Worthy

I had awoken at last, the clock on my nightstand read 7:21, I couldn't remember getting in bed...Much less how I got home. My memory was a smoky haze of flashes of light, and my clothes smelled like sulfur. I stumbled into my kitchen, only to find it a mess, as usual. Between the nightmares and visions the last thing I was worried about was cleaning. As my eyes searched the countertop for a clean glass I noticed something I hadn't seen before, on the corner of my island was a small leather notepad. I curiously reached for it and folded back the cover, the front page read, "surely I am coming quickly." I quickly flipped to the next page, it was blank, as were all the others. Were had this book came from? Why were the pages blank?
I ate a bowl of cereal in a rush, and ran out my front door, the clouds were getting bigger, darker. I had to go back to the church, I had to get some kind of clarity. I jumped on my bike and headed down the road, it was awkwardly quiet for a Tuesday morning. I cruised into the parking lot, relieved that no one was there so that I could think in peace. The old wooden floor creaked and groaned as I stepped into the sanctuary. The walls were lined with pews, the windows had painted glass of different bible scenes, and behind the pulpit was a large cross, as I shut the door I exhaled slowly, it felt good to be somewhere safe, away from it all.
I fell to my knees in an exhausted slump, my heart was heavy, my mind was weary, and my shoulders heaped forward from the weight. I stared up at the cross, unable to find words, I imagined what it was like, how it felt. My body jolted, I could see it, my hands felt warm, I looked down to seem them covered in blood, my wrists began to burn, I gasped for breath. What was happening!? There it was again, I could see him, on the cross, his breathing was labored, blood dripped and oozed from his wounds, his face showed pain and sorrow, but his eyes read resolve. I watched mortified as a shadowy figure arose and walked slowly forward, my vision faded in and out, but I stayed focused on the cross, the figure bent down to pick something up, and then with a sudden movement pierced the side of the man on the cross. I screamed in pain, my vision faded clouded, in my head I could hear his voice, desperately, but with determination he cried out, “Father, into your hands I commit my spirit.” At this moment I could see the darkness begin to crumble away, I heard trumpets in the distance mixed with valiant war cries, and then it was gone. I looked around the sanctuary, I was still alone. I felt exhausted, my hands were shaking uncontrollably and my clothes were drenched with sweat. I wanted to ask myself what this meant, but deep down inside I knew the answer. I remembered the leather notepad I had put in the back pocket of my pants, I reached  and pulled it out. The first page still read, "surely I am coming quickly," I turned it to the second page, expecting to find it blank, much to my surprise it now read, "Then I looked and heard the voice of many angels, numbering thousands upon thousands, and ten thousand times ten thousand. They encircled the throne and the living creatures and the elders. 12 In a loud voice they were saying:" “Worthy is the Lamb, who was slain,
to receive power and wealth and wisdom and strength and honor and glory and praise!”