God often speaks to me in dreams. They come in vivid, detailed layers scenes so full of symbolic weight that I wake up knowing it wasn’t just a dream, but a divine encounter. He splits them into segments, sometimes two or three, each connected by a thread of spiritual truth. This particular dream shook me. It wasn’t just personal it was prophetic. It came with groanings too deep for words, and I believe it wasn’t just for me, but for the Church, for the Bride, for those still entangled in a spirit of adultery, both physical and spiritual.
In the first part, I walked into a room full of women. I could feel something sacred was taking place. A woman stood in the middle of the room, prepared like a bride covered, modest, adorned with purpose. Her head was already wrapped, and someone gently placed a headpiece over her, like a crown that completed the look. When the veil settled, something shifted in the atmosphere. The entire room gasped not because of extravagance, not because of skin or glamour, but because of glory. She looked angelic, royal, holy. Her presence carried a beauty I couldn’t explain. She wasn’t flaunting her body, but radiating something eternal. And when I saw her, something deep in me broke, becasue I realized the Bride was me. I wailed, loud, from the pit of my soul. I cried so hard it woke me up. The tears weren’t of sadness, but of release. It was the sound of awe, of conviction, of revelation. I had seen the Bride, not as the world dresses her, but as Christ prepares her, covered, crowned, consecrated.
I rolled over, checked myself, and went back to sleep. But what came next was a stark contrast. Suddenly I was in my Nonna’s basement, familiar, intimate, but spiritually dark. There was a man from my past. We had a long, painful, soul-tying history, one filled with broken promises and deep compromise. He was married back then, and our years together were nothing short of bondage masked as affection. In the dream, he returned. The charm, the pull, the familiarity it all came flooding back. We were alone, and the air was thick with tension. The moment was almost repeating itself, an old cycle trying to resurrect. Just as we were about to fall into the same sin again, someone came into the house. Not my grandmother, but a woman of faith, a second cousin I rarely speak to but who I know prays for me in the spirit. Her entrance startled me and broke the moment. I stepped away, gathered myself, found a washroom to collect my thoughts. As I washed my hands and opened the door, she looked me in the eyes. I met her gaze and told her, “You came at the right time. Nothing happened.” And I meant it. Because though I had stepped into that space, God stepped in with mercy and reminded me who I was.
When I came out, he was gone. Instead, I saw young women I didn’t recognize, girls caught in the same spirit that once trapped me. They were strangers to me, but I knew their bondage. I saw it in their eyes. And suddenly, it all made sense. The dream was divine. It was a message not just for me, but for the Church. We cannot wear the veil in the bridal chamber and entertain compromise in the basement. We cannot be crowned and casual, consecrated and careless. The spirit of adultery has slithered into the Church disguised as romance, emotional comfort, secret arrangements, and fleshly loopholes. But God is calling His Bride out of the shadows. He’s calling us to decide. Because He’s not coming back for a girlfriend. Not for a weekend lover. Not for a sometime Christian. He is returning for a Bride, a woman fully His, fully clothed, fully covered, fully prepared.
That veil in the dream wasn’t just beautiful—it was spiritual authority. It was holiness. It was identity. And the weeping that came out of me was a cry for the Church to put it on again. To take off the world’s version of beauty and reclaim the glory of modesty, covering, righteousness, and purpose. Because we’re too close to eternity to be casual with our consecration. The days of being half-saved, half-submitted, half-delivered are over. The basement moment wasn’t just about sexual sin—it was about old identities, old cycles, old bondage knocking at the door again to see if they still have access. And they don’t—unless you open the door. But when you’re covered, when you’re veiled, when you’ve wept over your own deliverance, you’ll start recognizing the spirit behind the smile, the soul tie behind the touch, the trap behind the compliment.
I believe God let me see both the bridal room and the basement to reveal the war inside many of us. One moment we’re in His presence, the next we’re at war with our past. One night we cry out in worship, the next we’re enticed by what we said we let go of. But His mercy interrupted me. His intercessor walked in. His Spirit whispered, “Come out of there. Wash your hands. You are not that woman anymore.”
To the one still caught in the cycle, still dancing with married men, still holding onto that relationship God told you to leave, there is grace, but there must be a decision. Let go. Walk out. Don’t just cry about purity, choose it. Don’t just talk about holiness, wear it. Don’t just post about identity, live it. The time is not tomorrow. The time is now. Jesus is coming, and He is looking for a Bride that has made herself ready. Not perfect, but prepared. Not popular, but pure. Not sexy, but sanctified.
I saw her. And when the headpiece went on, everything changed.
So I ask you… have you made yourself ready?