The Dream of Tweety

It happened in August 2024.

I was alone in my room, deep in prayer. No distractions. No music. Just stillness — and the presence of God. I wasn’t asking for anything in particular. I wasn’t looking for signs or visions. I was just pressing in, heart open, hungry for the Lord.

And then, like a flash of light behind my eyes, I saw her.

No sound. No voice. Just a face.

A young woman, maybe in her twenties. Her face was tired — worn with sorrow, but not without beauty. There was a pain in her spirit I could feel, not just see. The kind of ache that comes from carrying too much for too long. She didn’t look like she was asking for help.
It was more like she was silently begging,
“Please… just see me.”

And I did.

Then I saw a little girl — no more than three years old — standing alone.

She had soft, wispy black hair and pale, porcelain skin. But what struck me the most were her eyes.
Piercing blue. Ancient. Awake.
It was like heaven had left fingerprints in her gaze.

I broke. Right there in my room, I began to weep.

I didn’t know who she was. I didn’t know why I was seeing her.
So I whispered, “Lord… who is this girl? Who is this child?”

No answer came that night. But the image stayed with me.

Weeks passed. Life moved forward. I carried that vision quietly, not knowing what to do with it. Until one early morning, around 4 AM, something strange happened.

My laptop — closed, untouched — started flashing.
Not just flickering.
Flashing — in bright, shifting colors.

It woke me up instantly. It didn’t make sense.

I got up, walked over, opened the lid.
There was a message from Kristen.

We weren’t that close. But she said she was stranded in Everett with a friend. No gas. No help. Just stuck. She asked if I could send money.

I paused.
“God, is this You?”

And I felt peace.
That gentle peace that follows obedience.

So I helped. No questions. No expectations. Just did what I felt led to do.

Later, I found out who the friend was.
Her name was China.

At first, I didn’t connect the dots.
Her name came up a few times in passing — stories of addiction, survival, things most people don’t want to touch. I didn’t know her, but her name… it wouldn’t leave my spirit.

Then I heard she got arrested.

Drugs. More brokenness. Another cycle. Some people rolled their eyes and moved on. But I couldn’t.
Because I remembered the vision.
The girl. The child.

And suddenly, it clicked.

It was her.
China was the woman I saw in prayer.
And her daughter — Tweety — was the child with those same piercing blue eyes.

I had to see her.

I drove to the jail. Walked through metal detectors. Sat down in the cold visitation room.

And then there she was — across the glass. Shackled by more than handcuffs. Shame, guilt, hopelessness. But still alive. Still human.

She sat down. I picked up the phone.

I didn’t ask what she did. I didn’t need to.

Instead, I asked:
“How’s your soul?”

She looked at me with red eyes and trembling lips. And then she said something I’ll never forget:
“I don’t want to go to hell.”

That hit me deep.

This wasn’t about drugs anymore.
This was a soul crying for mercy.

“China,” I asked gently, “do you believe in Jesus?”

She nodded.

“Then hear me — you’re not going to hell. He died for you. He’s not done with you. You are forgiven.”

That was the beginning of the journey.

China got accepted into a treatment program. We were hopeful. But the morning of her court hearing, everything started falling apart.

I got a call saying the treatment facility was backing out. They wanted her to wait another week. The judge was ready to release her, the jail was prepared… but if the facility didn’t confirm, it was all over.

And I knew — one week is all it takes for the devil to snatch someone back.

So while everyone scrambled, I got on the phone.

Call after call — intake, director, backup coordinator. I wasn’t her lawyer. I wasn’t family. But I had something stronger — a burden from the Lord.

Finally, someone picked up. I told them,
“She’s ready. Don’t delay this blessing.”

There was a pause. Then the voice said,
“If she gets here today, we’ll take her.”

Victory.

But the enemy tried one last move.
The jail released her after hours.
No one to pick her up. No plan. No place to go.

She called me — scared, lost, unsure. She asked if Kristen could pick her up.
Something didn’t feel right.

“China,” I asked, “are you sure that’s wise?”

She snapped. Defensive. Confused.

But before anything bad could happen, her social worker stepped in and found her a hotel for the night.

She was safe. The door to treatment stayed open.
The enemy tried. But God overruled.

She made it in.

By the grace of God — China walked through those doors and stepped into healing.

It wasn’t easy. The first few days were rough.
But slowly, she began to breathe again.
Her voice steadied. Her eyes cleared.
She started coming back to life.

And then she called me one afternoon:
“They’re letting me have weekend custody of Tweety.”

I froze. Not out of fear — but awe.

Because I remembered the vision.
The black hair. The blue eyes.
The little girl running free.

Now she wasn’t in a vision anymore.
She was in her mother’s arms.

Tweety was hesitant at first. She had every right to be.
But when she saw her mom smile, she ran to her.
Awkward. Beautiful. Messy. Holy.

They spent the weekend under the sun, playing in the yard behind the treatment center.
Crocheting together. Laughing. Holding each other.

Tweety didn’t care that her mom was still healing.
She just wanted her mom.

And something changed in China.

She started walking with dignity. Not pride. But confidence — rooted in the hope that she wasn’t who she used to be.

She joined Bible study. Asked deeper questions. Started believing again.

And then, one day, she looked me in the eye and said:

“I think I’m ready to live different now.”