Huge cumulonimbus clouds built up over head and rolled in on his little town like lawyers, guns, and money featured in low budget action films. The flash of a nearby lightning strike startled him into spilling a little of his coffee and the resulting crack made him spill a little more. Still wiping French Roast from his shirt, the hail began pelting the window and all he could think was how sad it was that a little rainstorm was the most interesting evening he’d had in weeks. The rain continued for an hour and eventually tailed off. Pondus Pectus, truly a heavy heart, fell asleep in his chair to a pleasant pinging on the roof and the smell of coffee drying under his nose.
Dream #1
He was sitting on a couch talking to the man who had led him to Jesus many years before. In midsentence Pondus turned and was surprised to see water rising outside the window. Before he could mention it though, the water had begun to pour in the doorway. All of this didn’t seem to bother his friend who calmly suggested they go upstairs to the main level of the house. Once there, Pondus was again surprised to find the water had now risen to the level of a dock that ran out and away from the house for a hundred feet or so to what used to be the edge of the river. He followed his friend out on to the dock where he discovered a number of people floating by. Bile rose in his throat. This deep water was tinted a sickly green, it ran slow and was clear to the bottom. At first it was easy enough to take people by the hand and pull them to safety but after a while he saw it was necessary to jump in and go further each time to pull them out. Not only was he upset about having to swim after those who didn’t seem to even want to help themselves but he was disgusted to find that many of those he had previously saved would suddenly go limp, roll off the dock and back into the water. In the midst of his frustration he began to notice that there were many more now deep in the water, their silent lips mouthing cries of anguish. Taking a deep breath, he dove in and made his way to the bottom. The man he grabbed seemed unaware that a rescue was taking place and offered no help toward his own survival. Halfway back to the surface Pondus ran out of air and strength. He was left with the grim choice of letting go or dying with the man but then a voice came to him, Trust me. He held on and in what seemed like only a moment he popped to the surface. Face down on the dock, chest heaving, he refused to look in the water again. He told the voice he couldn’t go back. The reply was immediate, In quiet and trust shall be your strength but you are often unwilling.
A long and low brontide signaled the storm wasn’t finished yet. Pondus woke thinking he should go off to bed but he was comfortable where he was and perhaps a little sad remembering his dream. Murmuring a prayer of repentance he quickly fell asleep again.
Dream #2
He could feel his strength. He was a man’s man, God’s man. His armor was beaten but intact and was adorned with the beautiful scars of many battles. He stood amongst his soldiers and knew that they loved him. In his hand he held a mighty sword. It was well made and sharp. It had enough weight to send a shock wave through the enemy but was so well balanced that it took no effort to wield it. He loved the sound of the battle horn, the blast that marshaled their courage. This very moment it sent the warriors onto the field and Pondus Pectus ran with them like a man running to meet his love. Together they met the enemy with a yell and the sound of a thousand cymbal crashes. The effort felt good.
At the peak of the battle, when sweat and noise and strength come together to form the symphony of impending victory, Pondus looked down through a forest of limbs and saw a baby. He was repulsed. This was not a pretty baby and may even have been his enemy’s baby. This baby was course featured, dirty, and runny-nosed. Its cheeks streaked red as it screamed up at a world of violence. Pity, not love, moved Pondus to scoop the child up and continue fighting but it soon became clear that there was no way to fight and protect this child at the same time. The voice returned, What will you do now? Pondus felt nauseated. The voice continued, Whoever welcomes one of these little children in my name welcomes me. Pondus dropped his sword, curled himself around the child, sunk to the ground, and the warrior became mother.
Pondus woke disoriented and thinking that he had somehow managed to lose a baby and develop a hole in the roof right over his head. As the fog of sleep lifted he soon realized there was no baby and the only wetness was his tears. It was still dark. Now, a little afraid of sleep, he grabbed a blanket and returned to his chair determined to wait the remaining night out. Two minutes with a warm blanket was all it took for the gentle rain to sing him back to sleep.
Dream #3
They wheeled him into the hospital room, arms tied to the bed. He was wrecked and wretched. He felt he had no more to give and was not inclined to give anymore even if he did. They left him staring out the window, watching the rain. He cried for some unknown loss. He couldn’t remember what he had lost, just that something was gone and its absence left his soul deflated like an old car tire hanging on to a rusty rim.
After a time another man was wheeled in. The voice shook Pondus Pectus from his stupor, Speak to him. Not now, Lord, I have nothing. Speak to him. Pondus mentally dressed himself in the garments of his faith. It was slow and every muscle ached. He turned to the man sharing his room and by faith shared the story of God’s love. The man cursed and rejected every word. Pondus wondered why he had even bothered and turned back to his window resigned to another sleepless night. His long dark night of the soul was interrupted by screams. The bed next to him was completely engulfed in flames. Pondus lunged against his restraints and a primeval cry came from a deep place within that he didn’t know existed. A wave of guilt swept over him as he remembered his tired old attempt at loving the lost. The voice however was clear, Whenever your heart condemns you know this, I am greater than your heart. I know everything. Still, Pondus thought that he had done nothing of any value for the pitiful creature next to him. The voice continued, I am the only God! There are no others. I bring about justice, and have the power to save.
Pondus, sad little sleeper alone in his chair, slowly became aware of light and morning sounds and the good smell of life in his nose. Still half asleep the voice called to him one more time, First the wind blows, then the rain comes, and then all is made new. And all was new. Pondus Pectus, remarkably, was at peace.
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