All this was taking place on a flight to visit my Mom and Dad, who were in their eighties and living in California.  Sitting beside me was a nine-year-old girl, traveling alone.  She kept looking at me, wondering what I was up to.  Ignoring her was unkind, so I stopped praying and chatted with her.

After that, I returned to my own meditations and received a stream of visual images, a vision:  the sun cracking up, solar flares that zoomed out into the reaches of space.  I then saw, through the mist, an ethereal caravan of camels and their riders, coming up a valley, their long line stretching behind, down a winding road into the distance.  I followed the road back to the source.  I came upon vast winds, like a monsoon, then a world exploding—and then the vision abruptly stopped.  The caravan seemed to represent the long course of human history, traced backward, all the way to the beginning, and then nothing.

I had received hints about the moment of Creation.  Then, one day, He told me more.  This is where God’s story really begins.