I Died & Jesus Showed Me 7 U.S. Cities to Flee in 2026!

My name is Jordan Payton. I’m 37 years old. And until 4 days ago, I was a senior partner at a logistics firm in downtown Chicago.

Until then, I believed what most people believe, that tomorrow will look like today. That America is too strong to truly fall, and that God watches from a distance, but doesn’t interrupt the systems we trust.

I used to think faith was something personal and quiet, something that didn’t interfere with infrastructure, politics, or the stability of nations.

I was wrong. On February 28th, 2026, I died. What I saw during those 21 minutes shattered every comfortable assumption I had about faith, America, and what is coming in the next eight months.

Now, I’m the man trying to warn you that seven specific American cities are about to become death traps, and Jesus himself showed me exactly which ones.

The night started late. I was alone in my office on the 42nd floor, finishing the quarterly projections for our shipping routes.

The city lights were spread out below me like a sea of diamonds. I remember reaching for my coffee when a sudden searing pressure clamped down on my chest.

It felt like an invisible hand was crushing my heart. I tried to reach for my phone, but my muscles refused to move.

I slumped back into my chair, the darkness of the office closing in as my vision tunneled.

The last thing I saw was the blinking cursor on my laptop screen. Then silence.

The transition wasn’t a fade. It was a sudden arrival. One moment I was staring at the glowing text on a monitor, feeling the cold sweat of a dying man, and the next I was standing on a surface that defied every physical law I had spent my career managing.

In logistics, you understand weight, friction, and the solid nature of the world. But here, the ground felt more solid than granite while looking like it was woven from pure liquid light.

It was crystalline, shimmering with colors that don’t exist in our visible spectrum. I looked down at my hands.

I was still Jordan Payton. I was wearing the same charcoal suit I’d put on that morning, the fabric still bearing the subtle wrinkles from a long day of meetings.

I even touched the faint ink stain on my thumb, a small reminder of a faulty pen that had leaked during a board session.

But the exhaustion that had been my constant companion for 10 years was gone. I looked around and saw a landscape that seemed to be the source material for everything beautiful on Earth.

There were mountains in the distance, but they didn’t look like rock or tectonic upheaval.

They looked like solidified glory, for lack of a better term. They radiated a golden white hue that didn’t hurt my eyes.

Instead, it seemed to nourish them. The air wasn’t just a mixture of nitrogen and oxygen.

It was thick with life. Every breath felt like drinking from a cold mountain spring, filling my lungs with a sense of peace that made my previous life in Chicago feel like a frantic, dusty dream.

There was a low hum in the atmosphere, a vibration of pure energy that suggested everything around me was intensely aware and purposeful.

That’s when I saw him. In the business world, you learn to read people, to gauge their authority, their intent, and their power the moment they walk into a room.

I had negotiated with billionaires and government officials, men who thought they owned the world.

But as this figure approached, every concept of human authority I possessed dissolved into nothingness.

This wasn’t the soft, frail figure often depicted in religious art. He moved with a focused, terrifying grace.

He radiated a light that made the crystalline ground seem dim by comparison. His presence was so heavy with truth that I felt the urge to apologize for every empty word I’d ever spoken.

“Jordan,” he said. The sound of my name didn’t just hit my ears. It resonated in my bones.

It was the voice of a father, a judge, and a king all at once.

“You spent years building systems for commerce. You’ve tracked the movement of goods and the flow of wealth.

Now I need you to serve a different mission. One that will save lives in ways your career never could.”

Before I could even think of a response, the environment around us dissolved. We weren’t in that glorious landscape anymore.

We were suspended in the void, looking down at the North American continent. It looked like a living map.

I could see the glow of the cities, the veins of the interstates, and the dark patches of the wilderness.

But I was seeing more than just the physical geography. It was like looking at a complex transparent overlay.

I could see the spiritual health of regions, the weight of the choices being made in boardrooms and living rooms and the structural integrity of the very earth itself.

“Your nation is about to enter a period of testing unlike anything in its history,” Jesus said.

And his voice felt like a tectonic shift. “The systems you trusted are brittle. They were built on the pride of men who thought they could ignore the creator forever.

Not everyone will survive what’s coming, but I am preparing places of refuge and warning those who will listen.

You’re going to see seven cities that my people must leave before summer arrives. These are not suggestions, Jordan.

They are commands that will determine life or death.” He pointed toward the upper left corner of the map, and the vision zoomed in with dizzying speed until we were hovering over the Pacific Northwest.

I saw the familiar outline of Seattle, the Space Needle, the dense evergreen forests, and the deep blue of the Puget Sound.

It looked peaceful, but as I watched, the spiritual overlay turned a deep, bruised purple.

“Watch the foundations,” he commanded. Suddenly, the date April 15th burned into my mind. I watched as the Cascadia subduction zone, a massive fault line I had only vaguely heard about in news reports, began to shudder.

This wasn’t a typical tremor. I saw the Earth move in waves, literally rippling like a carpet being shaken out.

The movement was so violent that the very soil seemed to lose its solid state.

I watched high-rise buildings in downtown Seattle sway until their structural limits were exceeded. Glass rained down like diamonds, and then the concrete began to give way.

The sound was an earshattering grind of stone against stone. A sound of the planet itself screaming.

But the earthquake was only the beginning. I saw the ocean retreat. The water pulling back miles from the shore, exposing the dark, cold seabed that hadn’t seen the sun in thousands of years.

It stayed back for minutes, a deceptive silence that many people used to walk out onto the sand, confused and curious.

Then the horizon changed. A dark line appeared, growing taller and wider. It wasn’t a crashing wave like you see in movies.

It was a rising wall of the entire ocean. “April 15th,” Jesus repeated, “The earthquake will measure 9.2.

The tsunami will follow with a force that defies human engineering. Coastal cities will have less than 30 minutes to evacuate, and most won’t take the warning seriously until it’s too late.”

I watched the water hit the coast. It didn’t just flood, it erased. It carried with it the weight of thousands of shipping containers, cars, and the debris of destroyed homes, turning the water into a grinding slurry that pulverized everything in its path.

I saw the ports I used to manage shipments through simply vanish. The infrastructure of the entire region, the bridges, the highways, the power lines was snapped like dry twigs.

The spiritual weight of the region was heavy with a sudden overwhelming terror. I saw thousands of people trapped in the upper floors of buildings that were being undermined at the base.

I saw the desperation of parents trying to reach high ground with children in their arms, only to realize the water was moving faster than any human could run.

“Why so much destruction?” I whispered, my heart breaking for a city I barely knew.

“The earth groans under the weight of rebellion,” he replied. “The land can no longer sustain the spirit of those who inhabit it without a reckoning.

This is the first bell of the watch. When this happens, the world will try to explain it through plate tectonics and shifting pressures.

They will call it a freak accident of nature. But those who know my voice will know the hour has begun.”

He moved his hand and we were pulled away from the drowning coast, moving south.

The golden light of California appeared below us, but it felt hollow. It looked like a beautiful fruit that was rotting from the inside.

We hovered over the sprawl of Los Angeles. I saw the tangled knots of the freeways, the millions of homes packed into the valleys, and the iconic hills.

“The second city,” he said. “The pride of the coast.” The dates April 23rd, April 25th, and April 27th appeared before me in shimmering light.

I watched as the first quake hit on the 23rd. It was significant enough to crack the foundations and send people running into the streets, but it wasn’t the big one they expected.

I saw people returning to their homes that night, breathing sighs of relief, posting on social media that they had survived the scare.

They went back to sleep, trusting the emergency services and the building codes. Then the 25th arrived.

A second, much larger quake struck, centered directly under the city. I watched the 415 freeway buckle.

Massive concrete overpasses, the very arteries of the city’s logistics, snapped and fell onto the lanes below.

Fires began to break out as gas lines ruptured under the shifting pavement. The sky over Los Angeles turned an apocalyptic orange.

But even then, some stayed. They waited for help. They trusted in the government’s plan.

On the 27th, the third strike came. It was a rhythmic, violent shaking that lasted for several minutes.

I watched the San Andreas fault shift several feet in a matter of seconds. The water lines to the city, the massive aqueducts that bring life to the desert were severed.

Within an hour, Los Angeles became a desert again. But a desert filled with millions of thirsty, panicked people.

“Fires, no water, and supply chains destroyed,” Jesus explained. “The logistics you understand will vanish in an instant.

Without the trucks, without the water, without the power, this city becomes a cage. Those who remain will face a war zone as resources vanish.

The neighbor will turn against neighbor for a bottle of water. This is the fruit of a nation that has forgotten its source.”

I saw the spiritual darkness over the city intensify. It wasn’t just physical fire. It was a spiritual fire of rage and despair.

I saw people who had lived in luxury 3 days prior now digging through rubble for scraps of food.

I saw the thin veneer of civilization peel away, revealing a raw, terrifying hunger. “I am showing you this so you can tell them to move now,” he said.

“Not when the first quake hits. Not when the water stops. Now while the roads are still open, now while they can still sell the properties that will soon be worthless rubble.”

The vision shifted again, moving north along the coast to the Bay Area. San Francisco appeared, its bridges spanning the water like silver threads.

It looked fragile from this height, a city built on hills that seemed ready to slide into the sea.

The Golden Gate Bridge looked like a delicate piece of jewelry from our vantage point.

But as we descended toward the bay, the spiritual atmosphere shifted. If Seattle felt like a sudden shock and Los Angeles felt like a slow burning rage, San Francisco felt like a heavy suffocating pride.

I saw the city as a series of layers, like a complicated map of systems I used to manage.

I saw the tech hubs, the massive servers, the concentrated wealth, and the spiritual threads that bound them all together.

These threads looked like iron chains, heavy and dark, pinning the people to their earthly possessions.

“On May 15th,” Jesus said, his voice cutting through the wind that wasn’t really wind.

“The hills will betray those who built upon them.” I watched as a seismic event, different in nature from the ones in the south, hit the Bay Area.

It wasn’t just a shaking. It was a rhythmic pulse that seemed to come from deep within the Earth’s crust.

I saw the phenomenon known as liquefaction, but on a scale that shouldn’t be possible.

In my logistics training, we studied how certain soils could act like liquid during a quake.

But this was something else. I watched entire neighborhoods in the Marina district and parts of the East Bay simply sink.

The ground didn’t just crack, it turned into a thick, swirling soup. I saw the Bay Bridge and the Golden Gate snap.

These weren’t just bridges. They were the primary arteries for the movement of people and goods.

I watched as the steel cables, as thick as redwood trees, whipped through the air, slicing through anything in their path.

The cars on the spans were tossed into the cold water below like toys. But the most terrifying part was the isolation.

Because of the geography, the city became an island of ruins in an instant. I saw millions of people trapped on a peninsula with no way out, no fresh water, and the ground beneath them still shifting like the surface of a boiling pot.

“This is the third city,” he said, his eyes filled with a deep, haunting sorrow.

“They believed their innovation could outpace my laws. They thought they could build a kingdom of light without the source of light.

When the ground turns to water, where will they stand? I have called to them through the beauty of the hills and the vastness of the sea.

But they worshiped the creation and ignored the creator.” The vision intensified. I was suddenly inside one of the high-rise apartments overlooking the Embarcadero.

I saw a young couple, perhaps in their late 20s, staring at their phones as the first tremors began.

They weren’t looking at the exit. They were trying to capture the moment for a world that was about to go dark.

I felt their confusion turned to a cold, paralyzing fear as the floor beneath them began to tilt at an impossible angle.

I wanted to reach out to tell them to run, but I was just a witness.

I saw the spiritual weight of their choices, the pursuit of status, the rejection of anything eternal, clinging to them like lead weights as the building began its slow, agonizing collapse into the bay.

Before I could process the horror of San Francisco, the scene blurred and accelerated. We were moving east across the vast plains of the country until the jagged skyline of Manhattan rose up to meet us.

New York City, the center of the financial world, the place where the logistics of global wealth are decided every second of every day.

To me, this was the heart of the machine. “The fourth city of warning,” Jesus said.

The date June 9th appeared in the air, glowing with a soft, ominous light. I watched the Atlantic Ocean.

It wasn’t a storm. There were no dark clouds or screaming winds. The sky was actually quite clear, but the water began to rise.

It wasn’t a wave. It was a relentless, silent surge. It was as if the very basin of the ocean had been tilted.

I saw the water creep over the seawalls, flowing into the streets of lower Manhattan with the steady purpose of a predator.

“This is not a storm they can recover from,” he explained. “This is the sea reclaiming what was never meant to be a permanent throne for Mammon.

On June 9th, the water will reach 15 miles inland in some areas. The systems that keep this city alive, the pumps, the subways, the underground power vaults, will be the very things that claim the most lives.”

I was pulled down into the subway tunnels. It was rush hour. I saw thousands of people packed into the cars, buried deep beneath the earth, completely unaware of what was happening on the surface.

I watched as the water began to pour down the stairwells and through the ventilation grates.

It happened so fast. One moment the passengers were complaining about delays. The next they were standing in freezing salt water that was rising by the inch every second.

I saw the power flicker and die, leaving them in a tomb of darkness and rising tides.

The logistics of an evacuation in New York are a nightmare even on a good day.

I saw it from the spiritual perspective. Millions of souls trying to push through the narrow exits of the island.

The bridges jammed with dead vehicles. The tunnels turned into underwater pipes. I saw the greed that had fueled the city for centuries, manifesting as a dark mist that clouded people’s judgment.

They were trying to save their laptops, their jewelry, their files, while the ocean was literally at their door.

“The financial district will be a graveyard of stone and salt,” Jesus said. “The wealth of the nation stored in digital ledgers and paper promises will mean nothing when the streets are rivers.

I am telling my people, get out of the city before the summer heat arrives.

Do not look back at your careers or your status. A life is worth more than a penthouse.”

The vision didn’t stop there. We were suddenly hovering over the center of the country near the borders of Missouri, Tennessee, and Arkansas.

This was the New Madrid seismic zone. I knew this area from my work. It’s a critical junction for rail and trucking.

“June 7th,” he said. The earth beneath the Mississippi River began to heave. This wasn’t a localized quake.

It was a massive structural failure of the North American plate. I watched as the Great River, the very lifeblood of American commerce, began to flow backward.

The ground underwent the same liquefaction I saw in San Francisco, but over thousands of square miles.

I saw massive bridges that carry the interstate highways, the same highways I use to route thousands of trucks across every year, simply drop into the mud.

“The nation will be split in two,” Jesus said. “The east will be cut off from the west.

The pipelines that carry the fuel to the cities will snap. The rail lines that carry the grain will be twisted into knots.

When the logistics of food and energy fail, the heart of the nation will stop beating.

This happens on June 7th, just 2 days before the waters rise in the east.”

I saw the spiritual significance of this. The great river had become a symbol of the nation’s pride in its own strength and geography.

When it changed course, it represented a total loss of control. I saw the panic in the eyes of local leaders as they realized no help was coming from the federal government because the government itself was paralyzed by the scale of the disasters.

I saw grocery store shelves across the Midwest go bare in a matter of hours.

I saw the just in time delivery system, the very thing I had spent my life perfecting, become a death sentence for those who hadn’t prepared.

We then moved south toward the Gulf Coast, Houston, Texas, the energy capital. I saw the massive refineries, the sprawling suburbs, and the flat low-lying coastal plains.

“The fifth city,” he said, “the city of oil and smoke.” On July 12th, I saw a sequence of events that looked like a chain reaction.

A series of atmospheric pressures combined with the instability of the earth led to a massive industrial failure.

It wasn’t just a flood. I watched as the storage tanks at the refineries began to rupture.

The chemicals mixed with the flood waters creating a toxic iridescent sludge that covered everything.

Then the fires started. Because the water was covered in flammable chemicals, the very floods were burning.

I saw a canopy of thick black poison rise into the air. The wind carried it inland over the residential neighborhoods where families were trapped on their roofs.

They were fleeing the water only to breathe in the death that was falling from the sky.

I saw the spiritual state of the region, a place that had placed its entire trust in the black gold of the earth now being consumed by it.

“The air will become a weight they cannot carry,” Jesus said. “July 12th is the day the smoke begins.

My people in this region must move north and west. Do not stay for the jobs at the plants.

Do not stay for the houses by the bay. The land is being cleansed, and the cost will be high for those who cling to the old ways.”

I felt a deep exhaustion settling into my soul. Even in this spirit form, the sheer scale of what was coming was more than my mind could organize.

I tried to think like a logistics manager trying to find a way to fix the problem.

But there was no fix. These were not problems to be solved. They were judgments to be endured.

“Lord,” I asked, “how can anyone survive this? The food, the water, the medicine, it’s all gone in these visions.”

“I am the bread of life,” he responded. And for a moment the light around him flared with such intensity that the visions of destruction faded.

“I have provided a way but the way is narrow. It requires a total abandonment of the systems of man.

You see the collapse of the world but I see the birth of a remnant.

I am showing you the cities of death so that you can point them toward the states of refuge.”

He turned his gaze back toward the map of the country, specifically toward the Great Lakes.

I saw my home. I saw Chicago, the city where I had built my life, my career, and my pride.

It looked beautiful in the summer light. The lake blue and inviting, the skyscrapers reflecting the sun.

But as I watched, a dark shadow began to grow from the very center of the city, spreading outward like a stain.

The shadow over Chicago didn’t look like a storm cloud. It looked like a thick, oily veil that settled over the familiar towers of the loop.

I saw the city as a living organism, a massive machine that required a constant rhythmic pulse of electricity and fuel to keep its heart beating.

In my career, I had studied the just in time supply chain, the way our city survives on a razor’s edge where food and water are only ever 3 days away from running out.

“August 3rd,” Jesus said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the crystalline floor.

“The sixth city, my home city, Jordan, but a city that has turned its back on the hand that feeds it.”

I watched as a heatwave of unprecedented intensity gripped the Midwest. The temperature didn’t just rise, it pressed down on the city like a physical weight.

I saw the power grid struggling, the invisible lines of energy glowing red hot as millions of air conditioners strained the system.

On August 3rd, I saw a single failure, a transformer in a substation trigger a cascading collapse.

Because of the heat and the lack of maintenance, the fail safes didn’t hold. I watched the lights of Chicago blink out from the Gold Coast to the south side in a matter of seconds.

Without electricity, the water pumping stations went silent. I saw the massive intake pipes in Lake Michigan stop pulling.

Within 6 hours, the pressure in the city’s faucets dropped to a trickle. Within 12 hours, the water was gone.

I saw the reality of three million people trapped in a concrete furnace. I watched as the logistics of survival failed.

The grocery stores couldn’t keep their refrigerators running. The food began to rot. The gas stations couldn’t pump fuel.

The elevators in the highrises, the very buildings I had spent my life in, became vertical coffins for those who couldn’t climb 40 flights of stairs in 100-degree heat.

“This is the collapse of the self-sufficient man,” Jesus explained. “When the water stops and the light vanishes, the veneer of civilization disappears.”

I saw the violence erupting in the streets, not because of a natural disaster, but because of the absence of my spirit.

People who had never known a day of hunger were fighting over a single gallon of water.

They put their faith in the grid, in the city’s engineering, in their own wealth.

When the grid failed, their faith shattered. I saw the spiritual layer of Chicago. It was a grid of cold gray light, disconnected from the life-giving energy I had felt in the mountains of glory.

I saw the desperation of the people I used to work with. Men in expensive suits now wandering the streets with hollow eyes, realizing that their bank accounts were just numbers on a screen they could no longer access.

“Move them out, Jordan,” he said. “The cooling breeze of the lake will be a memory.

Tell them to seek the high plains and the mountains where the water flows from the earth, not from a pipe controlled by men.”

The vision shifted one last time, pulling us far to the southeast. Miami appeared below us, a shimmering jewel of white sand and turquoise water.

But the spiritual sight revealed a different story. The ground beneath the city looked like Swiss cheese.

The limestone foundation was porous, fragile, and saturated with salt. “The seventh city,” Jesus said.

“September 20th.” I watched as a massive pressure system in the Atlantic pushed a wall of water toward the Florida coast.

But the disaster didn’t come from a wave. I watched as the rising sea level combined with the weight of the storm surge forced the ocean up through the ground itself.

The water didn’t come over the seawalls. It bubbled up through the streets, through the sewers, and through the foundations of the condominiums.

I saw the iconic highrises of South Beach beginning to lean. The limestone was dissolving, losing its ability to hold the weight of the steel and glass.

On September 20th, I watched as entire blocks simply subsided into the earth. It wasn’t a sudden crash.

It was a slow, sickening sink. Buildings didn’t just flood. They tilted and collapsed as the ground became a slurry of sand and salt water.

“They built their houses on the sand,” he said. “Literally and spiritually, they ignored the warnings of the rising tides because they loved the view from their balconies.

Now the view is all they have as the earth swallows their pride. Miami will be a memory of the sea.”

I saw the panic in the Florida Keys. The single highway out of the islands jammed with cars that couldn’t move as the water claimed the asphalt.

I saw the spiritual weight of the region, a place of constant pleasure and temporary joy being swept away by the eternal reality of the ocean.

“The seven cities are the markers,” Jesus said. “But the spiritual battle is nationwide. Look at July.”

The vision shifted to the month of July. I saw the chaos from the earlier disasters.

The quakes in the west, the flooding in the east, the split in the Midwest had created a nation of terrified, broken people.

I saw leaders emerging on the television screens and the digital networks. They spoke with calm, soothing voices, promising safety, order, and a return to normalcy.

I watched as they introduced a new system of identification and resource allocation. They called it a solution for stability.

It involved a biometric link, a digital mark that would track a person’s health, their location, and their access to the emergency food and water supplies.

To a starving, terrified population, it sounded like salvation. I saw lines of people in July, miles long, waiting to receive this upgrade so they could feed their children.

“This is the great deception,” Jesus warned. His voice filled with a fierce protective fire.

“They will sell it as a way to prevent future disasters, a way to coordinate aid.

But it is the seal of the beast.” I saw that once a person accepted this digital link, the light in their soul went out.

They were no longer able to hear my voice. Their capacity for truth was severed.

They became part of the machine, a component in a system that hates its creator.

I saw the contrast. Scattered throughout the nation, I saw small pockets of light. These were the refuge states.

Montana, Wyoming, Idaho, North Dakota, South Dakota, Alaska, and Utah. These were the people who had heard the warning in March and acted.

I saw families living in simple homes, growing their own food, and generating their own power through the sun and the wind.

They weren’t living in luxury, but they were living in peace. “I have commanded my people to gather seven essential items,” he said.

“Water filtration for the streams will be troubled. Solar power for the grid will be gone.

Heirloom seeds for the earth must be replanted. Medical supplies for the hospitals will be closed.

Communications that do not depend on the towers of men. Tools for the hand, not the machine.

And most importantly, my word written on the heart and on the page.” I saw these communities in the refuge states.

They were sharing their resources. They were training each other. They were praying together. When the spiritual deception arrived in July, they didn’t even look at the screens.

They knew the truth. They were the remnant that would carry the light through the dark months ahead.

“Jordan,” Jesus said, turning to me as the vision began to dissolve. “You have seen the end of the world you knew.

You have seen the failure of the logistics you trusted. Now go back and tell them.

Tell them the date is March 15th. That is when the sequence begins. That is when the first domino falls.

You have days, not years. The refuge is ready, but the door is closing.” I felt the pull of the office again.

The crystalline ground faded, replaced by the dark carpet of my 42nd floor suite. The air of glory was replaced by the stale, recycled air of the ventilation system.

I felt the sharp, agonizing pain in my chest return for a final second before my heart began to beat again.

A slow, steady thud that felt heavy and cumbersome. I opened my eyes. The cursor on my laptop was still blinking.

The city lights of Chicago were still sparkling outside my window, beautiful and oblivious. I looked at my watch.

It was 11:43 p.m. I had been dead for 21 minutes. I sat there for a long time.

The ink stain on my thumb a silent witness to the reality of what I had just experienced.

I knew what I had to do. I couldn’t go back to the board meetings.

I couldn’t go back to the shipping schedules. I had been given the ultimate logistics mission, moving the people of God from the cities of death to the places of life.

The calendar on my wall shows March 4th. The sequence Jesus showed me begins on March 15th.

That is only 11 days away. Once it starts with the rupture in the Northwest on April 15th, the cascade becomes unstoppable.

You have 11 days to make decisions that will determine whether you’re positioned for survival or caught in the chaos.

I don’t know if you’ll believe me. I don’t know if this testimony will reach the people who need to hear it most.

But I’ve delivered the warning I was sent back to share. What you do with it now is between you and God.

Just remember that when the ground starts shaking in the Pacific Northwest in less than a month, someone tried to tell you it was coming.

Someone died and came back specifically to give you time to prepare. The refuge states are waiting.

The timeline is set and your decision about what to do with this information will matter more than any choice you’ve made before.

I’m grateful you stayed with me through this entire testimony. If you’ve listened this far, I believe it’s because something inside you recognize that this message matters.

If you feel led, write a comment and tell me what nation or city you’re watching from.

I want to pray specifically for the places represented here. If this message spoke to you, follow the channel and enable notifications so you don’t miss what I’ll be sharing next.

And please send this to a few people you care about. A simple share can open someone’s eyes, strengthen fading faith, and guide a searching heart back to Christ.