Bad Dreams to Good
Inspired by a fellow Blogging U 101 participant, Lana that decided to join a writing prompt about dreams and how they affect our reality. I decided to take part in this with her What Dreams are Made Of.
I took a while to answer this prompt about dreams. I have had good dreams (even a great one lately!) but most of the dreams that I remember are very, very bad and I can remember them from as far back as 4-years-old. These dreams would scare me so much that I would start praying in my dream that everything would be ok, not realizing that they were dreams that I was praying in, just wanting to stay alive.
The reaction on waking is always the same.. Screaming, shortness of breath, frozen, crippling terror, that is completely indescribable and I am incapable of expressing the horror that they have left me feeling. I will sit in bead too afraid to move. I try to stop my chest from moving as I breathe so I they won’t notice I’m awake. (Even though I woke up screaming.. doesn’t make sense now, but it is how I react). I desperately want to reach for the phone but know that it will cost me my life. This goes on for what feels like forever but probably is only a few moments. Eventually, I start to realize that there is no one in my room and that I can open the light. But my fear disagrees. It is still a while before my hand quietly and hesitantly slithers out from under the blankets to reach for the lamp or the phone (for the light it will shed). Reality will slowly settle in, my breathing will go back to normal, and as I pray, I start to feel comforted.
I get up, walk to the window and look outside. Someone had told me to do so very many years ago and once able to do this, it is a tremendous help.
Ok – so where does the happy ending come in? The dreams still come, the fear is still crippling (unless I am sleeping beside my beloved Antonio, then I can nuzzle into him after he’s woken me up).
When I was in my early teens and the bad dreams suddenly became worse than I had remembered, that is when I started to pray in my dreams. Thinking that there were people inside my home killing my family, I prayed with sweat and fear. When I was in my early twenties, they took another terrible turn.. but this time, as I prayed, I saw Jesus. He took me up an elevator out of one of the scariest places I’ve been and brought me to the roof of the building.
From there, the Lord showed me the city of Jerusalem, lit up so beautifully.. the sunset of purple and orange in the background and the hues of Heaven lay sparkling around us. The lights in the homes just glowed and the magic of the sunset and the gift of His touch numbed me.
I don’t remember anything after that, so I must have awoken.. so.. here is the happy ending in how it affected my life.
I feel that I have always (for whatever reason) been shown the ugliest pieces of humanity and in what we are able to do so horrifically in my dreams. These dreams, which although terrifying in the biggest sense of the word, have drawn me closer to God. My spirit so trusting that I pray even in my dreams, saw the reality of prayer answered right within the dream.
This affected my faith and my life in a tremendous way. It is not that it was a turning moment for me, but more a deeper knowing of what I knew already. That God loves me and that even in the worst of nightmares, He is there for me. I’ve said before that Stephen King would have no comparison in the level of fear that my dreams bring, yet, always, the prayer is answered by overflowing love and knowledge that I am loved, I am blessed beyond measure to know so, I am His.