It was around 2022. This wasn’t a dream, it was during the day.
What God showed me felt more like a vision or an image placed before me, something I was allowed to see and understand rather than something I imagined.
I was aware of myself as if I were physically present. I could see my hands. I could see my feet.
I knew I was wearing armor.
I was standing at what felt like the end of a battle, not during the fighting, but after it was over.
There was no movement, no active conflict, only what was left behind. Destruction. The remnants of war. There was a heaviness to it, a weight that came from seeing what had been endured.
While I was standing there, another figure appeared. He was also fully armored.
I could not see his face.
Without words, we both understood the same thing: we were standing in the aftermath of something costly,
and we were meant to move on from it.
There was no discussion, no direction given aloud. We simply knew where to go
We began traveling together, not side by side in conversation, but in shared understanding.
It felt like returning to headquarters, reporting back after battle.
As we traveled, the sense was that we had come from different places, possibly different fronts or assignments, but we served the same King.
We arrived at what was unmistakably a kingdom, a palace, a castle. It wasn’t just a building;
it carried authority, order, and belonging.
The next image shifted to inside the palace. I was standing in a hallway, not a long corridor,
but more like a junction.
There were doorways and directions I could go.
I was aware that I was no longer in armor.
I sensed that I had changed clothing, not hurriedly, but naturally, as though I had garments there already.
That detail mattered. It gave me a deep sense of belonging. I wasn’t visiting. I belonged there.
I had a place. I had things there.
I also sensed that I wasn’t alone, even though I didn’t see anyone standing with me. There was a presence, not intrusive, not directive, but simply there as if they were a companion.
Behind me and slightly to my right, I became aware of a room. I had not yet entered it, but I knew exactly what was inside. It was as though I recognized the room before stepping into it.
Inside that room was a large table.
At the head of the table sat a man with unmistakable authority. I knew he was the King and I understood that this King represented God.
Seated to the King’s left was the same man I had traveled back with from the battlefield. He was no longer in armor. I still could not see his face, but I knew who he was in relation to me.
I understood, without hearing words, that the King and this man had already been speaking about me.
The conversation had already taken place. The King had already given His blessing.
What stood out most was this:
I had not yet entered the room, but they were aware of me, and while they were waiting for me; my presence was not demanded, rushed or forced.
It felt like happy anticipation, as though my arrival was welcomed and expected, but fully voluntary. The invitation was open, not compulsory.
The understanding I received was that the blessing had been given, but the decision was still ours. The man and I would choose together whether to accept the assignment that followed. It did not feel like refusal would be punished, only that choosing together would lead to what came next.
I sensed that the next assignment was purposeful, weighty, and ordered, but not the anticipation of a battle, instead it felt more like building. Like we were on the horizon of a new beginning.
I came away from this knowing two things very clearly:
First, the man I would marry would be a man who speaks to God about it, not one who decides alone, and not one I convince.
Second, my security was not tied to whether any specific man chose me. I understood that God would provide for me either way. My future was not fragile and I did not need to force any outcomes.
That understanding has never changed.