Last night I had a dream.
I was sitting in the back of a pick-up truck and a few
people were with me—I think they were family members. A man on a motorcycle
drove up next to the pick-up, a lasso in his hand. He began to wave it over his
head and tried to use it to catch us and pull us out of the truck. I don’t know
why, but I wasn’t afraid. I had a knife in my hand, which I opened as I crawled
towards the edge of the truck. I thought that if the rope lassoed anything, I
might use the knife to cut it.
I looked at the man and he looked at my knife. Suddenly, I
was overwhelmed by a desire to tell this man a story—the story of his life.
I asked him, “Don’t you have days where you wake up just
knowing that something is wrong with the world? Don’t you feel that something
is so terribly wrong with the world, but you can’t even put your finger on it?”
He agreed immediately and I pressed further, “And don’t you
ever think to yourself that the problem isn’t just out in the world, but also
inside of you—an evil that you can’t fix?”
He nodded his head and I told him a story. I told him a
story about God, who had created him and knew him and cared so much about the
thing gone wrong that He’d sent His own Son out of Love. I told the story of
Good News, eloquently and passionately, overcome by my desire for this man to
know who he truly was and what had been done for him—for him to live as a son
of the King.
This is the second dream that I’ve ever had where I shared
God’s story with a non-believer. The first dream I had about a year ago—I
witnessed to a group of Asian girls who were trapped in the sex trade. One by
one, they left the room as I shared the God’s story until only one of them was
left. But I myself was so caught up in the incredible beauty of the story that
I didn’t mind. I woke up in awe, grateful for that gift.
Dreams…they seem to be a theme recently. Sometimes I wake up
knowing that something is terribly wrong with the world. But some days I wake
up in awe. What are the dreams that our Creator has planted in your heart?
I have struggled recently with deep disappointment—feeling like
the dreams and desires that I have in my heart aren’t being satisfied. When
will my desires finally match His?
Soft
whispers…
“Delight yourself in
the Lord, and He will give you the desires of your heart…”
“…He satisfies your desires with
good things so that your youth is renewed like the eagles.”
“…no good thing
does He withhold from those who love Him…”
And I’m reminded that my heart is in the midst of
construction—but the One who made it also knows what He put in it. Some of
these dreams that I have, I don’t understand. I don’t feel equipped to live
them out—I’ve only ever shared the Gospel one time in the waking world, and I
blundered my way through it timidly. In the waking world, I am terrified of
sharing my faith with others.
There are stories that shape the
way we think about things. There is a story that shapes me—a story of God, more
human than I’ve ever been, taking a blind man by the hand (who didn’t ask for
help by the way, it was his friends) and leading him out of the village. God
held his hand, flesh on flesh, the skin of their palms united as the One gently
and patiently brought the other. Jesus didn’t bring a fancy, white handkerchief
out of his pocket (as I’ve seen an evangelist do, flourishing it through the
air like a torch before he pushed people onto their backs)—he used the spit of
his mouth onto the man’s eyes, and then put his hands on him—the same ones that
led the man out of the village.
Then he asked the man a simple question, inviting the man into
conversation, “Do you see anything?”
“I see people,” the man replied, “They look like trees walking around!”
I don’t know how he felt—confused or disappointed? To be healed, but only
half-healed—to finally have a taste of vision,
the glory of light out of darkness. What do we say to God when we know he is in
control of our healing, but also know that something in our vision is
desperately off? It is a small miracle—to be able to see at all. Shouldn’t we
be satisfied with the fact that we are seeing people, even if we are seeing
them as trees and not as they truly are? God, heal our sight.
Jesus simply touched the man’s eyes again, and his vision was completely
restored. And the question I always ask in my own life is—why can’t You just heal
me right now? Right away? And then, this story whispers into my heart that the
God I love is a God of process—and I notice how he invites me to know him and
be in a relationship with him at every
step.
Every step of dreaming…
