Spiral

I appreciate the above video has done the rounds, but this next instalment covers some pretty dark material, some of which is too difficult to express in words. Whilst at the time of going through this particular part of 'the journey' I did not understand many things, looking back I believe this video captures the very essence of what was happening beyond the veil of what we can see, so please watch it. You'll understand what I mean as you read. 

This video brings me to tears every time I watch it and I need you to know that this has been really hard to share. I don't say that in order to gain sympathy, or for you to feel sorry for me, I say it because it's you that has brought me to the place where I feel able to share. This blog is for everyone that has walked the journey with me. I give all honour to you, because without your support I would not have had the strength to do this. 

Dedicated to my friends, family and the strangers that prayed for me despite never meeting me, I say to you all, believers in Christ, non-believers and those of you in the middle, this video depicts my God, whether you believe or not, he fights for you, he believes in you, you are worthy in his sight. You're not an accident, you're a person of purpose & of destiny. 

You can debate with me the existence of my heavenly Father, but you can't debate my journey. This is what happened, this is my God, this is your God and if you get anything from this blog, get this, no matter what people tell you, no matter how bad the outlook, no matter how much you feel that the world doesn't notice you, there is a Father who loves you and he alone has you in his sights and in his grasp. 

For me, despite everything, this experience has left me in no doubt that there is a higher being that has saved me, because no man or woman could have brought me back from the brink of the pit I was about to descend into. I value you, for all you have done to help me on the road to recovery. I'll never forget.

Alone in a side room, in a hospital, all dignity lost, with any notions that I was getting out of here that night scuppered, I lay there watching the gentle trickle of blood flow down my hand.
Upon reaching the finger tips it would stop for a moment, as if bracing itself for the fall. Then gracefully it would descend before splattering onto the floor.

I was quite in awe of it really. Transfixed, watching my life blood drain from me. I remember thinking, is this it snuffed out at the grand age of...? It hit me, how old am I?
I turned my head away from my bloody work of art. Frustration crept in again. I lifted my hands to my face. Bad move, the blood from my hand dropped onto my face. I didn't care.
I attempted to sit up. Every inch of my body screamed, what are you doing? My body was a dead weight, I had to drag myself up as best as I could.

Yet, my efforts completely sapped all my energy. I was so angry I wanted to beat the hospital walls with my fists, but I couldn't muster the strength.

I lay motionless recalling the woman's words "you can fight this". Can I? I began to question whether I could do anything. I tried to find a rational explanation as to why this had happened. However, my mind grew tired and as the morphine began to reach the peak of its effectiveness I was overcome by the need to sleep. I closed my eyes and in all honesty there was a part of me that hoped I would not wake again.

As I slept, a vivid dream materialised. I was in a meadow and I was walking through thick, tall grass, but I distinctively remember someone being alongside me. I couldn't see who it was, but I felt a warmth upon my skin. There was a light breeze also and I remember advancing with ease, a gentle flow, subconsciously I felt I was being led.There was a very particular path that I was following that I could not stray from. I was clothed in a garment that appeared to be a robe and the ground was now littered with rose petals.

Suddenly, the grass cleared, I gasped, as there shining in all of its brilliance was the sun on the horizon of a clear water ocean. A beach lay before me, white sands and an ocean breeze captivated my attention. I stepped into the sand. My bare feet tingled due to the heat.

I could feel the spray of the ocean brush against my face. I advanced further down the beach. It was as if heaven was in my grasp, perhaps my desire had been granted. I'd died.

As I approached the ocean's edge I glanced down. There before me, perfectly crafted into the sand the word WELCOME greeted me. I smiled, I stood and I absorbed. I'm home.

The beauty of the dream was soon shattered as I was abruptly awoken by a nurse clattering down my bed rails. I looked at her in disgust, she looked back at me equally irritated. "We need to take you for an X-ray Mr Waldron." I looked at her blankly. "You'll then be transferred to a ward afterwards," she said. I glanced upwards and noticed the clock. It was 1.00am. Thank heaven for small mercies I thought, at least I can remember how to tell the time.
I had no idea what to expect with an X-ray I could have had one before, I may have not. I couldn't tell you.

As my bed was wheeled along, what seemed like an endless maze, of dull, cold and uninspiring corridors, a voice in my head was simply laughing at me.

Having no concept of what was normal and what was strange I couldn't determine whether hearing voices was considered sane or insane. Not that it mattered in the slightest. This was my reality. Quite simply the voice depressed me, it was a stark contrast to the dream that I'd been enjoying just minutes earlier.

We arrived at the X-ray theatre. I was wheeled into the dimly lit room. I was greeted by the X-ray machine operator. After a brief telling me what would happen my bed was wheeled alongside a static bed and I was asked to slide over. The two nurses and the X-ray machine operator left the room.

Alone again, but this time I was practically in the dark. The whole atmosphere suddenly turned menacing. I could hear hissing and scowling, but also joyous celebration and rapture at the same time. The conflict was intense, but it was the howling that gripped me, after all what did I have to celebrate? It felt like hours before anything happened.

The hissing and howling and joyous rapture subsided, replaced by a whirring sound. I realised that it was the X-ray machine, which had been positioned over my chest. Man it was loud and as I lay there, numb, trying to make sense of my surroundings, the machine clicked. It did so a further five times.

Moments after the fifth click my entourage of 3 re-appeared. Then from nowhere a deafening scream. My eyes darted, searching for the source. There, in the corner a shadow, much bigger than the previous shadows, stood there, tall, lifeless. As I regained my focus, the figure became clear, it was me. I looked lifeless, soulless, devoid of joy, all sense of peace had gone from me. I looked tortured and in turmoil, lost, withdrawn and disconnected.

As I was wheeled from the room on my trolley, I turned my head back, the shadow remained, its lips parted and a shrill scream escaped its mouth. If I could describe what a glimpse of hell looks like this would be it. To see oneself in torment, absent from the body, lurking in the shadows the experience unnerved me and filled me with a deep sense of dread. I felt that I was on a spiral into madness, some seriously strange stuff was happening to me and I didn't know or understand why.

Never had I dreamed so vividly, or seen or heard things I couldn't explain. In the amount of time it had taken me to process all of these weird happenings we arrived on the ward. It was now 2.00am. I was wheeled into a bay and the brakes were applied on my bed. My escorts duly departed. I was left alone. The thought of being alone scared me. I closed my eyes. Tiredness had once again seduced me. The night ahead was going to be long...

      

Needles, Neurology and Nurses

New Cross Hospital, Wolverhampton, was to become my home for the next 9 days.

Those of you who know me well understand that I'm a 'say it like it is' kind of guy. Or to put it in a Yorkshire translation, I like to call 'a spade, a spade'. To emphasise my point I've got news for the people of Yorkshire, everyone else calls 'a spade, a spade too!'

Anyway I digress. By now I had been moved from the 'corridor of shadows' to a side room in the A&E department of the hospital.The room was tiny and compact and I simply recall sitting up in the bed and constantly looking over my right shoulder.


I can't tell you what I was looking at, but I just remember doing it. The 'man', claiming to be my dad, was in the room with me. I can recollect asking him who he was, but moreover, I remember constantly asking where Jake, my son, was.


Jake was the only thing I could remember. I remember his cot and kissing him goodnight (woah, welling up here) and then nothing.


It's sad I know, but I then tried to remember my bank card PIN numbers (no I shall not be disclosing them), but this offered no breakthrough.


I was quickly becoming erratic, I wanted out of this bed, out of this place, but above all I wanted to 'escape myself' if that makes sense.Referring back to my earlier comment, regarding 'a spade being a spade', at that moment a nurse walked in.


You know when you get one of those stupid questions that people often ask because they think it's the right thing to say, well this was one of those moments. "How are you feeling?", the nurse asked. I processed the answer in my head, my head was saying, 'just tell her you're fine'.


Unfortunately for her, the proverbial 'spade' hit me. "What a stupid question", I retorted. "Let's look at this logically", I snapped. In the most sarcastic way possible, I said: "I'm in a hospital, how the @£&! do you think I feel? I'm not here because I'm a picture of health."


Speechless, that's how I left that poor nurse. For the next 20 minutes, as she carried out an initial assessment, silence filled the room and only the hustle and bustle of the A&E department broke that silence.


The truth is I wasn't angry at her, I was angry at the situation. My frustration and anger had simply boiled over. 

The man in the room, 'my dad', remained silent as the nurse left, until such time that I asked him, for what must have been the 20th time, "where's my son?" The man replied, "he's fine son, relax."


Relax, I thought, easy for you to say. Around 30 minutes of an uncomfortable silence passed until a doctor walked in. He'd obviously been briefed on my present mood by the nurse as he entered the room with one of those uncomfortable smiles trying to pass himself off as friendly.


However, at least he was straight to the point. "Any pain", he asked? "Yes, everywhere", I answered. "I'm going to give you some morphine", he said. No clue what he meant, but it was fine by me.


I was whisked off to another room within the A&E department itself. A more, let's say, junior doctor, entered wearing scrubs, white gloves and brandishing a needle, a catheter and a bile filled with morphine.


Firstly, he injected me with the morphine. The needle pierced the back of my left hand, I didn't even flinch. A weird sensation followed. I could feel the coldness of the drug coursing through my veins and my skin began to tingle.


The doctor then proceeded to insert the catheter into the back of my other hand.Unfortunately, he botched it. Whilst he had inserted the catheter properly, his fingers fumbled with the cap and he couldn't close it. What resulted was a pool of my blood rapidly amassing on the floor.
I soon began to feel faint, and my head was spinning. For a moment I actually thought don't bother capping it, I'd rather bleed out, I'd rather die.


Why? I was tired of being ill. This event was just the tip of the iceberg. For three years I had battled illness and this wasn't the first time I'd suffered these symptoms. Just 18 months earlier I had been in a similar situation, same hospital and a lengthy spell in a hospital bed.


This was a scenario that was becoming all too familiar and now that I couldn't remember anything, who'd miss me? Dying seemed like a suitable solution to all of life's problems. Ironic really, thinking that the solution to life is death.

However, that's how I felt. You have to understand that at that time I didn't know anyone, I couldn't remember much, I was simply afraid, I can only liken the fear to perhaps being buried alive. I've never been buried alive, but the thought of being buried in a tight space, in darkness, alone with your thoughts with no-one to hear you scream pretty much summed up my situation in terms of my mental state at that time.

My mind was in darkness, confined in a tight space, alone with, let's face it, sadistic thoughts. 

As I began to embrace the prospect of death, the doctor eventually got the cap on the catheter. Was I relieved? No! In fact I was quite disappointed. The doctor apologised profusely, but I told him not to worry.

The doctor began to clean up the blood from the floor with a number of white paper towels. As the towels absorbed the blood, turning them to a deep red, I wished that I could re-absorb my memories just as quickly. However, my wish went unanswered and I passed out.

I awoke some time later, back in the small side room, faced by a woman, not a nurse or a doctor, but a woman whose smile could light up a dark night with minimum effort. Her gaze fixed upon my eyes as if she was penetrating the very depths of my soul looking for some sort of recognition.

I stared back blankly, vacant, her expression conveyed a 'light's on, but no one is home' look. "Hi", I said. "Who are you?" The smile quickly left her face. She glanced over to the man in the room. They exchanged expressions of concern.

I simply remember her taking my hand, however, I didn't pull away. She hadn't answered my question, she simply remained silent and the smile returned to her face. She didn't seem fazed and by holding her hand I felt a warmth flow through me, as weird as it sounds a piece of heaven was touching me at that moment, as if I was holding the hand of an angel.

"Do you know where my son Jake is? Can you bring him to me?" I asked. "Yes I do", she replied. "He's OK, he is safe, don't worry. You need to concentrate on getting well because we need you." 

Quite simply what do I say to that? I didn't say anything, I sobbed. What did she mean, we need you? I didn't know her. I was crying out of confusion, can I trust these people? I asked myself. Is this all an elaborate plot? What the hell has happened to me? Who am I, what am I? All these people think I'm so special, but look at me I can barely remember my own name, I look weak and pathetic, and I'm a mess.

Suddenly a booming voice resonated in my thoughts. That's right you are weak and pathetic, you're nothing anymore. No longer Father's golden boy. %$"! did you hear that? I gestured towards the woman and the man, I was greeted with blank expressions and a genuine look of concern from each of them. The woman held her hands to her face in disbelief, it was like she knew me, but this was not the man she expected to find.

My thoughts tuned back in with the voice I'd just heard. I didn't have a clue what the voice was referring to 'Father's golden boy?' Who was I? What had provoked such hostility from this voice? I didn't know, the only thing I could bring myself to ask in my head was, what have I done to deserve this? It must have been something pretty serious.

The woman spoke, distracting my train of thought. I turned my attention towards her. She said "I love you, Daniel. You can fight this."

OK I thought, I don't know what it is I'm fighting. But how can you love me? You don't know me, no-one does. I was a stranger to myself, so this woman struck me as entirely odd.

I wasn't sure how much time had elapsed. But, the doctor, the first doctor, not the one that tried to drain the blood from me, re-entered the room. He spoke to the man and the woman in a whispered tone, excluding me from whatever conversation they were having. I simply resorted back to constantly glancing over my right shoulder and towards the floor.

I now knew what I was looking for; I was looking out for the shadows. They had really struck fear into me and I was afraid that if I shut my eyes something devastating would happen. I was simply trying to keep myself alert.

However, this morphine stuff was making me considerably drowsy. I was basically fighting my thoughts, my body and an overwhelming sense of tiredness, but it was a battle I was losing. So much for fighting I thought.

Anyway the three way conversation had now been concluded. The doctor said to me "we're going to have to keep you in Daniel." Alluding back to my earlier thoughts, as you can imagine, this statement was not greeted with an overwhelming sense of pleasure.

Yet, quite calmly, I replied. "I'd rather go home thanks". Come to think of it, where do I live? Oh for "&*! sake, I thought, you've got to be kidding me. I couldn't remember.

Upon hearing the doctor's statement the man and woman in the room gathered their belongings. They said their goodbyes and I simply stared at them dazed and even more confused. Whether this was morphine induced or not, I can't tell you.

They both said they would return tomorrow. They remained until the doctor had finished speaking to me. "We'd like to carry out a series of tests on you tomorrow Daniel", he began. "We'd like to start with a neurological assessment when you've had a chance to sleep, to assess what's going on with your brain," he added.

I couldn't decide if I felt complimented or offended, but then I realised I hadn't got a clue what he was talking about anyway. Suddenly a pain shot through my hand, I'd caught my catheter on the bed rail. I winced in pain, but it quickly subsided as I felt an overwhelming sense of tiredness overcome me.

I remained awake enough to hear the doctor say "we'll be taking you down to neurology first thing in the morning for an MRI scan. We'll be assessing your brain for trauma." 

I barely took the words in. With that everyone left the room. They could obviously see how tired I was.

All of a sudden I was alone, in every sense of the word. I shivered, panic gripped me, but then a gentle voice of reassurance whispered "you'll recover from this, I'll restore you, stronger than you were before."

Hearing all these voices was freaking me out. But, I found myself responding to this one. "Cheers" I said. "Any chance you can get to work on that now."

I was greeted by silence. Typical I thought. I guess I must be hearing things.

At this moment nothing but the sound of the A&E ward occupied by attention. I listened intently, lying alone, vulnerable, confused, angry, seething, full of rage. The blood from my hand trickled to the floor as my arm hung over the bed rail. The droplets captivated me, I watched as they hit the floor and splattered. It was almost as if I was creating a work of art.

My head was simply screaming WHY ME, WHY NOW??? 

Heaven, Hell and Hospital

The next set of posts will form a series chronicling my nine days in hospital and with these posts I bring exciting news! If you're squeamish, you'll be healed of your squeamishness by the time this series is complete. 

This is going to get messy, personal and somewhat dark. But don't fear, it gets better I promise, so stick with it. Over the next, however many posts this takes me to put together, you're going to discover a lot of different sides to me. Some good, some not so good, so any perceptions that you had of me being a nice guy all the time, I'm afraid I'm about to disappoint you.

But hey, I'm human and that's just something we all have to come to terms with. After all, and I hope you'll agree, none of us are perfect, but we're 'works in progress' all moving towards greater things, a destiny beyond our wildest imagination. Let's enjoy the journey together.

Here we go...

Chapter 1 - Heaven, Hell and Hospital

The ambulance pulled up in the ambulance bay at New Cross Hospital, Wolverhampton. By this time I was incoherent, paranoid and panicking. The doors to the ambulance flung open and another paramedic came bounding towards the truck, a look of distress and anxiety strewn across his face.

In fact the 'paramedic' making great strides toward the ambulance was my dad. He was still in uniform having been notified of my condition by Laura and, upon hearing news of my condition, dropped everything to be at my side. He stepped onto the ambulance, I partially smiled and acknowledged his presence, however, he seemed much more concerned than the other paramedics.

I soon established the reason why. He said: "Hello son". At first I thought this was merely a term of endearment, however, it quickly became apparent to me that this man was addressing me as a father would address a son. Tears quickly filled his eyes as he gazed down at the vague, blank expression on my face.

My response was swift, blunt and, for my dad at least, a dagger to the heart, "you're not my dad", I yelled. He reached into hug me, I flinched and withstood his attempt to embrace me by immediately lying back down on the trolley and turning my head away.

On the outside at least, I remained firm, the simple truth is I didn't recognise him and I was unwilling to trust this man 'claiming' to be my father, what kind of 'paramedic' would say that?. However, on the inside, my heart broke, my mind raced, I was confused, I was in turmoil. I sobbed silently, removing myself from my surroundings, deliberately avoiding eye-contact so that 'these people' would not see me cry.

It was then that I saw it, the unmistakable presence of a golden figure, with a silhouette of fire, massively tall and armed with a sword of silver bearing the word 'victory'. Yet, beyond the figure of 'majesty', shadows amassed, reaching for me, at first it appeared they were reaching for me in an act of embrace. However, they seemed angry, their faces scowled and their eyes were empty as if the 'creatures' lacked a soul, the noise they made was deafening. It was clear to me that these 'shadow' figures were hostile. 

Yet above the shrieks, I heard a simple whisper from the golden figure. It stood, I would like to say 'arms' spread wide, but I'm unsure. However, what I am sure of is the words uttered. The spread figure held back the shadows, and whilst doing so, said: "I bring you a message, you're Father is with you, now is not a time to fear, but a time to trust."

As quickly as the words left the lips of this figure, the figure vanished. The shadows rushed over me, I didn't feel them hit me, but I heard them in my head. The voices were relentless and what I heard was far from positive. At that moment the 'message' delivered by the mysterious figure offered little comfort, only an overwhelming sense that, along with everything else, I'd been abandoned.

I tried to rationalise what I was seeing, what I was hearing. Had the golden figure made reference to the 'paramedic' claiming to be my Father? Was the figure, along with the shadows,  a result of the blow to my head or was it a dream, had I again passed out without realising?

There was no clarity, I couldn't distinguish between dream or reality, did what just happen really happen? Was it a vision? I couldn't get my head around it. Then suddenly darkness.

I awoke again in a hospital corridor, the bright lights temporarily impaired my vision, my surroundings were spinning and the nausea I felt was intense. My entire body ached now and I felt paralysed. I had no recollection of coming off the ambulance.

I felt cold and voices echoed around me. The corridor was long, narrow and rife with activity. I felt exposed, vulnerable, like everyone was staring at me. I imagined that a crowd had gathered to watch me, like some animal housed in a clear perspex cube.

I knew my eyes were wide open, but I had no focus, I heard the voice of the 'paramedic' claiming to be my father, close by. But, more worryingly, the hospital corridor was filled with, what I can only describe as, an army of shadow like figures.

I remember screaming for my son, constantly asking where he was, begging for someone, something, to hear me.

I suddenly sat bolt upright on my bed, looking around frantically, the shadows were everywhere. Before me & behind me. They were chanting and the chant was clear, decisive, and for me, at that particular moment, it was very convincing. "You'll never get it back, you have been abandoned."

My head sank, I cried, I screamed and I beat the hospital walls with my hands until my hands throbbed. I knew of what the shadows spoke, they spoke of my memories. For the first time in the last two hours, since the incident occurred, I found clarity. I suddenly realised that my reality was the beginning of a spiritual battle, a battle for my life, my heart, my mind, my soul, my spirit and what I was seeing in the form of shadows and golden figures was a clash of realms that the natural eye is unaware of, but the spiritual eye is so in tune with.

Did I understand it? No! Was I in fear of it? Yes! Once the crying, the screaming and the rage subsided, I was left with two things. A deep sense of hopelessness and an even deeper sense of loss.

The battle between heaven and hell in my life, at this time, had begun in the corridor of a hospital I was becoming all too familiar with.

Next time...

Needles, Neurology and Nurses. 
    

How did it come to this?

Me & the family at the wedding of a very close friend shortly after the incident.

The next instalment follows on from ‘De-Tree-Mental – Detrimental’ – Giving an account, 4 weeks preceding, the circumstances leading up to the ‘dream of three trees’. 

How did it come to this? Good question! My memory of this is sketchy and I’m writing from snippets of Laura’s recollection of events. For those of you reading this who don’t know me, Laura is my amazing wife and at this point I think it’s certainly worth honouring the woman, whose unwavering strength, serves as an example alluded to in wedding vows ‘in sickness (of which there has been a lot for me) and in health I will be by your side.' I owe a great deal to this incredible woman, whose instinct and quick thinking may well have saved my life.

Bang!!! My body, quickly followed by my face, hit the floor of the master bedroom in our two up, two down terraced house. Unexpectedly I suffered a seizure and my left side went numb. My head throbbed, probably from the impact of hitting the floor. You see, when you feel yourself falling it’s usually natural instinct to put your hands out to prevent serious injury. However, on this occasion my natural instinct had failed me.

I remember thinking this is it, I’m going to die. I don’t know what a stroke or heart attack feel like, but I’ve heard stories of people referring to the symptoms and my instant thought alluded to the idea that I was suffering a heart attack and then that stereotypical thought entered my head, but I’m only 28, I’m not ready to die, I have so much to live for.

I then found myself in darkness, Laura tells me that I’d passed out, lying in a pool of foam from my mouth, unconscious, barely breathing. I lay there and Laura recalls bounding up the stairs and finding me motionless on the floor.

Moments earlier I had been putting Jake, our eldest son, to bed and was on my way to the bedroom to get changed having been at work. Needless to say, I never got round to changing my clothes, instead I awoke to find Laura standing over me holding our son Jake. She was frantic, but managed to regain her composure in order to call an ambulance.

10 minutes later I was swamped by three paramedics. I was fitted with an oxygen mask and a whole host of sensor pads were attached to my hands, chest and feet, presumably to monitor my vital signs. I had a vague notion of what was going on as my Dad served as a paramedic, so I knew that whatever had happened was bad. However, it was not all the attention that concerned me.

The paramedics began to ask me a series of questions, such as name, date of birth, who my favourite football team are and they asked me to identify the two other people in the room. It was only at that moment that I realised something was terribly wrong, I couldn’t answer any of the questions, at first I put it down to being in a state of shock, I felt dazed, dizzy and sick and the cloud of darkness began to descend again.

But, the more I thought about the answers to these questions, the more I realised that I actually didn’t know the answers. Panic set in and the paramedics must have sensed it because at that moment they decided it was necessary for me to go to the hospital.

Problem was (with the greatest respect to the female gender) two of the paramedics were women who took one look at me and thought we’re not going to be able to move him, he’s a muscle mountain (yes quite a compliment I know).

It also dawned on the paramedic team of three that the stairs in our house were incredibly steep. This was going to be a challenge. We were left with only one option; I had to resort to sliding down the stairs on my backside, no feeling in my left side, head pounding and no idea where I was going. My well-being was now in the hands of people, who at the time, I didn’t know. Was I scared? You bet I was.

At the foot of the stairs a wheel-chair was waiting for me, I was wheeled into an ambulance, asked more questions, resulting in further frustration as I could not come up with any answers. The doors of the ambulance closed. Suddenly I felt vulnerable, alone and isolated.

What had happened to me? What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I remember anything?

I thought I’d lost hours of my life. I later found out that all this had taken place within 20 minutes of me putting my son down. That knowledge frightened me. Knowing that many of us take our memory and our lives for granted. As quick as breathing in, I’d lost all my life’s memories and, if not for the fast actions of my wife, I may well have lost so much more.

Next time...

The hospital

'De - Tree - Mental' - Detrimental

Well here it is folks, nearly two years in the making, a personal account of those days when I thought I'd lost myself. This is quite an emotional moment as I begin to recollect and put into words one of the hardest trials in my life. I've always struggled to express, coherently, the feelings I endured during those dark days, but now I feel I am ready to share my story.

I write, not in pursuit of sympathy or pity, but with a deep sense of renewed hope in knowing that miracles do exist. I know many have waited for me, patiently, for this moment and my only desire now is that this journey that I've experienced serves to inspire, encourage and ignite an increased sense of faith that Heaven is indeed touching Earth.

The Dream of Three Trees

At the height of my 'illness' there was one particular moment that truly provoked a sense of fear that delved deep into the core of my being. In what can only be described as a vivid dream, I found myself faced with three trees, storm clouds gathered overhead and l was surrounded by long blades of grass that reached waist height.

The trees were all at different stages of life. The first, a tiny sapling, vulnerable, naive, seeking the rays of the sun. The second, a tree in full bloom as if at the peak of spring, birds nesting, branches bearing fruit, a tree full of life. The third, the largest tree of them all, showed no signs of life, it was dry and brittle showing all the signs of death.

It was this tree that my attention was drawn to and at the moment a menacing voice whispered in my ear: "This tree represents you, here and now. I've taken it all and you will never get it back."

I awoke from the dream screaming, cold and with a feeling that resembled emptiness, brokenness, the moment that I conceded defeat in ever getting my memory back.

It had been 4 weeks since the incident, but by far the most prominent moment, up to this point, had been this dream. Despite all the prayers, support, encouragement and the rallying of friends, family, acquaintances and strangers all around me, I must admit that this is the moment I'd lost all sense of self, of hope and of joy.

At that moment in time, I had become a shadow of my former self, going from a man who enjoyed incredible intimacy with a Heavenly Father, leading people into the presence of God, through worship, at home and across the nations, to a man that had no recollection of God, the family and friends that supported him and of himself. I'd lost it all!

  

The dream of three trees had taken everything from me. All concept of hope & joy had been drained from my heart and soul. I now felt like a failure, like I'd let so many people down, what was left was not a man, but a shell, that was simply watching life passing him by, seemingly powerless to prevent it.

Concluding note.

I hope you've enjoyed the first installment of the Christ in me, the Hope of Glory blog. The aim is to add a post on a monthly basis and I hope that you will read, share and be inspired over the coming days, months and years by the message of this blog.

I have been overwhelmed by the unending support of friends, family and well-wishers in encouraging me to make this blog a reality. Please do share it as you never know, you could be changing the life of someone you know.

Thank you.

Daniel Waldron.