The Watchers

By Mike Johnson

Transition is upon us. Life as we know it is ending.
These are the good old days. Enjoy them.

I could catalog the reasons and possibilities.
I could tell you who is responsible.
I could predict when and what will occur.

But I canít see the specific future. I can only feel the trajectory.
To the typical earthling, it is U-G-L-Y.

God wired me to be a watchman.

At least five hours per day, every day, I invest time watching. Researching. Assembling information and experience puzzle pieces.
I share what I can. Most donít want to listen. So I tone it down or just remain silent.
I am invisible. Most brush past, oblivious to how much they missed.

Every day, I get five hours wiser. 35 hours per week. 150 hours per month. 1,825 hours per year.

But it comes at a cost. Negativity is less pleasant than positivity. It makes manifestation less spectacular. Itís time away from God and family.

But God wired me this way. Itís my mission.
I watch. Yet few ask for a report.
Iím invisible to them.

Worse, Iím not the only watcher. There is an army of us. We have answers to questions most donít even know to ask.
Itís a strange sensation to see the hurricane before others even feel the wind.

We hope it misses us, but canít see any earthly way thatís possible.

So we pray for divine intervention. And live our everyday lives as if that will occur.

So pause. Take a breath. Look around. Listen. A storm is coming. There are people who Noah things you desperately need to know.

Weíve been watching.



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