Ironic....

One of the great ironies of my life is that God chooses to speak to me quite regularly in dreams.

You see, for all those years that I was depressed, I also suffered regularly from quite severe nightmares. Nightmares are something I’ve fought since I was a child, but as the depression intensified, the severity of the dreams also increased. I would wake unable to move, and wonder why my bed was shaking. As I would come more fully awake, I would realize that the bed was shaking because my entire body was trembling violently from the aftermath of the dream. It would feel as if something was quite literally sitting on my chest, pinning me to the bed. My pajamas would be soaked with sweat, and at times it would take all of my strength to remind myself that it had been a dream. There were many times where I wanted to scream, move, run, anything, but it took all of the strength I could summon to simply whisper over and over, “Jesus.”

Nightmares seemed to alternate with periods of insomnia, or wakefulness, and for nearly three years I rarely slept more than four hours in a stretch. All told, most nights I probably slept an average of 6 hours, and probably woke up at least 2-3 times a night, either from a nightmare, or just because I could not manage to sleep deeply and peacefully.

When God chose to heal the depression, one of the things that marked the evening was that I slept six hours in a row, without waking, and without nightmares.

I sort of assumed that my sleep difficulties had come to an end. With the healing of the depression, I intended to pursue a life of restful sleeps, and gratefulness to God for letting me sleep.

I’d had a friend who loved when God spoke to her in her dreams. When He was silent in her sleep for too long, her prayer request would be that He would once again give her dreams. I was more than happy to pray that over her, but I couldn’t help poking good natured fun at the same time. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting their sleep interrupted, even by God.

And now, it seems to be one of God’s favorite tactics to speak in my dreams. Which is great, I guess. I mean, I’m glad He’s speaking to me, but I really, really did want to sleep.

And when He does it every night for a stretch of time, I tend to get a little annoyed. I was telling my coworker the other day that I’d been having dreams again lately, and she commented, “That’s great. The Lord is speaking to you!” My response? “Well, I wish He’d choose some other time than 5 am!”

Also, dreams are so metaphorical. Sometimes I wonder if this God who insists on speaking just likes to taunt me a little. I’ve always hated metaphor, been a straightforward kind of girl. I write poetry less than once a year, preferring the more concrete style of the personal essay. I hated studying poetry in school, and I majored in history, rather than English to avoid having to pick apart metaphors and symbols for the rest of my life.

And what does God do, choose to speak to me in highly metaphorical, symbolic language!

Like I said at the beginning, one of the great ironies of my life is that the method that God has chosen for speaking to me is in dreams.

Out and About

Well, I thought I'd start this morning off with a one-liner I found in my email inbox this morning:

"If you don't pay your exorcist, you get repossessed."

Bad, it's true, but it did make me chuckle.

It'll be quiet here for the weekend. I'm working at a Steve Bell concert tonight (can't wait), and then early tomorrow morning I'm driving out to Red Deer to meet up with my friends Marty and Kari at a conference for a day, and then to head back to their home in Gull Lake until Monday afternoon.

I can't wait for the chance to reconnect with friends, and simply be away from the city and the decisions of my life for a bit.

Next week might be pretty quiet too. My best friend Megan leaves Saturday for a three month trip, so I'll be spending as much time as possible with her this week, helping her pack and prepare, and basically serving as the person who helps her maintain her sanity!

So, if you don't hear from me for a bit, never fear, I will return!

Too much of myself....

It's been an interesting week. Full of dreams, and half-waking moments that I don't quite know what to do with... I keep dreaming of "lost" things. Twice last week it was a lost wallet. Then two or three days of dreams where I was sleeping in the dream, and would then wake up, and know that I had just missed something very significant. And this morning it was a lost, unwanted infant. A baby that was being passed from person to person. No one knew who she belonged to (her name in the dream was Hannah), and no one wanted to keep her. Like I said... it feels as if there is something just beyond my reach, and I don't know quite how to catch hold of it...

And on top of the dreams, last night I realized something about myself. I NEED to be right as much as possible. I was sitting and having dinner with a friend, catching up on life in the last several months, and sharing about a situation - a decision I've made - that has somewhat polarized quite a number of my relationships.

And I realized something. I know that I followed God's leading in this situation, but I really want other people to see it as the right decision. I want to feel vindicated. I want other people to follow my lead. It hasn't been enough that God is pleased with my obedience. I want the accolades of people for my obedience. I want them to do the same thing, or at least tell me that I did the right thing.

I'm tired of myself. Not only am I overshadowing God in my own life, but I'm alienating some friends by incessant need to be told that I am in fact following the leading of God in this situation. I read Psalm 51 last night, David's prayer of confession, and made it my own, confessing to God that I have allowed others to overshadow Him, that I myself have overshadowed Him, and asking Him to remind me continually that it is only His approval and vindication that I need.

A Militant Stance?

Check out this post on Kirk's blog. He talks a bit about the issue of gay marriage, and some other stuff, and I liked the perspective he brings. (You can find out the thoughts it triggered in my brain by reading the comments on the post.)

To Give Testimony

It’s come home to me a bit in the last few weeks that I have a story to tell, and that my story, may, perhaps encourage other people.

It is very easy to write off my experiences as inconsequential, as hardly worth mentioning or discussing. I am, after all, young. I’m twenty three. I took a “life experience” quiz on the internet last night, and scored quite low on the scales of things in life to experience. Some would say that I’ve lived a sheltered and uneventful life, hardly worth pausing to consider.

And yet, last week I held a celebration that brought about conversations with coworkers and others. And those conversations brought home that I need to tell at least parts of my story whenever I get the opportunity.

On November 1, 2006, I celebrated one year depression free. God healed in a way that was gentle and forceful, and baffling, and beautiful.

Some months ago, as I shared the fact that I had been healed from this thing that had plagued my life for over five years with a group who were praying over me, someone spoke out a word, saying that she believed that God would use this to encourage and bring healing to others.

Last week, I mentioned that I was celebrating to two separate women, in two separate conversations. Neither conversation was in a place or with a person where I would normally have chosen to discuss the fact that a year previously I had been suicidal, questioning each day whether it was worth it to keep getting out of bed in the morning for a meaningless existence. In fact, I tried to discuss my plans in a very generic form. “Oh, I had a celebration dinner with friends last night.” It didn’t work.

Both women wanted to know what I was celebrating. The first one I told commented, “That’s incredible. I haven’t managed to be depression free for even two months.” The second woman shook my hand. “Congratulations. I’m being treated for that right now. The medications are helping. Things are a lot better than they were two years ago.”

That’s as far as either conversation went. But what spectacular opportunities have now arisen for me to quietly pray for these women as I go about my day in close proximity to them, to look for openings in conversation where I can encourage them. To wait for the inner promptings of the Spirit, and then to act in obedience to those promptings.

Maybe this story is something that shouldn’t be carefully hidden – told only to those few whom I trust. I am not ashamed of the fact that for years I lived under a blanket of depression. But these conversations have reminded me that so very many people are. That it is not widely accepted within the Christian church for someone to suffer from mental illness. That even outside of the church, in a society that is educated, and even bombarded with information about illnesses such as depression, there is still a strong stigma attached to the words. I should know. I was fired from a job within the probationary period a few years back because of my depression – I was apparently not “up-beat” enough for the employer.

And really, I act as if I am ashamed, not only of the depression, but of the fact that I have been healed. I’m not, I’m ecstatic, filled with joy at the changes God has formed in my life this past year. I can hardly believe that a year ago He was gracious enough to draw me from darkness into light. That He has placed his calling on my life, and marked me with a love for the broken and messy things.

And so, I’m going to jump at every opportunity to tell this story – to stand and give testimony to this crazy thing that God has done, this thing of beauty and grace and mercy that has been poured out upon my life.





p.s. If you want to read someone else's story, told in a masterfully funny manner, check out the ongoing saga at Rik Leaf's blog.