I watched paralyzed as she dunked my little brother again and again under the bathwater. He struggled and then went limp.
When at last she relented, he was alive but not alive.
My bundle-of-energy, always-sociable, never-without-a-grin-and-a-fresh-face-scrape brother was an automaton, going through the motions, but no longer with any sign of his former animation.
Then I awoke. It was two in the morning. I could check on him in his crib, but that wouldn’t do any good to reassure my troubled mind, my racing heart. When he was sleeping was the only time John didn’t display his characteristic energy – the energy the faceless old woman had robbed from him in my dream.
I went into the living room with my Bible, turned on a lamp, curled up in the couch and read. I started in Matthew. By the time I reached John, I had at last calmed enough to fall back asleep.
Nevertheless, the dream continued to haunt my future, when any ordinary occasion could make my heart race again with fear for my little brother.
Other times I dreamed of friends, family members sinning against me or against another loved one in terrible ways. I’d awaken knowing that it was only a dream, that nothing had happened, that my friend or family member was innocent of the nightmarish accusations. But I struggled nonetheless to avoid hurt, anger, and bitterness towards those who had offended in my dreams.
Yet other times, I dreamed that I was engaging in some illicit act, taking pleasure in evil. Even when I knew it was only a dream, that I had neither done the evil deed nor chosen the wicked contents of my dreams, I felt ashamed, guilty for what I’d done in my sleeping dreams, for how I’d enjoyed what I truly abhorred.
Dreams are powerful because they’re not under our control. They’re powerful because while they aren’t reality, while we can know they aren’t reality, we still experience them as reality while we dream – and still feel the effects of those experiences once we awaken.
I am usually a rational person. I like to think things out. I like to believe things based on thoughtful consideration. But dreams circumvent my thoughts and go straight to my emotions.
When I dream, I’m not relating to the world through what I know to be true. I’m relating to the world through my emotions. And when I wake up, those emotions, those responses are still there.
And just like when I first started dreaming these powerful dreams, the Word of God is the antidote.
It is insufficient for me to tell myself that my brother is fine, that my sister hasn’t done something horrific, that I haven’t rejoiced in something perverse.
Instead, I must steep myself in the character of God, in the reality of sin, and in the hope found in the cross of Christ.
In himself, my brother is a dead man walking, devoid of life. But in Christ, he is a new creation, a new creation such that neither disability nor death can rob him of life.
In herself, my sister is a sinner who offends against me and God and others. But in Christ, she is a saint who is being transformed more and more into the image of Christ.
In myself, I do indeed glory in the worst of debauchery. But in Christ, I was created for good works and delight to do God’s will.
Yes, I need to know that the dream is not reality. But even more, I need to know that sin is real – and the solution is real.
Christ died for sinners. For me, for my family, for faceless women who abuse children. If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. Me, my family, the person who tried to hurt us. No one can kill what God has made alive in Christ. Not me, not my family, not anyone.
“For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”
~Romans 8:38-39
That’s the truth, more powerful than any dream.
