TWO CLIFFS
And the Host of Heaven… was it a dream?
TWO CLIFFS AND THE HOST OF HEAVEN
I am much older now—old enough that the winds know my name and the moon remembers the shape of my footsteps. My grandchildren come to me several evenings of the week and they sit cross-legged by the embers of the fire, waiting for stories.
The tale I tell tonight is not a story. Or is it?
You decide.
I know it started as a dream. A reoccurring one.
A dream that returned to me so often through my life that I began to chronicle it—
line by line, night by night—
until I understood: I had to.
Dreams are God’s vision whispered into the night.
They are not illusions but invitations.
Gateways. Ones to oftentimes pay attention to.
Lessons wrapped in symbol and Spirit.
And in these dreams, I have met companions not from my time, but from ages long passed. How do I know this? I don’t rightly know. They were different. But remember this was a dream…
***
I was young in the dream—strong, foolish, and curious. I learned to believe this was a sort of summons.
Every time the dream began, a dry wind blew from the east and a light rose like a burning star. That was how I knew I had crossed into God’s vision again.
I walked a path between two cliffs of amber stone.
At the end of that path, three figures always waited:
Samson, arms like pillars of the temple
David, the shepherd king with a sling at his side
and Jeshua, the traveler with eyes full of eternity.
Samson taught strength.
David taught courage.
Jeshua… He taught authority.
Yet I knew they were not phantoms of my imagination.
Not memories. These were men that failed, and won victories. Much like many men.
I’ve come to reckon that they were companions sent by God for the teaching of my soul. Both men had fallen. Both were mentioned in Gods Word. One was called a man after Gods own heart. I wanted to know more…
One night in the dream, Yeshua stood, lifted His hand toward the heavens, and the stars peeled back like a curtain.
Behind them stood an army—rank upon rank of blazing beings: I remembered the revealing that Elisha saw when the young man with him was scared about the armies following them. I was humbled.
“These are the Host of Heaven.” A voice bellowed.
“Who commands them?” I asked.
Samson thundered, “The One who split the sea.”
David whispered, “The One who guided my stone.”
Yeshua smiled. “The One who walks with you now.”
And though it was dream, everything in me trembled, for I knew He spoke of YHWH Sabaoth—
The Commander of Angel Armies.
Multitudes.
****
Over the years the dream deepened, grew more vivid, more alive. I’m now convinced that’s how He often teaches some of us.
This dream intermingled men of past renown mentioned in scripture. A darkness always rose in the eastern sky.
A warlord called Shishak, ( look it up , a mighty warrior king) , wielding sorcery like chains, marched across the horizon. He declared he would sever Heaven from earth.
“We will meet him,” Yeshua said.
Samson flexed.
David squared his shoulders.
But Yeshua raised a hand to still them.
“Strength and courage alone do not win the battles of Heaven.”
He led us to a valley trembling like the surface of a disturbed sea.
Every detail—the dust underfoot, the weight of the air, the scent of olive trees crushed under Shishak’s stride—feeling real enough to touch.
***
Beelzebub towered upon a hill of broken stone.
“Bow!” he roared.
“I have sealed the skies. No angel will come.”
The air felt suffocated.
Even in the dream I felt it.
Samson charged—caught in snaring earth.
David’s stone dissolved in midair.
Even their bravery wasn’t enough.
Then Yeshua stepped forward, calm as dawn.
“What do You have?” mocked.
“Permission,” Yeshua said.
His staff became a scepter—
light swelling around it like creation beginning again—
and the heavens split wide open.
Oh, my dear readers, even now I struggle to find words.
The Host poured through the rift—
ten thousand times ten thousand,
their armor like molten stars,
their swords singing with the breath of God.
Beelzebub fell as the Host descended.
“Whose authority is this?!” he screamed.
And Yeshua answered:
“YHWH Sabaoth—
Lord of hosts,
Lord of lords.
The Commander and Chief.
The Almighty!”
Then I understood—
Yeshua was no mere traveler.
He was the Commander.
The Incarnate Word.
The King of the heavenly armies.
Our Heavenly Father.
The Prince of peace.
And personal.
Even in this dream, truth is not diluted.
***
The Host bound Shishak in chains of living fire.
Yeshua approached him.
“No throne rivals Mine.
No kingdom endures beside Mine.
Your rebellion ends.”
The Host carried the warlord away—
not to death, but to judgment.
And then—
each dream ended the same way—
with Yeshua turning toward me and saying:
“Oh son of man, tell this vision.
For the Host watches still.”
My question is this. As my grandchildren stare at the embers of the fire burning in the grates and then imploringly at me, with breath held.
“Grandfather,” the little one finally whispered,
“were those dreams really from God?”
I smile slowly. “Child… what mortal mind can conjure tales of Samson, David, and the Commander of Heaven’s armies? Dreams are God’s vision dressed in symbols. He teaches us in the night what daylight cannot hold.”
They drew closer to the fire.
Then another child asked the question that seemed to make the embers crackle:
“Grandfather… will we receive dreams like that?”
That moment, I thought I saw a glimpse of something —
a shimmer over his shoulder,
a flicker of light standing behind the other boy,
a shadow shaped like wings.
I blinked, and it was gone.
Did I see it in my periphery vision.
Was it real?
Or perhaps only hidden.
I leaned close to them and whisper:
“The Host gives dreams to those who are called.
And I think, my little ones…
you will dream sooner than you know.”
The fire popped as if on cue. Stranger? I think not. For I knew their hearts. I think I know their calling. That’s what happens to us grandfathers.
Somewhere beyond the house,
a wind stirred softly—
as though something unseen has just taken flight.
Was that just a dream?
Or something far more?