Dreams and salt flats

I spent the morning on my porch, sobbing and talking to myself. Yes, nutter… you should be used to that by now.

Last night I begged God for a night with no nightmares. All I could say was “please, no nightmares, please, please, no nightmares.” I would be lying if I said I was confident that He would give me what I asked. Afterall… I’ve never cried out so desperately or fervently as I did for Damon, then he died.

I also asked Him to wake me early if He wanted to talk. Several times over the last month I have set my alarm to commune with Him before the world and my boys rise. I almost always turn the alarm off, roll over and go back to sleep. There’s something about an alarm that just brings out the rebellious in me. This is also often when the nightmares come…

He woke me, with a dream about Damon. His daddy handed him to me and he curled into me like he always did. I kissed his blonde little head. He was dressed in a white dress shirt, a vest and a tie… an outfit I’ve never seen before in my life. He looked adorable. I held him and I felt whole. The dream lasted seconds and I could feel myself waking. I fought it, then my eyes opened. I laid there staring at the window, grey morning light filtering between the blinds and grasped for the feeling of him. I didn’t move for a long long time. I replayed the dream, afraid to breathe, afraid it would pop like a bubble and be gone.

Still holding my breath I made my way to the porch. I sobbed, and sobbed, and sobbed. I talked myself through some painful questions and thoughts and cried. I miss him. I would stay in that dream forever and never wake if I could. I would die.

After a while the world around me started to stir. Neighbors started emerging from their homes to pick up the morning paper or go to work. I surveyed my peaceful middle-class neighborhood awash in early morning sunshine and thought. I thought about how deceptive this world is that I walk through every day. I thought about how dangerous, how deadly that deception is.

Hanging above one of the exits at the building that houses the college ministry offices of my church is a sign that reads “You are now entering the mission field.” By and large we don’t believe that. I mean honestly, do I live my life as if I enter a mission field every time I leave my house?

I believe more and more that the prosperous west is one of the most challenging mission fields and one most desperately in need of missionaries. I think in most places people are aware of the pain and futility of this life but here we feel secure. We have ‘stuff’ and medical advancements and enough to eat. The horribleness of a fallen world rarely penetrates our ‘happy bubbles.’ We’ve insulated ourselves. We’ve convinced ourselves that it won’t happen to us and shut down to anything that says it might.

I’ve been studying Daniel. Daniel, the teenager who stuck to his God even when he was taken captive by a foreign nation. Even when his name was changed from one that means "God is my judge" to one that means "Bel will protect" (Bel was a Babylonian god). Even when he was freely given all of Babylon’s indulgences. Daniel, who stayed pure in the midst of a society so similar to ours. A society that valued beauty, youth, intelligence and weath above all. Sound familiar? Our culture is very Babylonian, very selfish, very superficial.

In Isaiah God speaks to Babylon. Here He characterizes the attitude of Babylon. In Isaiah 47 verses 8 & 10 God says “You say, ‘I am the only one and there is no other…’” characterizing the selfishness and self-absorption of this nation. But the continuation of verse 8 bit me hard and hasn’t let go. The verse in it’s entirety reads:

Listen to this, you pleasure-loving kingdom, living at ease and feeling secure. You say, ‘I am the only one, and there is no other. I will never be a widow or lose my children.’

This attitude of “nothing bad will ever happen to me” was a characteristic of Babylon, a nation entirely in opposition to God.

Don’t get me wrong. How I hope you never become a widow or lose a child!!! And I like my neighborhood. I like the mowed lawns and the sidewalks and the three bedroom two bath houses. I like the neighbors walking their dogs in the evening and I know we enjoy religious freedom in this country that is unmatched, even now. But we won’t always. Even before that comes I wonder if we are willing to recognize the pain, the brokenness, the fear that lives in our hearts and the hearts of those who so desperately need our God.

Feel free to take my words with a grain of salt, heck, take them with a whole salt shaker… or the salt flats themselves. Better yet, take them to Him and see what He has to say about it. After all, my voice calls from the insulation of the four walls of my house, which I rarely have the courage to leave. Last night after experiencing what was apparently “take your brood of children under four to Chik-fil-a” night I curled into a ball in the dark and went nearly catatonic, then sobbed. So, again… salt flats and all that.

The thing is, people need God. The real God, not some watered down version that only works from a pew. If we aren’t living for Him, if we aren’t transparent how will they ever find Him? Jesus lives in me. If I’m not transparent all anyone can see is me.