The boat – [actual Jesus dream about anxiety]

 

I sit in the corner of the boat. The air is dark and ominous. The  clouds are heavy and gray.

The waves roar like tigers, like monsters hundreds of feet tall, blaring their teeth, screaming blood curdling screams, speaking profanities, taunting me, showing me the whites of their eyes, showing me their fists, shaking the boat, rocking it to and fro, splashing water against it, slapping it mightily and angrily, threatening me with death, with a torn apart, hideous murderous end.

Then I look at Him.

He is is sleeping.  Slumbering deeply in some far away dreamland, probably dreaming of His home of glass walls and radiant light and healing water and love like diamonds.

I want to shake Him, but then I don’t want to.

I want to touch Him, but I see that His sleep is teaching me something.

That I must not arouse Him, but decrease my own aroused state.  I must fall into His rest, into His deep slumber, into His carefree meditative nourishing breathing -in…and…out -in…and…out- in…and…out- despite the crash and boom in the black night.

I try.

I close my eyes and try to settle, but the waves call my name.  They call me profane names.  They call me out of my name.

Yet He is still sleeping.

So I try again.

I stretch my legs and lay back and rest my head against the edge of the small boat, but the waves splash me and drench me and slap me like mad children playing sick games.

Yet the Master stays asleep.

I notice that despite the frightening display of haunting power of the seas, the boat does not flip over.

We rock violently, yet we remain upright.  Water splashes in, but we do not sink.

Slowly, I begin to see the limitation of the seas.  I see its weakness, its line that it cannot pass.

I see what terrifies it.  I see the illusion, the thinness of its fist that it shakes at me.  I see its small head and small mind and small leader, a lizard of sorts that is more scared than scary, more empty than devouring.

And then it hits me.

So, I say “Jesus.”

The waves immediately die.  They fall into obedience at my feeble whisper, my weak attempt at authority.  They cow tow and move back from the boat.  The clouds dissolve like smoke.

Then night turns into day.  Light covers us, revealing sparkling blue waters.  The boat glides easily now.  The breeze is soft against my dry brown skin.

Then He awakens.  He looks at me and smiles like an older brother, like a clever teacher, like a wise uncle.  He smiles at me and then He glances at the heavens.

I am all the stronger now.  I have understood the meaning of rest in the Lord, of peaceful arrogant confidence that no enemy can disturb.  I have savoured the power of His name like a caramel morsel on my tongue.  I have seen the retreat of the wicked like an illegitimate child rebuked by its creator.

I say His name again out of triumphant victory.  He likes this; the sound of His name on my lips.  He smiles again and gestures for me to look up.  To look up to heaven.

 

©Michelle St. Claire   All Rights Reserved.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *