Only Dead Men Can Inherit the Promised Land
For seven years, the Lord tested me, to know what was in my heart—whether I would keep His commandments or not—because He knew the temptations that lay ahead were beyond what I could bear.
The Word of God came to me last week through Leviticus 20:
“Thou shall not walk in the manners of the nation which I cast out before you. Thou shall keep all My statutes and all My judgments, and do them—that this land, which I brought you into spue you not out. I am the Lord your God Who separated you from other people. Thou shall be salt. Wherever you enter shall change you not.”
In this article:
This is the Land
Two Exodus, two baptisms
If only you knew my upbringing
Blessings, like disappointments, breed lukewarmness
This is the Land
Have you ever been to a place you’ve never visited—yet your name is on it?
A place that stirs your soul and spirit, a memory not your own; where every part of you resonates with the land, the breeze, the plantations. Your heart swells with speechless joy, peace beyond doubt. You fall to your knees, face to the ground, tears in your eyes—
For you know, overwhelmingly: this is the land.
The land God swore to give you as your inheritance. The land you heard of, dreamed of, saw in visions—details matching the Word of God, His promise. Not a single word of His fell to the ground.
Not that you tasted the milk and honey but the faithfulness of God.
You saw the mountains and valleys within, the eagle hovering above. The vineyards and olive groves, the yellow house, the table beneath vines of wisteria, the stone-carved fountains, the lemon trees, and orange trees and roses of every hue, the summer nights, the afterglow, the painted china, the linens, the ocean, a sailboat, seagulls, white sand, and yellow-striped umbrellas. The market where peddlers yell all day long, the narrow alleys, dim yellow lamps, the serenity that wafts through the night like melodies of saxophones—golden, flowing, dripping.
I saw it before I walked it. I walked it before I read it:
“A land of brooks of water, of fountains and depths that spring out of valleys and hills; a land of wheat, and barley, and vines, and fig trees, and pomegranates; a land of oil olive, and honey, a land wherein thou shalt eat bread without scarceness, though shalt not lack any thing in it; a land whose stones are iron, and out whose hills though mayest dig brass.” Deuteronomy 8:7-9
This is the land—and it’s more than a land.
It’s the promise that pulls you out of your country, your father’s house, away from your people—not even knowing where you’re going. (Genesis 12:1)
The promise that lit your darkest hours like a bottle of stars you held onto.
A promise so good that once seen, you can’t unsee it; you can’t settle for less, can’t go down to any easier path.
From the moment that promise takes root in your heart, you live for one purpose: to witness the glory of God in the land of the living and testify to His faithfulness.
He told you to go as far as you want, see as far as you can, and He shall give it unto you. (Genesis 13:14-17)
So for years, you never stopped going. For years, you never stopped envisioning.
Seven years passed. You prayed against anything that fell short of His promise. You crossed the Jordan. You entered the Promised Land.
You look over the skyline, and you know that this is it—you were here seven years ago in the spirit.
Déjà vu is no more a flicker of feeling. It has taken flesh in the land itself.
You touch the trees, the stones, the soil, the baby olives and roses; you watch the sparrows, the butterflies; you hear the birds chirping and the bell of the church that bears His name but fears Him not.
You are not a stranger to this land where you just stepped in for the first time—yet in Egypt, you were a stranger.
As you already knew before crossing the Jordan—the land was occupied by the nations God cast out before you, for they did all abominations and their hearts turned away from the Lord.
The wicked stored up wealth for the righteous. Your inheritance is taken by force.
You are not a stranger, but an heir.
Why did God let you wander through the wilderness for seven years?
Because the first generation, the one that was enslaved in Egypt, could not enter the Promised Land. The mark of slavery was in your mind.
Unless you died and were born again, you could not enter the Promised Land.
Two Exodus, two baptisms
In January 2020, I had planned to enter the Land in May.
It's obvious what stopped me from entering back then.
In 2025, I crossed the Jordan and finally came to the Land of Promise, after wandering through the wilderness for seven years.
I was first delivered from Egypt on August 10, 2018.
Being the first generation who came out of Egypt, I was not qualified for the Promised Land. The mark of slavery was in my mind. The bondages with darkness chained me up.
Until April 9, 2023, when I devoted my life to keep God’s commandments because I love Him enough to do so, and therefore, I was baptized in water.
Then I was again delivered from Egypt on August 3, 2024.
This time, I died in the baptism of fire.
You might be thinking—weren’t you born again in 2023 when you were baptized?
Yes, but I, the old man, didn’t die in 2023. Though the Holy Spirit started living in me, He didn't yet come upon me.
On September 11, 2024, I was baptized by the Holy Spirit—He came upon me—and I started speaking in tongues fluently in my bedroom on my knees, with my face on the ground, while praying to finish my three-day water fast. During this fast, I was anointed to preach the kingdom of God.
Twice I was delivered from Egypt, twice I was baptized in the wilderness.
Egypt is China, wilderness is America.
“And thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee these forty years in the wilderness, to humble thee, and to prove thee, to know what was in thine heart, whether though wouldest keep His commandments, or no.” Deuteronomy 8:2
The best thing that ever happened to me—next to Jesus Christ—was the fact that I died.
My mind was renewed because I offered my body as a living sacrifice. (Romans 12:1-2)
I chose the fear of God before I understood what it meant. (Proverbs 1:29)
I received knowledge and wisdom after receiving the fear of God. (Proverbs 9:10)
I seek His kingdom and His righteousness NOT just so “all these things will be added” to me—but because He Himself is worthy, fascinating, breathtaking, victorious, majestic, incredible, ravishing, addictive, faithful, and beyond human words.
When you die, nobody can kill you, let alone offend you. Nothing can scare you. Fear is cast out by the perfect love of God. Yet whoever loves this world the love of God is not in him. (1 John 2:15-17)
And that’s how the nations disqualified themselves—defiling the Promised Land with the lust of the eyes, the lust of the flesh, and the pride of life.
Death qualified me to inherit the Promised Land. I entered as a child born in the wilderness: no slave marks, no bondages, no memories of the world—only the ways of God.
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If only you knew my upbringing
Couldn’t I just enter?
Sure, but God wouldn’t let me until I was able to possess it.
A slave can’t possess land.
A slave can’t steward riches.
A slave lives by leeks and onions and the certainty of forced labor.
A slave sets his mind on the things of earth, not the things above.
A slave is fearful, lazy, whiny—unless you whip them, they won’t budge.
In the wilderness, I learned to live like an animal, literally.