I was there. I felt the ground break apart beneath me, the air tighten like the world itself was holding its breath. The sea, once calm and shimmering under the early morning sun, began to recede—an eerie silence falling upon everything, as if nature herself was bracing for something. Moments later, a monstrous wall of water came charging toward the land. I had no time to think, no time to run. The roar of the ocean drowned out every sound, even my own screams.
I was swept under. Everything went black.
It was in that darkness that I experienced what some call a near-death experience. But to me, it was more than that. It was a divine encounter. As my body lay trapped beneath the crushing waves, I felt my soul lift. I could see myself, a lifeless figure tossed by the sea like a rag doll. But I wasn't afraid. I was drawn upward—far above the waves, beyond the sky, into a place where time didn’t exist. There was light, warm and brilliant, unlike anything I’ve ever seen on Earth. And there, waiting for me, was Jesus.
He didn’t speak at first. He just looked into me. Not at me—into me. His eyes carried a sorrow deeper than oceans and a love fiercer than fire. He touched my hand, and instantly I remembered the day that shattered me forever: 2020.
That year, I lost my children to the sea. It was a calm day, deceptive in its peace. My son and daughter, only 7 and 9, were playing near the edge of the water while I collected shells not far behind. Then, without warning, a rogue wave hit. In a matter of seconds, the ocean pulled them away. I ran. I screamed. I begged God, the sky, the sea—anything—to give them back. But the ocean was silent. It did not return what it had taken. I was left on that shore, broken, empty, and screaming into a void that offered no comfort.
VIDEO :
I thought that was the worst pain a human heart could endure. I thought nothing could compare. But I was wrong.
As I stood with Jesus in that otherworldly realm, He showed me visions—visions of what’s to come. And it shook me more than any tremor on Earth.
He said, "You must speak. You must warn. Because what is coming… is not far away."
I saw America. I saw cities, vast and glittering under the night sky. I saw families gathered at dinner tables, children playing in parks, people laughing, unaware of the storm that waits just beyond the horizon. Then suddenly, the seas began to churn, the skies darkened, and the earth groaned. There was a deep, thunderous sound—like creation itself was splitting apart.
Tsunamis struck coastlines with unforgiving force. Skyscrapers crumbled like sandcastles. The ground opened in places where it never had before. I saw people running, crying, searching for loved ones in the chaos. I heard prayers screamed into the night, and silence answering back. Hospitals were overrun. Roads vanished under water. Entire neighborhoods disappeared in moments.
And the date burned into my mind: 2025.
I asked Him, "Why show me this? What can I possibly do?"
He looked at me, full of compassion but also urgency. “Because they don’t believe. And because you know the pain. You’ve lost what they are about to lose. And your voice carries the truth they must hear.”
Tears welled in my eyes, both from the vision and from the unbearable flood of memory—of my children's faces, their laughter, the moment the sea took them away. I fell to my knees before Him and said, “Please… no more pain.”
He knelt with me. “This isn’t to cause fear,” He said. “It’s to awaken hearts. To turn their eyes back to Me before it’s too late.”
Then He showed me something else—hope. I saw small groups of people holding hands, praying, kneeling on rooftops, in churches, even on broken streets. Light radiated from them. I saw neighbors helping neighbors, strangers holding each other through the storm. And in the midst of chaos, I saw angels—brilliant, powerful, watching over those who turned their hearts to God.
I was pulled back into my body just as the rescuers reached me. I gasped for air, coughing out seawater, surrounded by voices and chaos. But I wasn’t the same. Something eternal had been etched into me.
That’s why I share this today—not to frighten you, but to prepare you. Many won’t believe this message. Some will mock. Others will scroll past and forget. But I know, deep in my soul, that someone—maybe you, maybe someone you love—needs to hear this.
You don’t have to live in fear. You don’t have to panic. What Jesus wants is not panic—it’s preparation. It’s a return to faith. A return to love. A return to humility.
Disaster may strike the land, but there is a shelter stronger than any storm. His name is Jesus. And He is calling us—calling you—to be ready, to be awake, and to be the light in the darkness that is coming.
You may ask, "What can I do?"
Start with prayer. Begin again with God. Forgive those who’ve hurt you. Speak kindness. Love deeply. Help those who are struggling. And look at your children—not just with love, but with purpose. Because every day is a gift. Every moment counts.
I carry the weight of my children’s absence every day. The sea did not return them to me. But God gave me something else: a mission.
Please don’t wait until it’s too late.
The warning has been given. The time is now. 2025 is not far. And when the sea roars and the earth trembles, may your soul stand firm, because you remembered… and you believed.
