There is a shift in the order of the house, and I feel it burning in my bones. The Chair of the Father is not empty; the scepter has not fallen; the mantle has not lost its weight. Heaven has issued a decree, and I cannot ignore it. I hear the sound clearly in my spirit: the Father is Fathering again in the earth, and I am answering His call.
In 2020, I watched a son seated where a father once stood. The oil did not flow by seniority but by assignment. The mantle searched the house and found the youngest, and Heaven did not apologize. Animosity rose, but rebellion did not prevail. As I witnessed the apostolic order measure the house, I realized this was not a man receiving a chair—it was a generation bowing under the government of fatherhood.
That night, while my wife slept peacefully in our hotel room, I wrestled. In the stillness, the restlessness in me met the gentleness of the Ancient of Days. Then I heard the distinct voice of the Father—different from Holy Spirit and different from the Son, as I have always known it to be. He said to me, “I will father you now, even as I fathered Abraham.” The word did not merely soothe me; it established me. Peace rolled over me like a river and washed away the residue of striving, and a fresh covenant was cut in my heart.
I asked, “What about me, Lord?” and the answer was not explanation but alignment. It became clear that He was calling me to step fully into leadership and to separate from the one under whom I had been raised. The reasons are written in Heaven; I need not publish them on earth. What I do know is this: His order overruled my questions, and His Fathering steadied my feet.
The Father then made His wisdom unmistakable to me: He would father me through many voices. Not through one pedestal or personality, but through several He Himself would appoint. I would recognize them by the way the atmosphere shifts when they enter a room, by the weight of holiness that hushes the mind and steadies the heart, by the fear of the Lord that bends the knees of angels and rattles the bones of demons. I am not chasing fame; I am embracing sonship saturated in glory.
For years I have marveled at men whose very presence changes the temperature of a room—men in their late eighties, nineties, and even beyond a hundred. I wondered who fathered them, or if they had reached a maturity where there was no disruption to the frequencies of Heaven within them. Today I believe it is the latter. There is a maturity where the inner climate remains unbroken by the winds of earth. In that place, one walks with the Host of Heaven while still breathing earthly air. This is the path the Father is leading me to walk.
I also see the contrast with painful clarity. Some have rejected counsel, correction, and direction, and have enthroned themselves on seats that ooze with pride. Their words multiply even as their authority withers. They grow louder in the courts of men while remaining silent in the courts of Heaven. The result is confusion, division, and a loss of holy fear. I renounce those patterns and refuse that seat.
In recent months I have heard seasoned generals speak with one witness: if I will not walk under authority, I will not carry the authority of the Throne. This is not about control; it is about alignment. This is not the silencing of sons; it is the amplification of the Father through sons. I honor authority not to idolize people, but to recognize the King in the order He has established, and to bend before Him when He speaks through those He appoints.
I have learned to honor and to discern. I recognize the voices the Father assigns—not by fame, signatures, or platforms, but by the atmosphere that shifts when they speak, by the fragrance of Heaven that lingers when they depart, by the plumb line that appears within my soul when their words land. When Holy Spirit whispers to me, “Listen—the Father’s voice is coming from that one,” I choose willing submission and joyful obedience.
What I’m about to write is not intended to offend any of the seasoned voices connected to my walk, past or present; I honor each one of you.
Heaven bears witness in my life to vessels through whom the thunder of the Throne is clean: Arthur Burt, Ron McGatlin, and Samuel Brassfield. Rooms changed temperature when they entered; the fear of the Lord rose like incense when they spoke. Arthur now stands among the great cloud, yet his echo continues to instruct me to remain small enough for God to be great. The others remain as living plumb lines before me, proving that age under the anointing is not decay but depth, not retreat but rootedness, not an ending but a finishing well.
This is my charge and my confession: I am a son under governance. The Father is restoring His house with order and tenderness—apostles who truly father, prophets who truly weep, pastors who truly tend, teachers who truly anchor, evangelists who truly burn—all braided under the Headship of Christ. I am being separated, not from love but from misalignment, not from people but from patterns. The reason is written in Heaven, and my answer on earth is obedience without apology.
I step into the place where the frequencies of Heaven run unhindered through a yielded life. I choose to walk with the Host while I breathe earth’s air. I ask for steps that keep time with the Throne, and words that are few yet foundational. I honor the seating of sons even when mantles fall contrary to human order, and I bless those whom Heaven chooses without jealousy or resentment. In this posture of holy submission, I open my mouth to the thunder of the Father and I refuse to let the scepter pass me by.
The Father is thundering again in the earth, and I bow to bear the roar. I will walk under authority to carry authority. I will welcome many fathers that reveal the One Father. And I will remain small in my own eyes that I might become great in the hands of the King.
~Dr. Russell Welch
Elder/ Apostolic Teacher Founder and Shepherd of Remnant Warrior Ministries / Remnant Warrior School of Spiritual Warfare.
Radical Disciples - A Remnant Revolution 