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Jesus on a Cloud


When I was about eight years old, I spent the night with my cousin in a nearby community during my schoolís spring break. My cousin and I stayed up very late on the last night, playing with her toys and games. Very early the next morning, I awoke for no apparent reason. The room was quiet and filled with darkness from the night, and the only source of light was from the moon radiating soft rays. I crawled to the end of the bed and peered out of the window. The backyard was quiet. The animals slept soundly. Everything was serene and peaceful, which I found comforting.

I sat there for a while admiring the quietness of the night. But before long I could see the day breaking far off to the east. With the first hint of shallow sunlight, I heard the chirps of birds and saw the movement of squirrels as they set out to do their morning routines, gathering straw for nests and worms and nuts for breakfast. Never before had I noticed them in this way. They seemed animated in their behavior; every activity seemed deliberate and filled with joy. I too was filled with joy.

After awhile, I traced the light beam with my eyes from earth to sky, fully expecting to find the morning sun overhead. But the light came from a cloud instead. On the cloud, there stood a man dressed in a long white, flowing robe tied off with a twisted rope belt and tassels. He had long, wavy, golden hair that seemed to bounce with the air. I could see his fingers and his toes in amazing detail. He was three dimensional, yet he was opaque, such as a sheer curtain. His entire body was outlined in a silvery light white; even his toes, fingers, and facial features. This cloud and another one that partially hid the first stood still, while the other clouds rolled on through the sky.

The man stood there on that cloud with his right arm at his side and his left arm outstretched toward the earth. His hand was extended toward something down below, and in that direction, a beautiful silvery white light would radiate from his body towards the earth. He stood there, looking expressively, sometimes concerned, pleased or sad for a while. Then he would shift his body somewhat and extend his left arm and hand in a different direction. Again, the light would radiate from him toward the earth. He repeated this process many times.

I sat there totally entranced in what I was seeing. I believe that children see things differently than adults. They take things at face value more and donít question what they see. I was sure I was looking in the face of Jesus. He wore the clothes of the Jesus of my Bible stories, and he certainly looked like the man from the Jesus paintings in my Grandmotherís house.

After a while, he turned to the right and went down on bended knees. He raised his arms and placed the palms of his hands together, each finger separated by the silvery white outline. I was now viewing his profile and could see his mouth moving as he spoke to the heavens. He continued like this for several minutes. Then he raised himself and turned to the other direction. Now I was seeing his other profile. Again, he went down on bended knee and prayed.

The cloud which had blocked part of the view then moved away, and behind it I was able to see a huge three-dimensional book that was opaque and traced in the same silvery white light as Jesus. This book sat upright and was nearly as tall as Jesus on the cloud. With his left hand, Jesus reached out, took a page, and turned it. Then he placed his left hand palm down on the book. He turned his head to the right and extended his right arm down toward the earth. Then the light again radiated from his body toward the earth. After looking upon the earth with emotion for a few minutes, he would move his hand someplace else on the book. He did not go through the book from top to bottom and left to right but would place his hand randomly throughout the book. He continued this process of hand placing and earth watching for a long time, and several times he would again turn yet another page.

Soon I began to hear my aunt stir in the kitchen—pots and pans rattling and the sound of bacon frying. Before long, my cousin and I were called for breakfast. I got up from my bed post, not saying a word to anyone about what I had witnessed. Quickly I ate my food so that I could return to watch Jesus on the cloud. When I returned, however, he, the book, and the cloud were gone.

For many years, I chose to not tell anyone about my experience—not for fear of ridicule or disbelief from others, but simply because it was given to me alone. I knew that one day I would talk about it, but the vision was meant for me only at that time. Perhaps, I now believe that God wanted me to wait till I was much older to tell this story so it would be taken more seriously by others. Countless times throughout the years I've wondered why God allowed me to see such a wonderful vision. And now I know that he gave me something that he wanted me to share with others, and he wants me to know that he is undeniably real. How can I ever doubt Godís existence when I've seen the face of heaven firsthand? Jesus is certainly watching over us and praying in our behalf and sending his light to shine upon us. Perhaps he's not always on a cloud, but him being there that morning so long ago made a lovely vision and a sweet amazing memory for a wide-eyed little girl.

Angela Cloyd

 

 

 
   
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