The light pierced our bedroom window. My wife was snoring and in a deep sleep. I, on the other hand, was sitting straight up in bed watching the light.
"Oh, please Jesus, don't let them come again. I don't understand what is happening." I looked toward the ceiling as I prayed.
The light only got brighter, I knew what it meant; they were coming for me once more. The reunion was unwelcome, but I was helpless. Moments later there were two of them standing in my bedroom; their stick-like silhouettes loomed in the bright light. From previous encounters I knew that somehow my wife was of no interest to them and they had the power to keep her in a nocturnal trance.
One reached a long hand for me. I understood, if I did not simply follow the hand, they would transport me like a damp rag. I followed them to the window. The one, who had beckoned me, touched my arm and we were all instantly aboard what I believed was their ship.
The times I had been with them before were generally benign. They were interested in my body and my head, but they never stuck me with anything; just attached monitoring devices, which clicked when they were seemingly "on". In all, it was always a stressful, but peaceful encounter.
I must stop this narration here to explain. I have reported these encounters twice before. Nobody believed me. After telling of these events, my family and friends largely ignored me, and my kids thought I was being weird; my wife even urged me to quit telling the "silly stories".
I defined my kidnappers as a family. That is to say, there were five of them. One was taller than the others, one was very small, and the three others of mixed heights. They didn't seem to speak, and if I could discern their faces I am sure there would be no mouths. I could not look at them directly; they were always but a silhouette against a light or a shadow. I have come to think that perhaps that is their being. Perhaps the sketchy outlines were for my benefit, so I could see something of them, otherwise they would be invisible to my eye.
The trip was only slightly different from other encounters. Again, I was taken to a large open area. There was a bench and short table on the side of a room. I was directed to the bench. I looked down on the low table and there was a black box. The contrast of the dark color in the otherwise gray surrounding surprised me.
A shadowy hand removed the lid of the box. On the inside was a leather-bound Bible. I would guess it was at least several generations older than me. In some way telepathy - I was asked to pick up the book. I reached into the box and felt the cool leather covering. A chill passed through my body. The Bible may have been left by someone they visited before me; at least that was the impression I got from a telepathic message.
I picked up the book and suddenly a hologram flashed in front of me. I saw thousands of years of history. I saw Adam and Eve, I saw David, and I saw Jesus, and all the events in between.
I placed the book on the table and the hologram ceased. I felt the movement of air and a shadow opened the Bible to Luke and pulled my fingers to the pages. As soon as I touched the Bible the passion of Christ was before my eyes, not like a movie, but as if I was there as a witness.
Emotion was raging through my body and the stick-like-family gathered round and touched my shoulders and arms. I felt their compassion and love.
Through a telepathic message I was told that they had given me the experience as a gift. I was told to replace the Bible in the box, and then a tiny hand pulled me up and motioned for me to follow a bright light.
Moments later I was standing in my own bedroom watching the lights fade away from the window.
They haven't visited me in over 20 earth years. But now, I look forward to my next family reunion.
"dub" is a freelance Christian writer, best known for his straight forward approach to common issues. His 38 year professional writing career gives him keen insight into successful reporting. To contact dub email firstname.lastname@example.org
Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com
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