a skeleton key hanging from her neck, dangling. She had Donald Trump on his knees, and she had a Roman gladius knife to the left side of his throat, holding his head back. The skeleton key was dangling in front of his face. It looked like it had blood and black mold all over it, and where it was banging against the front of her shirt, it looked like it left a Nazi symbol. The storm troopers, the Nazi SS, had almost like the lightning signal, the lightning strike, the double pane of lightning. That’s what it looked like on the front of her shirt. I’m not saying she’s a Nazi. I’m just saying that symbol was on her shirt, and it was tainted, stained black, red, ugly, gaudy.

The wagon started picking up speed and headed towards this scene where Hillary Clinton was holding Donald Trump. Hillary’s face was giddy. Next to her leg, there was an animal trap, a large bear trap. Suddenly, Trump grabs the key with his left hand, pulls it down, and brings his right hand up, hitting her in the face and chin. When she did that, she dropped the knife and stepped back. The president began to run off quickly. Then she stepped into the trap. She’s trying to get out, pick up the knife, but she can’t lean over, can’t get the trap or the knife. As the president runs, he’s running towards the Beast, the car he’s usually in. I hear three gunshots from handguns, not a shotgun or a rifle. Three shots fired out of nowhere, one shot, then another, then another. As Trump is running to the Beast, a Secret Service agent jumps in front and takes one of the bullets, then rolls to the ground. Trump keeps running. The second shot is fired, and another Secret Service agent jumps in front of Trump, taking the shot and hitting the ground. The third Secret Service agent jumps in front of the third bullet coming at him. Trump gets into the Beast.

At that moment, I saw the Secret Service agents around the Beast, but instead of modern traditional AR-15s or guns, they had muskets. Another thing I noticed in the dream was that none of them were wearing glasses. Most Secret Service agents I’ve always seen have had sunglasses. In the dream, they were all standing around the car, looking out with the muskets up, watching and looking around, surrounding the car. The car was moving slowly, and they were moving with the car.

Hillary tried to pull her leg away but couldn’t. Finally, the wagon struck her. There was a huge explosion, throwing the carcasses of the mules up on top of the building rubble, with smoke coming off as if they’d been grilled. Biden was lying face down in the middle of the street with wheel tracks over his back. A vulture was sitting on his head. I’m not trying to make fun or disrespect anyone in political leadership. Those who know me know how I feel about certain people in leadership, but I still pray for them. Harris was crying in disbelief, and her tears looked like they were the size of quarters, almost like she was crying quarters. The tears were as big as quarters, and it appeared like quarters were coming out of her eyes. There was a huge hole in the ground, buildings were collapsed.

Then I saw the church. There was a separation line, no middle ground left. In the dream, at this time, sides had to be taken. There was fire on the altars in churches around the nation. The fire moved on the heads of people who had been praying. Above the heads of many people in the church, I saw an actual question mark symbol. They appeared confused by what they were seeing in the world, and I heard a voice say, “Those who refuse to get ready will be wanting in the end. So brace yourself and tell others that I have warned them to brace themselves, for they are about to see even more shocking things.” I’m thinking of Habakkuk there, a passage that I have preached from in the last several weeks.

Friday night, August 21st, I saw the white figure appear, raised a finger to the sky, and said, “Ready or not, nation, here it comes. Brace yourself.” Just a rather quick and simple play on hide and seek, I guess. Last night, Monday, August 24th, I saw a calendar. It was turning to the month of November. Shadows flickered all over it. I saw a big light in the sky, very large, bright, and then darkness. I began to make out the morning; the night was going away, and the fog and haze were drifting away. I saw it over many Americans in what seemed to be an emergency shelter, possibly along the Gulf Coast area. These people were huddled together, shivering. There were individuals laying on cots, suitcases all over the place, and desperate looks on the faces of most everyone.

There were encouragers in the crowd, all wearing crosses, standing out emotionally because they seemed to have hope. They had smiles on their faces while everyone else was downtrodden, in despair, angry, frustrated, confused. The encouragers were checking on people, showing patience and kindness, but at times met with anger and told to go away. They kept doing what they were doing despite the manifested upset of several in the shelters. I saw businesses shattered in the bigger cities, gas stations seemingly abandoned. Headlines read, “Shock and Awe in the U.S.” and “U.N. Steps in to Help Host Nation.” The nation was quiet, not at war or rioting, but fitful, suspicious, leery, people quietly looking around, taking everything in with their eyes, hesitant, as if expecting something to happen. The sun was shining behind the clouds but was not out yet.

Then the white figure appeared again and said, “Remain braced, as this calm comes before a gathering storm that recovery will have a hard time finding. Remain braced, as this calm comes before a gathering storm that recovery will have a hard time finding.”