Monthly Archives: November 2015

Accidental Dream 499, Part B; July 16, 2015

The vividness of this dream woke me up and I sat in the living-room in a daze for several hours.  After the sun came up and the daily alarms went off, my fiance finally awoke and looked over the banister to me in the living-room below.  He asked me what could possibly wake me and have me in the living-room when the tranquilizers I take to help sleep, push me well past my sixth snooze button on such occasions as I take them, like last night.

[For posterity sake, his name is Walter.]

“Walter, I had a dream.  Before you say anything, it was so real, I feel like I’m still in the dream, in some other room of it.”

“Tell me the dream sweetie.” As he leaned over the banister.


After telling him even more than I’ve already written on it in my previous post, we were both in tears.

“Sweetie, that was a dream about Jesus, do you know that?”

I could feel it, but I couldn’t see how they fit together.

“You know, I was bringing you up to see Jesus.  He’s your representation in Heaven for God, you can go visit him anytime and you’ve already been introduced.  There’s no bigger court, than the court of heaven and he’s your guy.  God is described by many things, one of them being ‘Ancient of Days’ so that’s what the old computer technology in the office represents.  The gifts, that’s the Holy Spirit and his gifts. He just has gifts for you.  He wants a relationship with you, more intimately, but you have so many things you’re holding onto you can’t get close to Him. You can’t even get your gifts, because your arms are so full of other, worldly junk, that just keeps you from really getting in the door easily to meet Him.”

My tears were streaming down my face.

“What’s so powerful, is that He not only gives you new gifts, he also buys the pain and items, good and bad, in your personal box that’s holding you back.  It’s gifts upon gifts.”

I start sniffing softly.  He leaned back from the banister, his cheeks also wet from tears, and Walter came down the stairs, meeting me on the couch to hold me.

“But you didn’t help me carry my box!  I was so angry at you!”

Walter held me tighter.  “Baby, if I carried your box, we’d be in a co-dependent relationship.  We’ve both divorced ourselves from that cycle.  I can’t carry your pain for you, I can just take you to Him that buys it back, and support you in the process.”

Harder sobs started shaking my body, noises escaping in-between the sobs like ‘ultimate suffering’ from a broken heart that Inigo Montoya heard when Rugen slaughtered his father.

“I know you know about Jesus, sweetie, you’ve been introduced to him so many times.  Let’s pray to help you remove some of the items in your box that get in the way of your relationship with Him.  You and me.  I have some things I want to ask Him to buy back from me too.”

So that morning, as the sun was just starting to get warm, Walter prayed for us both.  The box of regret, loss, pain, memories, failures, feelings, pride, and anger started to get lighter.

I prayed too, I prayed for the loss of marriages and relationships past, the books I had started to “write” that didn’t have fairy-tale endings.  I prayed for three unborn children that died before they were born.  I prayed for the intellectual property I was so proud of, the things I made that never went anywhere.  I prayed for the good things too, the things that are good because Dear God allowed me to find love again with Walter, but I wanted all the credit.

Most of all, I prayed to empty my box, so I could get a present – I really wanted a gift from Him, addressed to me.

gift box hands


Accidental Dream 499, Part A; July 16, 2015

I (accidentally) had a dream.  

I wish my dream was a statement that started a revolutionary speech and changed culture through my humble blog, but it was a dream none-the-less, and one that certainly changed my culture on how I live my life.

In my dream (and I won’t be sharing the whole thing) my fiance grabbed me by the arm and said he wanted to introduce me to his lawyer, “he’s the best lawyer in the world”, Walter said between grabbing my arm and pushing the elevator button for up.

Now, imagine as I tell you this dream, that it’s so real, you can feel the floor squeak beneath your feet, the wall brush against your sleeve and whoosh of air tickle your hair as the elevator door opens.

I pick up the narrative after the elevator door opens with a strong whoosh, the wind of which makes me take a step back.  The button that lit up was the very last button in a sea of buttons along the side of the door.  Walter looked over at me, reassuringly.  

We made it to the top floor.  The speed we enjoyed on the elevator buckled my knees once, Walter helped me up before the doors opened.  There was only one door on the top floor, no writing on the door except a simple plaque and I could only read “J.Chris-” before the door was opened.  Walter turned the knob to the door, easily going through the doorway.  It was at this moment I noticed my arms were full of stuff.  I had a box with no lid, and it was overflowing.  I tried to get the door with my shoulder, that didn’t work, kicked my foot in the door before it shut, but that didn’t help much.  When I finally did get the door open, it wouldn’t open all the way because there was something behind the door.  Trying not to be frustrated, I pushed hard against the door with my back, navigating the big box through the entry.  

Walter didn’t help me with my box of stuff, either.  The frustration started to spill up my throat.  The nagging tone in my mind building an argument against Walter for when we get home.

I dropped some stuff out of my box on my way in, Walter was giving a man in jeans and a t-shirt a hug.  There were three desks in the room, only two had any room because they were piled high with wrapped gifts, and both of them had computers that were older than my original pre-Pentium with a dot matrix printer that screamed throughout the whole house once it started printing as a child.  

Odd, I thought.  Such old computers, how does anyone get anything done with such old technology!  

I turned around to pick up some of the items from my box that dropped to the floor while navigating the doorway, seeing that the door couldn’t open because there were wrapped gifts all stacked behind the door.  Picking the items I dropped up, I looked at them closely.  One of them was a t-shirt, purple with a green pattern in the center over the heart.  In the way odd dreams go, I knew I made this shirt.  I made this shirt and it was the most special shirt in the whole world.  This shirt was going to change the world.  Another was a book.  When I flipped the book over, I saw a handsome portrait of my ex-husband on the front cover.  I knew this book was special.  It was so special.  I helped write it.  I owned this book.  There were three items I picked up, each of them having a gravitating, greedy affect on me.  I walked over to where I put the box down, and placed them in the box, not looking up to meet the lawyer Walter was trying to introduce me to.

final junk box

When I did look up, the lawyer was just turning to go sit at the desk in the furthest corner of the room.  How he made it there over all the wrapped boxes, wrapped odd shaped doohickies and stacked gift wrapped cubes.  He sat at his desk, and without looking at me, stated, “[my name] I”ll be here still after you clean out your box.  I won’t go anywhere.  There’s a buy back downstairs.”  His arm reached out, and his hand pointed down, emphasizing his point. 

Walter looked at me, “Okay, you go do that, I’ll spend some time with him while you do that,” and he plunked himself right down on a leather loveseat, pulling a gift right out from under him.  I felt a little dejected. 

I stumbled with my box of items that kept spilling and took the elevator all the way to the bottom.  When the doors opened, there was a podium like a concierge stopping post in a pricey hotel. The sign in front stated “Buy Back”.  I got closer, balancing my box and I noticed there was a cash register there.  A grandmotherly woman squealed and started pulling things out of my box while he tallied on his register.  As she pulled out the shirt, I clung to it.  

“You don’t understand, this is very, very precious…” My words were useless as she plucked it right out of my hands.  Next she grabbed the book with my ex-husband’s picture on the front.”Hey! You can’t take that!” I practically yelled, I could see I was making a scene, but I didn’t care.  

“Don’t you get it, I helped write that book!  That’s my book.  I get to keep that book.  It’s all mine, I need to see that.  I need to keep that!  I opened it to the last page and read ‘Not happily ever after'”  Then she pulled it from me and I collapsed onto the floor.  My heart felt like it was beating outside of my chest.  

gift box colorful

That’s when the man who was behind the cash register podium, came around and lifted me up.  

“There, it’s all done.  Now, look what you all got!”

Into my hands, spilled gold coins.  I put them into my pockets.  

The older lady that took all of my stuff out of the box handed me my receipt.  

“Doesn’t that feel lighter?  Here’s your box, now there’s room for gifts.”


Accidentally Healed 1: October 18, 2015

You read it right, I experienced a healing on October 18, 2015.  You’re probably as shocked as I am.

Healings are something that happens exclusively in African countries, with special missionaries and back the biblical times, right?  Not today, in North America.

That’s what I thought.

For the last two years, I’ve suffered from several injuries that didn’t heal. The first one, being my neck.  As I was practicing CPR in an obligatory course, I looked up to the right, and that was the beginning of being bedridden for nearly 6 weeks.  Nerve blocks, muscle relaxants, chiropractor and frequent massages never took away the pain completely.  Up until 2 weeks ago, I maintained a steady diet of Ibuprofen, muscle relaxants (sometimes something stronger) with semi-frequent massages.

The second injury, only 6 months ago, involved a moment of weakness and distress with Dear God.  I can confirm tears, and yelling were part of the internal pain that I expressed outwardly.  Although my bedframe doesn’t show the marks, my foot never healed from the frustrated, bare-footed kick.  The kick that immediately buckled me forward where my hand came forward and also got injured as I came up swinging.  Two broken fingers, and several broken bones in my foot had left me looking as though I was taught a tough lesson by Ronda Rousey.  Not a day went by where I was able to drive, the walking cast was on my accelerator foot, the finger casts on my writing hand.  Even after the casts came off, getting around was difficult and doubled my dose of Ibuprofen.

One bedridden night, I was flipping through Amazon and watched “The Finger of God” through the encouragement of a friend.  I was so touched, I wound up watching all the films by Wunderlust (WP Films).  Not all of them were special to me, I could have missed movie number 2 entirely, but they left me so encouraged.  By the time I finished the last one, I decided to try out a local church; but not just any church, I would not be swayed back into one of those of my childhood churches with stuffy music and even stuffier people.  On that fateful Sunday, October 18, Dear God touched me and I wept.

The music was astounding.  The preaching was less than impacting.  Dear God was still there, with the less than perfect sermon. Dear God had room for everyone there, me included.  At the end, when the pastor prayed and asked for God to touch everyone, to touch the bad backs and sore necks.  I felt a warmth, like a hug from a parent before you hit puberty, warmth remembered from youth when the world still seemed perfect.  I cried like I haven’t cried.  I cried for my broken heart.  I cried for my broken body.  I cried for the miracles Dear God has done in my life, but I still felt abandoned.  I cried for the sake of crying.  And when I was done crying, I was able to walk out of church.

Yes, you read that correctly.  I walked, without limping, out of church.  I walked straight, and looked over my shoulder when I left.  Over my shoulder, neck twisting, without a thought, because there was no pain.

Even my foot and hands, that broke with my anger towards Dear God; Dear God had the Grace and capacity to meet me there, at that little church that had no more than 30 people in it, and me – broken me – healing the very wounds I suffered wanting to inflict pain out of frustration on Him.

That’s the first time I’ve ever felt the Spirit move, and I’ve been walking towards it, without pain, since.

Oh, and I had a massage today … part of my former, regularly scheduled pain regimen, and she didn’t find a single knot between my shoulders, had to ease the amount of pressure she used, and she didn’t find a tight trapeze muscle.  I wept until I feel asleep, right there on the table today; for the first time in years, I relaxed.