It was in the most unexpected place when she met Jesus. A time when she was searching for her earthly father in dreams through meditation.
Closing her eyes, she pictured the image and fixed it clearly in her mind. The walls pure white, solid to the touch. Her mind had difficulty grasping the reality that the image was naught but a picture in her mind. The walls were cool to the touch betraying her senses and logic.
Walking through the room, she ran her fingers lightly across the piano that stood silent, waiting for someone to play the songs of love and praise. Ebony and ivory entwined, she thought. When balanced, creating perfect harmony.
She moved to the fire that shone white. Crimson embers burned, generating warmth, and the white flame flickered as it danced across the wood. A lover’s embrace, gently touching yet not destroying. For how long she stood entranced by the flame, she did not know. The flame burned, the warmth soothed, but the wood itself did not burn. Somehow it fed the fire that flickered freely and willingly, knowing its fate, yet the reward was that it did not die, it lived on. Here, in this place only, it lived on.
She pondered this and how it mirrored life. We live, we die, and yet we do not. We live on, an eternal flame ignited and fed by the Spirit. How alike we are to the log in the vision that did not burn yet still fuelled the fire.
Turning, she took on the rest of the vision. Windows surrounded the room. There was no glare. If you did not look closely, you would think the room opened freely to the outdoors. Beyond the glass, fields. Grassy plains dancing on a gentle breeze. Sprinkled throughout the grass was a bounty of wildflowers. She could almost smell the floral scent as she strolled through the knee-high grass and ran her fingers gently over the blades. In her mind, she became a young child and twirled in circles, arms raised high and laughter bubbling up from the depths of her being.
She hesitated, just a moment longer to visit her younger self before turning towards the chairs. There were two chairs to curl up in and have a long chat with someone you loved. The chairs flickered in and out of her vision, jumping from the fireside to the window. The windows, she thought, overlooking the sea of beauty and joy in a field of colour.
Striding to a chair, she sat, curling her legs beneath her and began to focus. ‘Please let my father come and spend some time and chat with me.’ It had been so long since she had heard his voice. This was a new meditation. However, it varied from the steps provided slightly.
It must be understood that inviting someone into your dreams is risky and should not be done without wrapping yourself in a protective shield of God’s light and love. Remembering this, she reinforced the shield she had called upon at the start of her meditation before returning her focus to the reason why she was here, an attempt to speak with her father in her dreams.
She stared out the window…nothing. It was silly, really, but she had hoped that in her longing and missing, she would get a visit. It had been so long since he had hopped into her dreams. She had so much to tell him, to ask him.
A flicker, just a moment, yet noticeable. Suddenly she was in the field, standing amid the flowers. The aroma filled her senses and something else. She searched, her eyes roving over the beauty before her, and listened. In the distance, a waterfall somewhere, gently rumbling. The smell of water carried on a soft summer wind.
That was when it happened, when she met Jesus. He stood before her, robed in white. His skin, kissed by the sun, similar to the pictures and yet different. His eyes sparkled, full of love and his smile was warm and welcoming. Recognizing who stood before her, she fell to her knees.
‘I am not worthy.’ She began to cry both in sorrow for her sins and in great joy that he should stand here with her. ‘Am I dead?’ she wondered to herself.
“Rise, my child.”
His hands clasped behind her shoulders, and she was standing. Pulling her to him, He hugged her. Joy. Pure and thorough joy and love. This is what she felt. She could stay here forever, she thought.
They talked, for how long she could not gage. It was as if she stood in the white room watching the scene unfold in the field. She could see them talking but not hear what was said. There were smiles and laughter and the shaking of heads. The girl standing before Jesus shook her head as if confused and looked down. Slowly she lifted her head and finally nodded.
She awoke, tears streaming down her face. “No, do not leave me.”
A whisper held in the air, “I am with you always.”
A father, she thought. Not the one she asked for, but the one she needed. There was no sleeping now, so she rose and went to sit in the chair and ponder the encounter. There was something – a message, a task, but she could not recall. She began writing what she could remember, but when it came to the words, the message, it was a blank.
Again a whisper, barely audible, “Your Spirit knows. Go, rest, my child, for you have a journey ahead of you that will require much strength. Hold fast to your faith, and let not anyone dissuade you from your tasks.”
She nodded. Trust, that was faith, she thought to herself, knowing without knowing. Climbing into bed, she didn’t think she would sleep but found rest the second her eyes closed. It was a peaceful slumber.
Awakening, she shrugged it off as a dream, yet when she walked to the chair, there was the book with the notes written. Quickly she began jotting down the details that she could remember that were not in the notes, and just as quickly, she tore it up. “People will think I’m insane. I can’t tell anyone. It was a dream, just a dream.”
Not a dream, a gift; a gift given and accepted freely and fully. She would fulfill her promise even though she didn’t know what it was. Her task would unravel and make itself known when and as it was meant to. One thing is for sure, she will never forget the night when she met Jesus.
If you liked this faith story you can find others on the Faith Stories link of Leslie’s website.