Pray for America

The Travail of The Flag

Painted in 1987 by Shelli Jones Baker out of a vision from the Lord. Shelli worked 4 months on the painting often choosing to paint over eating and sleeping. When she was done it was evident she had in fact been used in a mighty way by the Holy Spirit to convey a very important painting to the world.

"Travail of The Flag" tells the story of God’s Covenant with America through His Blood.
It portrays every major American conflict as well as some battles not yet fought. The 12’x4’ mural is painted with acrylic paint on canvas. It is divided into 6 sections which measure 2’x4’ for easy transportation. The work has been on display in several museums across the country and currently resides at the Sacred Arts Center in Eureka Springs Arkansas.

Listen to this beautiful rendition of The Star Spangled Banner

Excerpt:
"The Travail of the Flag"
by Shelli Jones Baker

Though many soldiers shed their blood for the cause of liberty, there has never been a drop more precious than that of God's own Son Jesus who shed His blood once and for all at Calvary that all men through its crimson flow might find eternal freedom.

America, you are too young to die!,words of encouragement, words of warning lingered in my ears as Colonel Bird finished his Fourth of July address. Let us bow our heads and pray for America," he concluded. His stirring speech had not been delivered through the lips of America's firecracker-happy citizens that day but from the heart of one who had watched her from afar with concern, through an international scope. Colonel Bird had served the United States military as the warden of Nuremberg's prison in Berlin, West Germany for over twenty years.

Not only had his words pled for America to awaken from a spiritually diseased hour of her history, but the voices of foreigners also had preambled his speech earlier in the day. One distinguished guest from India whose address had diminished to humbling tears as he determined that America's light might soon burn out leaving the rest of the world in utter darkness.

Colonel Bird began to pray I obligingly dropped my head to join in spirit but my own thoughts obliterated his prayer. "Die? America? Surely not our great and mighty nation! Could America ever die? Oh, God, no!" I prayed. Thoughts of her tangled domestic and foreign policy problems, the outbreak of AIDS plagues, confused moral standards and economic upheavals flashed before me. "Surely there is some salve for her, some answer," I prayed.

God suddenly returned a startling reply; before I could catch another breath I found myself sovereignly consumed by His presence, dramatically involved in a vision that unfolded in 3-D all about me. It seemed as if the convention hall had vanished. Then there was a flash of something metallic.

"Blood!" I gasped. Spurting from smoky vapors that engulfed me was a fountain of blood. Splashing across my face and hands, a forceful flood erupted from someone's arteries. I squinted to discern whose blood. Flashing in the wet mixture of blood and water was the outline of a gleaming metal spear. I watched its razor-sharp edge emerge from a slash of raw flesh that covered the length of a man's exposed rib:-cage. Then I understood that I beheld a rare view of my precious Savior's riven side. Animated in every detail, the vision unfolded before me as a living mural, a history of the ages painted in Jesus blood.

Angelic voices then narrated the first scene by singing William Cowper's hymn: "There is a fountain filled with blood, drawn from Emmanuel's veins, And sinners plunged beneath that flood, lose all their guilty stains."

My eyes followed the fountain of blood from Jesus' wound as it spread across his middle, broadened into a river, a waterfall, and pooled into the breadth of a tumultuous ocean. The images of men baptizing converts appeared to be standing on the shores of this ocean. The shoreline became part of a continent that spread into a world map behind the crucified figure of Christ. Contrary to my theological knowledge of his death, I realized that he was not hanging on the old wooden cross but upon the nations themselves. Calvary was no longer contained; within the borders of Jerusalem but occupied all the Earth. For what had the weight of the cross symbolized anyway but the burden of all men's sins and the travail of all their wars spiritual and physical.


Swarming above Christ's head were stormy skies terrifyingly full of the elements of war spreading the length and breadth of all five continents. But in the midst of it all, hung his corpse seemingly as much alive as dead. Never had I thought to see a face so full of compassion; and peace, yet masked with such tears of agony. His lips seemed still able to expel the last breath of a sweet blessing upon the earth. Even in death, the contentment upon his face, that his work was finished, made him appear to be a reigning king over death and the events of time and eternity.

The body was dead, but the blood continued to flow as if from an endless supply source. Its motion portrayed much life. As it lapped across the shores of the ocean it created, I saw how it washed over the turmoil of men upon those continents, and healed them, silencing the voice of their sin.

Revelation jumped into my heart! Jesus' blood was shed for the healing of the nations, for their peace, restoration, and total liberty! Surely America, the greatest booster of liberty for all could salvage a measure of that, was this her healing salve to prevent an early death? YES!

Even as I dared ask the question, I saw the ocean of blood take on the Atlantic's shape. Embarking upon its waters were three ships to the south, and a larger one to the north. Somehow I knew them to be those of Columbus, and the Mayflower. Sailing on the water and blood from Emmanuel's side, they seemed to be carriers of the message of liberty. I watched them dock in the harbors and white sand bars of the American shoreline. The blood that carried them there flowed on past the white shores, up into the mouths of its rivers, lakes, and streams, from east to west, from sea to shining sea, until the continent of North America was striped with blood.

Scenes of the French and Indian War, American Revolutionary War, Civil War, Spanish American War and countless other pieces of history appeared on the map. The Blood that flowed from these scenes mingled with the blood of Jesus until it formed the bold red and white stripes of courage and purity of Old Glory, our flag. Above the United States map, bombs burst in air and heavenlies raged until they too, faded into the peace of a western starry sky and became the everlasting stars of the Union as Betsy Ross had once sewn them there. I scanned the entire vision again from Christ's bleeding side, across nations in travail to the far western shore of America where there at last was peace, an eye of calm in the storm.

"Oh, God, what have you shown me?" I hoped to know. Again there was an answer: "The birth of a nation, Adam birthed a bride from his side, and Christ as well - not for the sake of one nation, but for all the Earth. Unfolded before you is the "Travail of the Flag." In its fabric is not the symbolism of history alone, but waymakers for future generations to retain their strength. By God's divine providence, this flag came to be a symbol of redemption, peace, and liberty for all nations. Ever since that plan was unfurled, jealous man and satanic forces have contested America's right to fly it as guardians over its purpose - freedom. Again and again the flag and its people have been brought to travail by the testings of spiritual and physical war! I determined to obey the Holy Spirit's prompting, "Paint the vision quickly and a herald before the eyes of the nation. It will remain in their hearts longer than a thousand sermons in their ears!" Five days later in the heat of an Oklahoma summer, I began to paint on four fresh canvas panels totaling a dimension of four by eight feet.

Though the world at large was still not aware of the flag burning committed by Gregory Lee Johnson and the communist youth brigade in 1984, as the case steadily was climbing the higher court ladders to a full blown supreme court national issue by 1989, God knew and was urging me on to prepare a defense of Old Glory in 1987 on schedule with His plans for revival. God has a time clock, an appointment for every century, decade, year, week, day and fleeting moment of our lives. On His divine time clock it's time for Revival Fires of a different kind to sweep America. The presence of the Lord was the source of energy behind every stroke. It seemed that my studio was consumed with His presence night and day and in my weariest hours, it seemed as if angels guided my hands for support. I did not paint what I desired, but was faithful only to what the Spirit had shown me.

Habakkuk 2:2 "Write the vision, Make it plain upon tables that he may run that reads it. The vision is for an appointed time. But at the end it shall speak and not lie. Though it tarry, wait for it as it will surely come."

Article used from Shelli's book by permission from New Leaf Press - Copyright 1989

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