One summer night in 1998, while living in Paris, I woke inside a dream. Lucid, I found myself standing on a street in a village at night. Other people were around, but no one close by. The clarity and detail of everything was riveting. Streetlamps reflected on wet cobblestones, and a tree right off the street stirred in me an overwhelming desire to touch it. I walked over and felt its bark and leaves, and I slowly began to rise in a standing position. I was surprised, but preoccupied with how well I could see. I slowly rose through the tree branches, noticing detail on leaves closer to my face than I’d normally be able to focus on.
I had no control of my movement. I went straight up and saw a canal in the town, then the landscape surrounding it. Higher up I saw a large expanse of water in the distance. I never felt so alive, and I kept remarking to myself how spectacular it all was. I continued moving, up through wispy clouds where a few stars appeared. And I kept going, until I saw nothing but stars in any direction. It felt like I’d stopped and was stuck in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly I was very cold and scared, and I didn’t know what to do about it. I blurted out what to me was nothing more than exasperation. JEE-zus HELP me!
Instantly I felt something come up behind me, then arms wrapped around my waist, and a definite sense of moving forward. Someone had a firm grip on me and a chin over my right shoulder. I couldn’t turn my head to see who it was, but I didn’t care. I was no longer alone, cold, or scared–just thankful and extremely confused. When I felt something against my right cheek and realized it was a beard, I went completely limp. I remembered what I’d blurted out, and I knew it was Jesus.
My head fell back against the shoulder behind it, and emotions broke loose. I heard words come from my mouth like they weren’t even mine. I said, “I’ve loved you since I was a child,” then I rambled on about a picture of Him that was on my Sunday school classroom wall. All the adult in me had been reduced to a child at the mercy of someone bigger and stronger. He didn’t say a word, only turned His head and kissed me once on my right cheek.
I was put down where I began on the street, and I started to run off, so glad to have my feet back on the world. Something stopped me. I turned, thinking that I should “at least thank this person.” (How odd that I went from such raw attachment, to thinking of Him as just a kind stranger!) I ran up and hugged him. He accepted my hug, and I ran back to the road and again stopped. That’s when I took a good look at Him.
He wore a simple white garment that went almost to His feet. I could see its textured weave. His hair was dark and close to His shoulders, and I noticed that His nose was longer than what was depicted in pictures from my childhood. Still, he didn’t say anything, but He didn’t have to. He shot me a look of sadness that struck my heart. I turned to leave, and the dream ended.
A week later I spent a weekend in Brugge, Belgium. It was my first visit. During a stroll after dinner one evening, I stopped in my tracks. I was walking on wet cobblestones, under streetlamps, in a town that has a canal, near the sea. It all came flooding back.
Had God made certain I’d know that I didn’t conjure the setting of the dream myself? I believe so. He sent a powerful message, even though I didn’t feel its full impact for well over a decade.
For whosoever shall call upon the name of the Lord shall be saved. (Romans 10:13)
He was oppressed, and he was afflicted,
yet he opened not his mouth;
like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent,
so he opened not his mouth. (Isaiah 53:7)
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