It was a man, or at least appeared to be a man. About six feet tall, he looked clean and powerful, and his eyes looked hurt and joyful at the same time. Those eyes were very wise; maybe wiser than any man had ever been. This is his place. He was clothed in a way that Jacob did not recognize, and those clothes gave him the look of both a general and a father. The man stood tall and yet not proud in a way that both demanded respect and eased Jacob’s fear a little bit, and Jacob found himself standing, watching the man between him and the river. It may come as a surprise that he didn’t kneel, but the fact was that he didn’t need to. Everything about him was kneeling already, as he was kept rapt in watching the man, in an impossible mix of fear and hope, love and anticipation.
“It is my Father that you should fear. I do His work, and his task is mine to complete.” Jacob heard this with his soul, or with his eyes, but not with his ears. The man’s eyes were speaking to him.
“I am yours and you are Mine. You will fall, but your falling will come to an end. You will hurt and cry, but you will be whole when you cease to see yourself at all and when your tears resemble mine.” Jacob didn’t quite catch the symbolism of the Man’s next action, but later would understand completely : He crouched, retrieved a small amount of water from that living river in a cupped hand, and then turned his eyes back to Jacob.
“Use your new eyes for that which they have been given to you. Do not be afraid of what you will see. You have been bought, child. Your master will help you. Know the source of the sight and you will know the reason for it.” His eyes watered and he formed a sliver of a smile. He then lifted his cupped hand and blew the water from it, gentle as a mother’s kiss. The living water collided with Jacob’s bare skin and he lost consciousness. He somersaulted backward again and again and then all was still and quiet and dark.
Jacob awoke to the sound of the telephone. Some jangling, high pitched tune was clattering out of it just loud enough to crack the shell of sleep. Annoyed, he told himself to be sure and change the tone to a simple ring later. It sounded more like a cheap handheld video game than a telephone. He didn’t even try to answer. It took him a good ten minutes to prepare himself for conversation in the mornings. Something’s different , he thought, scratching his foot on the shag before standing. He turned his head an awkward distance to the side, and his neck cracked, just like it always had. He tried to recall his dream, fumbling his way to the bathroom and beginning the motions of brushing his morning breath away. As hard as he tried, he couldn’t raise the dream above the line of consciousness. It just wouldn’t come to him, but a feeling encroached his dull senses that reminded him of how he had felt as he looked down on his baby sister, ten minutes after she was born. He grinned a foamy smile, and let the hunt for the dream go, emptying and rinsing as he did.
This feeling, which he would soon recognize as peace, was a little bit alien to him. Months had passed since he had last felt it, and so he didn’t recognize the symptoms. Those months had been far from easy. He hadn’t been sad, or depressed; what it felt like to him was loneliness. He struggled with it like a beast that meant to spill his blood. The loneliness murmured up from the intangible fibers of his soul, reminding him constantly that something was missing; that most of him, in fact, was missing; the part that was present seemed to consist of all the garbage. It had been the longest, hardest stretch of time in his young life. The pages of his old Bible had become smudged and creased; they had gotten worn from concentrated use. His mind was tired from all the wasted effort in trying to solve the problem with logic, and his confidence had all melted away under the heatlamp of brokenness. Three nights ago, he became worried that his heart was too jaded for salvage, sensing a seed of jealousy planted there. He had begun to grow jealous of all those people he knew that seemed as if they had everything figured out. He thought maybe that jealousy had tainted his prayers, and that God just wasn’t listening. He wondered to himself how Martin Luther and George Whitefield and countless other men of God had endured their own torments in seeking Him (theirs were undoubtedly multiples of his own.) So each day, this praying man had worn a thin smile, and carried the weight of the unknown like a millstone on a necklace.
But this morning, checking his voicemail and dressing to meet a friend, the weight was gone. And he didn’t even know it.
Two children were playing in the yard up ahead, kicking a blue ball back and forth, enthralled by the sweet simplicity of a child’s game. The grass was greener than it had ever been, and the sky was so blue that it subconsciously reminded Jacob of the majestic river in his dream as he approached the yard where the children were. As he passed, the younger of the two, blonde with boy curls and a cherubim’s face, paused from his game and smiled a smile like only he could. Something spread through Jacob’s nervous system, raising his awareness; filtering his thoughts, and at length pushing tears out of his smiling eyes. He never did completely recall nor forget his dream, but he didn’t need to. From that moment forward, for the rest of his life, he knew who he belonged to. Thick and thin, through all the pain and struggle and joy and triumph, that dream represented the victory he was allowed to share that kept his peace, and once and for all, to Jacob Jones, hope had become truth.
this story is meant to encourage something i need to be encouraged of myself. the story is entirely fiction, and i don't personally trust that God still speaks to us through dreams, but the symbolism is biblical, and i think it is important for me to remember that sometimes it takes a long time to reach peace with Jesus. the valleys are there for a reason, and that reason is NEVER that we should give up on waiting for Jesus. After all, He is THE way, THE truth, and THE light. i'm not giving up, and there are many who deserve thanks for that. there is something else i remember that gets me through, that keeps me, even in my darkest, most lonely moments, from giving up. i don't know the reference ( sorry ) but it's a bible verse. no matter how many promises God has made, they are yes in Christ. and something else : Matthew 5:6 says that blessed are those that hunger and thirst after righteousness, for they shall be satisfied. ( paraphrased ). Why does this verse mean so much to me right now?
Because it does not say blessed are those who are righteous...; it says those who hunger and thirst. remember, He didn't come to save the 'righteous', but sinners. i'm a sinner. this encourages me. i hope it does you. and even if i never become a 'righteous' man, even if i never fully find that peace, maybe someone else could be encouraged to hunger and thirst for righteousness. maybe these verses will spark a hunger and a thirst in me even tonight.
don't give up on life. someone loves you. don't give up on love. there is nothing else that will satisfy you. and i'll relay something that is no secret, and no coincidence. God is Love.
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