Pastor Robin's Vision of the Mark of the Beast

What if the seal isn't what you've been taught to fear? What if the groundwork is already being laid in the hearts of millions of people and you haven't even realized it?

My name is Pastor Robin. I'm 51 years old and I've been in ministry for 23 years. Before I go any further, I want you to understand something. I'm not one of those pastors who has a new vision every Sunday or another prophetic dream to share. I've never been that way. I'm a man of study, doctrine, and preparation. I train myself by reading biblical commentaries, not by chasing signs. If someone had told me a month ago what I'm about to tell you, I would have asked them to sit down with me so we could examine what the word of God says before drawing any conclusions. That's who I am. That's who I've always been, and nothing I'm about to tell you was part of my plans.

Three weeks ago, I was sitting at my desk on a Tuesday afternoon. My coffee had been sitting there getting cold for quite some time. I had a commentary on Revelation 13 open in front of me, studying the mark of the son of Satan. I was underlining a paragraph about the Antichrist's economic system when I felt something I had never experienced before. It wasn't gradual pain. It wasn't discomfort that slowly intensified. It felt as though something inside my chest had made a final decision about my breathing. That's how specific it was. That's how definitive it felt.

My left arm stopped responding. I tried to reach for my phone with my right hand, but my fingers refused to obey me. It was like giving commands to a body that no longer belonged to me. The irony was that I was studying precisely what Jesus would show me face-to-face less than a minute later.

My secretary found me on the floor. I don't know how much time passed between my collapse and her entering the room. The last thing my mind registered was the sensation of falling, but it wasn't falling downward the way you do when you trip. It was like falling through layers, as though reality had different levels and I was passing through them one layer at a time. The sound disappeared first, then the light, and finally the sensation of having a body. Everything shut down in an order that wasn't random. It was as though someone were disconnecting the systems one by one.

And then I arrived. I have no other way to describe it. I arrived in a place that possessed a quality that made everything I had perceived during my 51 years of life seem like a crayon sketch. I'm not exaggerating. I'm not using a metaphor to impress you. I'm describing what my senses registered. Everything I had known as reality was an incomplete, blurry version of what stood before me at that moment.