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I found this site by way of Wayne’s blog. It took me a few minutes to realize that I had heard of Don Francisco. He happens to be one of my father-in-law’s favorites and the author of one of my earliest favorite songs ever, He is Alive! I bet I was five or younger the first time I heard that song.

I really enjoyed the articles on their site and I listened to some of the mp3’s offered. I thought I would link to this provoking song:

Steeple Song

I had an interesting dream last night. It woke me at 3:00 in the morning, tense and distraught. It has somewhat faded since then but here is the gist of it:

Matt and I and the kids were with my parents and my sister and her family. We were in a tall apartment type building with lots of windows, it seemed to be our home or a home. At some point I looked out the windows and saw a dark dirty looking cloud rise up and head our direction. Somehow I knew that bad people were coming and I wasn’t surprised by it, like I somehow knew, like it was inevitable or something. There was no time to do anything. They were there in the building. Matt and I and all the children found ourselves on somekind of table like thing that worked like an elevator. Someone turned it on and it began to move downwards. Andrea and Dennis were not on it yet, but their kids were. Dom (my sister’s 1 yr. old son)was sitting just looking around not knowing what was going on and Dora, his almost 3 yr. old sister, was near the edge and frantically trying to hold on to Andrea who also was trying to hold on but knew she couldn’t. All I could do was grab hold of Dora and look at my sister’s wide horror stricken eyes, no words were said but she let go. It was awful. The elevator thing took us down and the door opened and the men were there. They were there to kill us. They wanted us gone. They had siringes for the adults and for the children they had inhalers, puffer things. They wanted us to administer the drugs to ourselves and our children. I knew we didn’t have any option and that if we didn’t do it ourselves they would do it by force. I actually had the needles and inhalers in my hands. We looked for a way out of the situation. My mom and dad decided to pretend that they used the needles to see if somehow they would be overlooked. They ended up lying on the floor like they were dead. Matt and I didn’t know what to do, we tried to run with all six young children. But it was useless and we ended up back where mom and dad were lying on the ground. The whole time the children had no idea what was going on; they were scared because they could clearly see that we were scared, but they did not know that in my hands I held death for them. It was an absolutely awful feeling. I ended up awake and distressed. I wanted to know if God was using this dream to tell me something. I asked Him to either make me forget it or let me remember it well enough in the morning to ponder it.

A strong thought that came to my mind before I fell back asleep was a picture of the men and women and children who died in the holocaust. The children who were wrenched from mother’s arms and the lines of people headed to those chambers to die. I thought of the families torn apart and swept away by the tsunami and the familes lost and separated in New Orleans. I thought about how we don’t know from one day to the next what might happen.

Something else I thought about was that in my dream I had no words, nothing to say to my children, though I felt as if I should, that somehow they didn’t have something that they needed before they died. I couldn’t figure out if I should tell them something or not say anything at all so that they would go peaceful and unaccountable. I was afraid to not say anything and yet I was afraid of what I might say at the same time and it was tormenting.

Even as I write this I am persuaded that what my children need and what we all need is not knowledge or words but a person, a relationship with that person, a person who will not fail them. I could tell them all manner of things about life after death, I could even tell them about that person who won’t fail them, but that knowledge seemed like paper blowing in the wind, crumbling when faced with the actual reality of death. I want more than ever for my children to know the person of Jesus Christ whose love will not fail. I will not cease to pray for this for them. I can preach at them, teach them, even be an example for them, but none of it will matter if they don’t know Him for themselves.

Thinking about these things also makes me realize how unimportant a lot of things really are. When you are faced with the reality of death, (maybe even more so when it is someone that you love) “stuff” just doesn’t matter. Humans are so consumed with “stuff” , things, ideas, knowledge, vision/missions, plans, etc.

The Andy Crouch article that Matt linked to on his blog about the two parables in Luke 14 makes me think of this too. How incredible that I have never heard or looked at those stories like that. We do try to build towers that we have no way of completing, we do try to fight a war that we have no way of winning. And all the while He is waiting for us to realize this and to give up, to surrender, to come to Him. He took away the need for us to build the tower to reach Him, He came to us. He fought the fight for us, He won, it is finished. We are the son seen coming from far off and He is the father who grabs up his robes and runs to meet us with out stretched arms.

I think we are doing better now, except Matt, who still feels pretty rotten. Hopefully he will get enough rest this weekend to be ready for work Monday. Sorry it has been so quiet around here. Now, if I can just get my house all caught back up and get back to normal life. Ok, here we go….