I just woke up from a very vivid dream. I think the Lord wants me to record it. I am very touched by it, as it involves some moving moments of personalities I have come to love so much after what I experienced with them through the dream. I will try to record the details the best that I can. I recognize that they might have some profound meanings.
Breakfast In A Hotel
I am living in a hotel as one of the guests of several families and friends, most are young. Unlike one would expect for a hotel, it is not as though we have been staying there for only a few days, but as if we have just moved into it to live there for a long period of time. Some good people (maybe the people I am staying with), extended their favor and kindness to me, paying everything in order for Brad and me to enjoy a room there. I remember Tim and Rachael are around. They are more together like a family, but with great kindness they want to share everything they have with us. I am their honorable guest, so to speak.
As usual, Brad and I would get up late in the morning. So, I decide to make some breakfast for us with the groceries that the two of us had gotten for ourselves. They are really not very good, but we are accustomed to it. While I am looking around in a small kitchen on the side of a living room (where everyone would hang around as they come out of their own bedrooms), someone begins to ask me what I am busy with in the kitchen. I think it might be Rachael, she stops me. A few girls, obviously her friends, begin to tease me because I do not know that the hotel actually has been serving free breakfast. I joke back a bit, saying something like, even if they do, it is too late now anyway. Rachael says, “Not really. Actually you are just in time.” She points me to a doorway leading to a lobby area and a line of people that are waiting there to be admitted to have breakfast. Joyfully, Brad and I get into line. I am thinking to myself how silly I am, that I have been trying to make our own breakfast for the last few days…
Babe on the Breast of His Grandma
As we move forward, there seem to be two lines. An elderly lady (looks like a middle eastern woman, as I write, I know her to be the Biblical character Naomi) is just behind us, she is in a dark brownish shirt, but out of the sleeve hangs out the head of a baby boy. He is wrapped in his grandmother’s shirt, and kept on her left breast. A young woman, the baby’s mother (Ruth), is standing beside her. I smile at the elderly lady while looking at the babe, who is so loved and dearly cared for. I think I might have said something to this effect, how blessed is this little darling. Grandma beams and smiles back at me. Then I look at the left breast of the young woman, where the babe would also have rested, and then into her eyes, communicating that I know how she must feel when the babe is resting at this most lovely place. The young woman, being shy, turns her eyes away from me. The reason, I guess, is because of the other people around. Obviously, the others in line are westerners, and even knowing that what we are connecting about is a most beautiful and pure thing- they treat us as though we are acting improperly with their silent disapproval. I know that they think I should not look at the breasts of these two precious women to begin with. Anyway, I look back at the grandma. We know we’d better stop our interchange. As our communication is cut short, the scene also changes.
Sermon In A Mosque
I don’t remember much of how this started. It might have been while I am having breakfast, but I get acquainted with a new friend, who becomes fond of me. He is a middle-eastern man somewhere in his late 30’s, shaved, and dressed in a suit. He might be a princely sort of man (evidently upper-class) with a western education. He seems to find in me a quality he has long been searching for, knowing it can change the fate of his people. So without hesitation, he compels me to come with him. He has his servant (or assistant) show me into a car. I am intentionally kept uninformed of where he is driving as he explains, “You have to come, I have to introduce you to my own people.”
Shortly we arrive at a place encircled by walls, but with no building. A few people are scattered around, all eastern, might be Arab people (I think my friend is an Arab). They receive me with great excitement and honor. Evidently they are the elders of my friend. My friend is very humble, quietly waiting aside, letting them interact with me. They are so glad to find me there, and instantly they seem to know that this meeting has been purposed to make my acquaintance. A man with a robe and beard is then situated in the middle of a place like a square and he is holding a holy book, I suspect it is the Koran. He is ready to preach. I remember now, a few honorable people intentionally position at the four corners in a square around their preacher. My friend is not even allowed to be close, he has to stand outside of the circle. But I am given the position of front and center, a place of great honor and attention. As the preacher is preaching his message, whenever he would make an important point, he would look to me, obviously seeking my agreement. Others would nod quietly, but eagerly look at me to see my response. I listen quietly and wait for them to share their message. I think I agree with most of his exposition of the Book that he holds in such high regard, finding it enjoyable. (Now in reality I have never yet read the Koran, only recently at the urging of the Lord I bought a copy, but have not yet started to read it.)
After the sermon, all of them come up to me. I guess they must be impressed with my manner of dealing with all of this, knowing that I have shown them great honor and kindness by just listening. They could not have expected better and this touches them greatly. They are excited and so endeared to me now that they praise my friend for introducing them to such a noble and dignified friend. Now, they begin to laugh and talk about things in front of me without any hindrance, evidently trusting me thoroughly and treating me as their own.
Burial on the Bombarded Ground
They urge me to attend a burial. Some young man, which is a dear one to them, has just died. This seems to be the best honor they can offer to me. They also deem my presence and help to be the best honor and blessing to them. The young man would be greatly blessed if I could attend his funeral and pray for him.
Some family members or friends of the dead have already buried him. The grave is but a short distance from the preaching site, made up of a pile of debris, the results of the bombardments of missiles that had been sent regularly from the outside. I know that they are made and sent from America and Israel. Each day they would schedule a time to send missiles to bomb the mosque. It is a routine practice for them. There are several others dead, all young, so we continue the burial ceremonies. Suddenly, someone reminds us that the bombing time is close at hand and we need to withdraw from the burial site. As I rush with others in the direction of the front gate, I stumble into a crack on the concrete ground. I almost step onto the body of a young man of only about 18 years old, killed by yesterday’s bombings. I am so sad to see his young life wasted like this, but have no time to do anything for him. I begin to run with the others.
We are rushing to the main gate. As we are approaching it, we begin to notice that just outside the open entrance, a group of American Christians are rushing to it as well from the outside. They want to come in, as if to do harm to the place. Interestingly, even though the gate is open (there is no door, but only an open entrance), somehow they dare not cross it. Instead they fill up the entrance to protest loudly. It is as if it is illegal for them to come in, as the property right is protected by the law. Also there seems to an invisible power holding them back, of which none is able to challenge. The people I am with know this clearly, so they slow down and bide their time, waiting for these frenzied people to withdraw. I have to add that these people remind me of the word, “mob”. I thought of the mobs that killed Jesus or arrested Paul in Jerusalem as I woke up from the dream. I can see that their faces are filled with hatred and a sense of stupor. The comparison between the two people groups is stark, and I feel safer to remain within and among the noble and dignified people I am with. Now we are out of the dangerous area, so all of us begin to stop running.
Encounter with A Brother
Running ahead of me is a man of great stature, and obviously a Christian westerner. He is someone special. I know he is a tall and strong Christian preacher or minister, having somehow earned trust from these people. I can see the “anointing”– for lack of a better word- upon him. But even though they show him great respect, they have never received him as one of their own. So my quick friendship and standing among the people greatly puzzles him. He can’t understand how could this happen. He turns around, and feels led to do something to impress the others, to show that he deserves more respect from them. I don’t know how to put it into words completely. But, I do know that this dear brother has no evil intention or guile. He just wants to test me and make sure that I know what I am doing. The fact is that I have done nothing but to go wherever the situation brings me to. Strangely I feel at home with whatever is going on. And I have never even thought about me being a Christian, or the others being Muslims all this time, which really is a strange thing in some respects…
Now the “anointing” is really resting on this brother. So he walks up to me and begins to “minister” to me. Evidently he sees some illness in my head on the left side (recently I suffered a bleeding in my left nostril and an infected ear that caused me some pain). He asks me if my left eye is hurting. He looks at me with great intensity, and really wants to demonstrate his healing power. I know by this that he wants to stop any of my influence on his own standing with these people. I feel quite amused, but I love him and enjoy him greatly. Knowing that I do have this illness and I want to be healed by him, I allow him to pray for me. While he is praying, evidently the Spirit does fall on him, but begins to confine him in a different way. He falls into a trance. Even when the healing power is released, he still tries hard to push me to respond in the way that he wants me to. I know that in order for him to have peace, it is necessary to make myself known to him. So I ask the Spirit to reveal who I am to him, so that he will be set at ease. Quickly the glory or “anointing” is dismissed from his face, and he begins to bow his head. His whole expression and demeanor changes to be like that of a young boy. (Words are not adequate to describe the sudden change.) He is somehow greatly puzzled and utters words obviously out of his control, that I have been enjoying limitless access from God’s resourcefulness, especially of wisdom and understanding. I know that this needs to be stopped and I pray that he will be released. Finally, he shakes himself to wake from the trance, and looks at me with great astonishment as if he has seen an unthinkable thing. How could this happen? How is this possible? He dares not ask me, but by his frightened and puzzled eyes I know these questions are troubling him. Now his stature has strangely withered to be lower than mine, and I have to bow my head to look into his eyes. Tilting my head to the right a bit, as gentle as I can, I speak softly to him: “He is my Father.”
That did it. He is so shocked with an enlightenment that God can be such a Father that he begins to shake and tremble. While with great regret that he has missed such simple and basic thing, his face lights up with a child-like happiness. He is lost in this amazing moment, and almost totally forgets about everything else around him.
Others have been observing the whole interchange. With great respect for us, they withdraw and stand aside while watching. I now recognize that the brother has been a miracle worker, mostly with healings, and is highly respected by them. They know it is a thing given by God, but they do not feel at home with it. As they see the change that has happened to him, and his becoming like a child, they are all amazed by it. Moreover, they recognize that they have been searching and longing for it as well. They show such reverence and honor that they dare not even talk to me anymore.
But I know that they will want to hear everything I know about my Father.
