You have overcome, You have overcome

I am flying.
So natural. Like walking, and speaking and breathing, but flying.
I am not alone, my companion is unseen, but so familiar. I have known Him for all of time, like a part of myself, only better. He prompts me to look here and there, take in the wonder of this new place, again so familiar, yet my heart leaps as though each pixel is a mystery realized. Seuss-like puffs speckle dancing meadows, set just inside the shallow basin of mountains. To the east the sun is resting in a pool of electric blue- is that blue?

But it's the west that captivates. We circle Him. He is taller than the mountains and twice as sturdy. His frame draped in what I can only imagine is the armor of kings. He is color. He is light. He is the very presence and goodness of God Himself-- looking at Him I can know nothing but peace. The questions jumps at me, almost with panic, "Why can I look at Him?" And before it reaches my tongue, my companion answers This is what it will be like in the end when we are all here. 

One thing I ask from the LORD, this only do I seek: that I may dwell in the house of the LORD all the days of my life, to gaze upon the beauty of the LORD and to seek him in his temple. ps27.4

We circle again and I am placed on the edge of the resting sun in the east, as if sitting on the side of a swimming pool. I heard an interview with Oliver Sacks the other day where he described an episode in which he saw a color he describes as cyan. He said that he began to search for, and wonder if this particular tone existed in the real world, but was unsuccessful in finding it. He mentioned thinking that maybe it was the color of God. Sitting on that edge I understand him completely. The rays of blue wash over me like the first life-breath.  I feel every molecule come alive in worship. Freedom-laughter comes aloud as joy ripples through my veins. The goodness of God is intoxicating. 

Now we have moved on, and I stand at the base of a red ladder. Climb, and so I do. 

At the top is a tunnel similar to one my child might find at the tip-top of a playground. Walk through it.

Quickly my mind considers the size of the opening He is prompting me through and panic rises in my belly. I can't, I will never fit. And I begin to back down the ladder. 

You have a choice, you can let fear control you, and this can end now, or you can move forward and I will make this fit.

I press fear aside as if moving a heavy curtain and walk forward. My eyes begin to make out movement and as my vision clears, I realize the compact tunnel is housing a snake. 

Panic. No, I can't. I step backward.

You have a choice, you can let fear control you, and this can end now, or you can move forward and I will fight this battle for you.

I move ahead as the snake lunges. My heart pounds as my fist extends lamely to strike this new enemy. I make contact- but not with my target. My fist slams against the ground inches from the snake's head. But he crumples, as if I hadn't missed at all, but rather had attacked with precision. I lift my arm to try again, and again I fail. Yet, the snake falters, dies, and disappears--my Companion wears the Victor's Crown-- and I move through the tunnel. 

The tiny tunnel space melts and molds around me and I am again on a playground, at the top of a red slide. Water glistens at the base and I am frozen. I can't, I don't know what's in there. Please don't make me. 

You have a choice, you can let fear control you, and this will be over, or you can dive in and see the good gifts of a Father whose love does not run out.

I dive.

I am embraced by freedom. Liquid bliss sparkles as sunlight finds its way into the deep. I watch as ripples of light dance and flit around me. I flip and breathe deeply, how is it that this water breath is richer than air? I am fully alive!

Something touches my foot, and I am consumed by fear. My eyes flicker and adjust to a world I know all too well, and I am faced with the realization of my choice. Fear is the absence of faith. Fear is the covering of eyes when the alternative is to gaze on God glory. Fear is my high place that must be torn down and redeemed by an altar of thanksgiving and trust. 

Ann Voskamp says it better:

"All fear is but the notion that God's love ends."

And fear is what makes me a "believer who doesn't believe."(1)

I wake again this morning, gripped by the anxiety of a day not yet lived. Has this dream taught me nothing? I am so human, so quick to choose regression over forward movement. But the goodness of God is unwavering, beckoning me on to see what depth lies in this truth--nothing can separate me from the love of a God who does not run out. I wrap myself around this promise and drop one foot off the side of the bed. In the morning He is still with me. 

In my anguish I cried to the Lord, and he answered by SETTING ME FREE. ps118.5