Captured at a Young Age

Adopted in His Presence: My First Encounter with Heaven

Growing up, we didn’t have picture books of Jesus or heaven. It just wasn’t part of our faith tradition, church, or family life. The closest things were flannel graph lessons or the occasional Sunday school workbook. I usually attended smaller, humbler congregations where Sunday school meant study time for children—not a place filled with illustrated stories or colorful imagery.

At eight years old, I had no real picture of heaven in my imagination. So when the Holy Spirit invited me into the throne room, I came without preconceptions. Some churches displayed pictures of Christ—usually familiar ones: Jesus standing at the door and knocking, or kneeling at a rock in Gethsemane. They hung in the lobby or at the back of the sanctuary, more symbolic than personal. But the Jesus I would soon meet looked like none of those.

The Day Heaven Opened

My grandparents were visiting us in Boise, Idaho. My grandfather was an Assemblies of God presbyter, evangelist, and pastor, and he had been invited to preach at a local church—Central Assembly—pastored by Roland Buck. We often attended there as a family.

That day, I was about eight, maybe eight and a half. I don’t remember the sermon, but I remember the altar call. My dad, also an evangelist, gave altar calls too, so I was familiar with the rhythm. I didn’t feel I needed to go forward, but I watched closely. At that age, I had learned that no one liked to go first—unless the message had deeply moved them. I’d made it a habit to wait respectfully, and if no one responded after a few calls, I would step forward to “break the ice.” That day, after the third invitation, I began walking up the center aisle. Both Pastor Buck and my grandfather reached out their hands toward me. I could see them—ten or twelve feet away—and then boom.

It felt like I was struck in the chest. My breath left me, and everything went black.

Awakening in the Throne Room

My next awareness was not of the sanctuary but of a vast, dimly lit space—dark yet alive. There was light, but it came from a distance. I heard a voice say, “Come, sit with Me.”

In an instant, I was beside what looked like a great white bench—marble-like, gleaming. I knew, somehow, it was The Throne.

The atmosphere was filled with presence. Before me were two forms: one, a radiant beam of light, like a luminous cloud or mist; the other, superimposed over it, was a glowing outline of a man—almost like glass etched with light along its edges. The features were distinct yet fluid—eyes, nose, mouth, neatly kept hair and beard. He looked strong yet gentle, rugged yet childlike

I knew without question: it was Jesus.

He spoke again, “Come, sit with Me.”

The voice was deep, resonant, filling everything—heard not only with my ears but within my heart. I found myself seated beside Him. He placed His arm around me, drawing me close, and said,

“Today you are Mine, My son. Never question that. Look no further.”

The Adoption

Those words pierced me. I had always known I was adopted, yet I had never longed to find my birth parents. My home was loving; I was wanted. My little sister, the miracle baby my parents had prayed for, had made our family feel complete.

But in that moment, in heaven’s throne room, I understood adoption in an entirely new way. Jesus Himself was adopting me. “Today you are Mine,” He said. “I adopt you. Look no further.”

He drew me closer, and began to speak of things to come—visions, callings, mysteries. Many of them remained hidden in my heart for years until, during ministry or on mission trips, I’d hear Him whisper again, “Remember—we talked about this.”

One thing He told me that day I kept secret for years:

“I want you to be a prophet to prophets.”

At the time, I had no idea what that meant. The prophetic movement had not yet emerged. In 1962, prophecy was still understood through the occasional message beginning with, “Thus saith the Lord…” followed by tongues, hallelujahs, and amens. The idea of being a prophet to prophets was far beyond me. Even now, it feels too vast to fully grasp.

Awakening Back on Earth

When I awoke, I was no longer in the sanctuary aisle. Someone had moved me into a side room. About four hours had passed. My grandmother waited quietly. No one questioned me. I wasn’t dazed, just… renewed—like waking from a deep, holy sleep.

The next day, while helping my mother clean and vacuum the stairs, she asked what song I was singing. I didn’t know. She asked me to sing again, and when I did—without the vacuum noise—she burst with joy. “You got tongues!” she exclaimed. I had no idea what she meant. I had come home late that night, unaware of anything except what I had experienced in heaven.

The Journey Continues

From that day forward, I began to notice things: dreams, visions, an ability to interpret tongues and dreams. Often, I would understand others’ dreams and quote Scripture I didn’t yet know by study. I was still only eight or nine.

There were things I was sure of from that encounter:

• I saw no grassy gardens—this was not a “home” in the traditional sense.

• This was God’s home, not mine.

• The Father and Son moved as one.

• Angels were present but unseen.

• There were no wings, no choirs—just divine presence.

• The Throne was the center of all things.

• Jesus had both form and substance, but not as we know it.

• The Father’s only visible form was Jesus; His substance was Presence itself.

• The embrace I felt still lingers to this day.

Growing into the Call

As I grew, my spiritual experiences often set me apart. We moved to California during my high school years in the early ’70s. The Jesus People movement was just getting started. I joined gatherings of students meeting outside under the trees and a “coffee house across the street. There, I found community. We prayed, worshiped, and sought His presence during lunch breaks—sixty students packed into a room, singing and speaking in tongues, drunk with joy in the Spirit. Those meetings sustained me through my teenage years.

Traditional churches, even the Pentecostal ones, felt flat and lifeless, but these gatherings were alive with prophetic fire. They were my true school of the Spirit.

Even now, decades later, that early encounter in the throne room remains the anchor of my calling. I was eight years old when heaven opened—and I heard my Father say,

“You are Mine. I adopt you. Look no further.”

Everything since has simply been learning to live from that embrace.