Chapter Three
As we moved, I heard the Teacher speak again.
“Marine, do you remember your Ten General Orders?”
I pondered the question for a very quick second. “I do, but I would have to stop, study, and think for a moment before I could recite them.”
“Do you know the seven things the Lord detests?”
“Yes,” I answered. “I have read them in Scripture.”
“Then tell me what they are.”
My mind went blank for only a second. Then, instantly, the answer was there. It was as though he had placed it directly into my mind. How was that possible? How could he ask me a question, communicate with me, and place the answer there at the same time?
At that point, I could virtually quote the Bible word for word—every paragraph, every question mark, every period, every piece of punctuation. It was as though I were a child still attached to an umbilical cord. Life did not seem possible without this being beside me.
I clearly recited the seven things the Lord detests.
The Teacher remained silent for a moment before asking, “Why are you here?”
“Honestly, I do not understand. Am I in a dream? I went to bed restless. I had been trying to write a series of stories titled May the Scales Fall Off Our Eyes, but the mission had become impossible. The ChatGPT format changed. Everything I had worked toward suddenly felt defeated. I went to bed in turmoil, uncertain whether I should surrender, continue the mission, or simply go on with my life.”
His voice became firmer.
“Are you here on your own behalf? Are you here because you were summoned? Are you here because of your nightmare? Are you in a dream? Why are you truly here? Did you not, weeks ago, hear the Lord call you to write the series of stories May the Scales Fall Off Our Eyes?”
I nodded in affirmation.
“Then why are you here?”
“The mission became impossible,” I answered. “I worry about our country. I fear that our Constitution is being destroyed and that the wrath of God could fall upon our nation.”
The Teacher looked directly into me.
“If you are right, I possess power granted to me by the authority of the Lord Almighty Himself. I could cast the country into ruin at this very second.”
My heart trembled.
“Please, do not do that. I will tell you why I am here. We will figure it out together.”
“Then why are you here?”
“To find the answers necessary for me to know what to do.”
“You possess many of the answers,” he replied. “You simply do not understand them.”
I studied him for a moment before asking, “What may I call you?”
“I am a servant of the Most High.”
“May I call you Teacher?”
“You may.”
The Teacher then asked, “Which of the seven things the Lord detests would you like to encounter first?”
“Pride,” I answered.
“Where we are going, you will be able to see all seven at the same time.”
“How could that possibly be?”
Before us appeared two enormous vessels unlike anything I had ever seen. I could not define their shape. They appeared to have no beginning and no end, yet somehow I knew they were containers. They seemed waterproof, fireproof, and stronger than any steel created by man. No bullet or blade could have penetrated them.
The Teacher slowly raised his hand toward the first vessel. From his fingertips flowed something I had never seen before. It was not water. It was not molten metal. It was not plastic, glass, or smoke. I had no earthly word capable of describing it. It moved like a living liquid, yet every drop carried meaning.
As it poured into the vessel, I could read every attribute as clearly as though the words themselves were suspended within the substance. They were not written upon the liquid. They were the liquid.
A proud look, a lying tongue, hands that shed innocent blood, a heart that devises wicked plans, feet that are quick to run toward evil, a false witness who pours out lies, and one who sows discord among brothers.
How could liquid be words at the same time? My mind could not comprehend it. Every phrase was as sharp and clear as though I were wearing the finest pair of glasses ever created, yet the substance itself was dark, frightening, and unsettling beyond description.
I watched it flow into the vessel.
As each trait entered, the vessel grew darker until it could contain no more. Then it overflowed.
What spilled from it was no longer liquid but living darkness. Countless creatures burst into the air like swarms of mosquitoes at dusk, yet some glowed like distorted fireflies scattered throughout a forest. Some were tiny and nearly impossible to see. Others were enormous. Some were frightened. Others were frightening. They scattered in every direction, and still the vessel remained completely full.
Without speaking, the Teacher turned toward the second vessel.
Again, a living substance flowed from his hand. This time it possessed a brilliance unlike anything I had ever witnessed. It was neither light nor liquid, yet somehow it was both. It carried warmth, peace, and life within itself. As it flowed, I could once again read every word—not written upon the substance, but existing as part of it.
Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control.
As each part of the Fruit of the Spirit entered the vessel, its light grew brighter until it overflowed. What emerged was not darkness but countless living lights. They drifted through the heavens like thousands of gentle fireflies on a warm summer evening, yet each carried a peace that reached into my soul. Some appeared almost angelic, with wings formed from light. I did not merely see them. I felt their presence.
The Teacher then attempted to pour the Fruit of the Spirit into the first vessel.
Nothing entered.
It was already full.
Then he attempted to pour the seven things the Lord detests into the second vessel.
Again, nothing entered.
It too was already full.
The Teacher looked directly into my eyes.
“Marine, every soul is a vessel. What fills it determines what eventually overflows from it.”
He raised his arm, and beautiful colors followed the path of his hand. The waves of color pushed everything else aside with the most graceful movement I had ever witnessed.
“This lesson does not mean that a vessel can never change,” he continued. “As you intentionally pour new contents into it, those contents begin forcing something else outward. What you repeatedly receive, accept, and embrace determines what remains within you.”
Another vessel appeared, floating in the middle of the heavens. It was immense—larger than any structure I had ever seen—yet the moment I reached toward it, it fit perfectly within the palm of my hand.
“This is your vessel,” the Teacher said.
I could not comprehend how something so vast could rest so gently within my hand.
“The contents of your vessel will become the nourishment with which you cultivate your vineyard. What your mind continually receives, what your heart allows, and what you choose to embrace will eventually become the fruit your life produces.”
He looked ahead into the vastness.
“Before I teach you how the vessel cultivates the vineyard, Marine, close your eyes.”
I obeyed.
“Tell me,” he said, “where is one of the most tranquil places you have ever known?”