I had a dream last night. It was fantastic, a love story, drama, suspense, fantasy, all in one. I thought to myself, “This would make a lovely book.” And, maybe it will one day. But one part of the dream is standing out to me, has stood out to me all day…I will explain.

In this dream, the main character was a man…he lived in this elaborate but very art nouveau house; the whole place was like an art gallery. One part of the house that stands out significantly was this staircase, and all along one side of this staircase were bookshelves with thousands and thousands of books…all in hard back, all with gold pages. It was beautiful, and for a writer and reader, like myself, it was intoxicating and irresistible.

Immediately, I began to thumb through each one, marveling at its pages and tracing the words on the binding. I didn’t know that the man was observing me. I was enthralled in this world of books. Suddenly I noticed one book that was simple…the pages were simple, the lettering simple, and it seemed pristine. I picked it up, the title was something about streams or deserts…I know, two very different pictures, but for the life of me, I cannot remember which; it was, after all, a dream. But, perhaps the truth in that statement lies in the fact that I casually glanced it over and replaced it, uninterested.

It was then that I noticed the man, in the corner, watching me. He was a lovely man, beautiful in every way…and I was drawn to him. It took me but a second to see the glistening tears in his eyes, not yet dropped but shining. Confused, I ran to him seeking to wipe his tears, to understand his pain, but he turned from me and said, “That was the story of my life.” I was even more confused so he continued, “That book that you clearly had no interest in…was the story of my life.” I was deeply regretful, sad, and upset. I had hurt this dear, precious, lovely man by my disregard for his life, his book, his story.

I ran, far and fast…and eventually I woke up. Broken hearted over my choice, and my casual dismissal of a life that I had come to love. I would like to have that dream again…and choose to love that book.

But tonight…I’m feeling that dream again…but in a different vein. I’m thinking of another book, lying on my bed stand. I’m thinking of a book that sits unmoved since yesterday. I’m thinking of a book that tells an amazing story of amazing lives that reveal the life of One and One alone…the life and character of my God. I’m thinking about how often I dismiss it, or casually glance at it and replace it on my bed stand. I’m thinking about the many times that I have pulled out one or two verses only to disregard the full meaning of the Word. And, I am picturing a man…a beautiful man, a lovely man, an innocent man that died so that I could read and understand and love those words. And, how he must feel as he sees me disregard His book. And I want to run, far and fast…but instead, I will cease my writing and I will choose His book…and I will read His book…I will love His book. And, in the end, I will find myself, not regretful, but safe once more in the arms of grace.

It really was a beautiful dream.

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