BACKGROUND
THE LONG UNFOLDING—FROM IGNITION TO REVELATION—TO TODAY (2004–2025)
The Seven Seals did not just arrive yesterday.
They were not an eruption—they were a detonation decades in the making.
What follows is not theology, doctrine, or interpretation.
It is testimony—events as they unfolded, without retroactive polishing.
This chapter exists for one reason:
So you know who is speaking before you judge what is said.
⸻
-
IGNITION: SHAME, DESPERATION, AND SURRENDER (2004)
By 2004, I was exhausted.
Not rebellious.
Not angry at God.
Just worn down by years of trying to reconcile faith with a reality I did not choose.
I had grown up in church. I served faithfully. I played piano. I led. I gave—more than just money.
But internally, I carried a quiet terror that followed me everywhere: that loving men meant I was wicked—or worse—a truth I could not even admit to myself.
When I finally confessed my struggle to a cell leader, hoping for help, I received something else entirely. His words were sharp. They were void of empathy. He ranted about homosexuality with disgust, dragging in caricatures and behaviours that had nothing to do with me. At that point, I had never touched a man. What I carried was not sexual need, but a longing for intimacy I could not name.
The pain I swallowed simply joined a lifetime collection that began long before that moment.
The group was soon reshuffled. I quietly disappeared.
I did not become bitter.
I endured—trusting that God had reasons I could not yet see.
Life in a fast-growing church meant people came and went. Growth mattered more than continuity. The lack of connection pushed me to seek belonging elsewhere, but I could never find what I was searching for in a homophobic society. Worse still, I had absorbed that same homophobia myself. I wanted love and intimacy, yet despised what I desired and pushed people away unknowingly.
I was a living contradiction.
Repeated failures to find companionship, coupled with constant suspicion and inward accusation, built toward a breaking point. I could no longer see how to continue living in that state of self-loathing.
I became desperate.
I fasted. I prayed. I wrote worship songs through tears. I begged God to fix me—to remove whatever it was inside me that did not fit the Christian mould.
Then one afternoon, a friend spoke a simple word. It pierced my soul—and something broke open.
I felt something physical—as if scales fell from my eyes.
Hues sharpened. Lightness rushed in. My steps felt buoyant. For the first time in years, the world felt breathable.
That night, alone, kneeling in the dark, I was seized by a vision.
A spotlight pinned me to the floor.
Above me, a massive hand pointed downward.
A voice—not loud, but absolute—spoke:
“He whom the Son sets free will be free indeed.”
The future tense struck me, yet I was overwhelmed with gratitude.
“God,” I wept, “I thought hell awaited me for loving men. Now I’m free.”
Then the voice pressed deeper:
“If seeking Me brought only pain—no blessing, no comfort—would you still follow?”
Silence followed. Not seconds—but twenty to thirty minutes of unbearable stillness.
Finally, honestly, I fumbled three words:
“I don’t know.”
The reply was gentle—yet overwhelming.
“You would.”
I was carried into flashbacks of my own life.
“You served, gave, and loved—fully expecting hell and condemnation—yet you remained faithful.
That is who you are.”
Something in me broke permanently that night.
I surrendered everything—I pledged my love anew, completely.
The floor was soaked with tears. I used two towels to clean it afterward.
⸻
2. THE MARRIAGE PRANK I DIDN’T KNOW WAS A PRANK
The next morning, after the best sleep of my life, I stretched, smiled, and said:
“Good morning, God!”
A response came—immediately:
“Son. It’s time to marry.”
I froze.
I had no romantic history with women. No hidden relationship. No secret desire.
“Who?” I asked.
“The miracle is in the house.”
It echoed the title of a book I had been reading.
Later that afternoon, I sat at my Yamaha baby grand piano. My thoughts were already occupied with a practical concern—a bank errand I needed to run to help someone I knew was in serious financial need.
That was when the voices began.
“Give the piano to her.”
The surrender from the night before was still raw.
“Of course,” I answered within.
As if unconvinced, the voices continued.
“She needs it more.”
“The piano would be more useful to her than you.”
I'd already said yes—hadn't I?
Then a different voice cut in—sharp, alarmed, almost screaming:
“No!...
Your mum will notice the piano missing.
When you tell her you gave it away, she’ll think you’re crazy!”
My stomach dropped.
“Oh God… no!” I groaned.
Then one final voice—calm, decisive—ended the argument:
“Marry her.
Case closed.”
Stunned, I whispered to myself, "What?"
An hour later, unease crept in.
Why her?
Why now?
Immediately, the replied:
“You both carry a call.
Your wedding will fall between your birthdays.”
I recalled that Caroline had once received a prophecy—that she would marry a special servant of God. Similarly, I had received my own: that I would be a mighty preacher.
I called her to arrange a meeting. Before we met, I asked for signs. She cited Psalms 103:1–5, 104, and 105.
On the train, I found myself drawn to Psalm 103:6–22. I found the missing link. I was the missing link.
When we finally met, I realized our birthdays were only three days apart.
The midpoint fell on November 26.
I couldn't have invented this, yet church leaders objected strongly.
Faith clung where logic failed.
In the midst of that, a vision broke through.
I saw a white horse—powerful, alert—standing still, as if waiting. For some reason unknown, I knew its name. I called out and it responded. Words spilled from heaven—rumbling, incomprehensible, shaking the marrow of my soul. Terrified, I went straight to bed.
Nothing was explained. No instruction followed.
I kept it to myself.
⸻
3. REJECTION AND SILENCE (2004–2013)
That August, visiting prophet Ulf Ekman spoke publicly about a coming maverick—someone whose life would unravel alongside the pastor and his wife, pointing people back to Jesus.
Something in me stirred; wild like a horse.
After the service, I tried to approach him quietly, seeking clarity about the marriage call.
He ignored me.
Humiliated, a tug hit my heart, and words flowed:
“The rejected stone would become the cornerstone.”
By year’s end, there was no wedding.
Those who knew mocked me.
My own church leader accused me of lying.
“A gay man claiming God told him to marry?”
It sounded absurd. No one could verify my story.
I carried pain without language—no therapist, no audience, no framework.
Then came silence.
Almost a decade.
No visions. No voices. No comfort.
Just endurance.
Silence taught me how to stand without applause.
⸻
4. THE CRISIS—AND THE SEALS BREAK (2013)
In August 2013, something detonated.
My church entered legal turmoil. Financial investigations found no theft—yet leaders were eventually imprisoned.
During a sermon, the senior pastor shared his wife’s dream: she was fighting a terrifying demon. The outcome was withheld.
Something in me shifted. Old fragments awoke—the marriage call, the white horse vision, the words from 2004.
Two witnesses.
A beast.
Daniel’s four beasts fused into one.
The Business Breakthrough Group I was part of underwent a major restructuring due to church politics. I wrote to the new leader, Bobby Chaw, sharing what I saw, referring plainly to Revelation—that dream ends in death.
What followed felt unreal.
My private writings began appearing—reframed—in weekend sermons.
I realized I was being watched.
My old marriage story resurfaced and was referenced from the pulpit, anonymously.
It felt like a divine orchestration—a fulfillment of Ekman’s earlier word.
One night, while typing on Facebook, a presence came—unannounced, unsettling:
“I am Jesus. I was Enoch.”
I froze.
“O.M.G. Why me?” I typed.
Walking to my piano, a question surfaced:
“If the Son is not God—what about the Father?”
The answer came softly:
“Like Father. Like Son.”
Job’s name rose in my heart.
With a sense of urgency, I typed:
“Job, arise.
Enoch, come forth.
Lucifer—shut up!”
In the days that followed, the Seals broke—vividly on screen, live, irreversible.
⸻
5. AFTERSHOCKS (2014–2025)
Ripples followed—public, verifiable, and beyond my control.
Ulf Ekman converted to Catholicism (March 9, 2014).
Same-sex marriage became law in the United States (June 26, 2015).
Pope Francis publicly stated that all religions are paths toward God (September 13, 2024).
⸻
6. PERSONAL RESOLUTION
Only later did I understand the marriage calls—not as commands, but as tests. Mischievous. Probing. A kind of heavenly prank. They led me to a depth of surrender I had never before experienced.
At the time, I took everything literally.
Today, the Seals remain.
Time continues.
And the message is urgent—because what unfolds in the Sixth Seal suggests that many who assume they are ready will not be. Not rejected forever, but barred from entry for an entire epoch.
This book exists because the truth can no longer be restrained.