When I was in my early twenties, I suffered from nightmares. The dreams were very vivid, very graphic and very specific. I would often have the same dreams. The one that I seem to remember the most was about Jesus. I dreamed that I was the caretaker of his hands and feet. Severed hands and feet at that. I had carefully buried them in my backyard so that I would know where they were and no one else.
My nightmare started out with me walking to the back yard and gazing down at the big, black empty hole where I thought they were in safe keeping. I started crying and running around the neighborhood screaming, "Who took Jesus' feet and hands?" "Where are they?" "Who has them?" I would spend the rest of my dream crying and searching for his severed limbs believing that the devil had taken them.
I knew there was much symbolism in that dream. I spent many days, weeks and months thinking about the true meaning of it and what it was that my subconscious was trying to tell me. The horror of the dream and the fear ran deep. This was one of many dreams where I felt great evil was at the center. And I was in constant fear. (Having watched "The Exorcist" didn't help any.)
It was my deep fear of the devil and the power that I thought he had over me or the power that I thought he wanted that haunted me the most. I struggled with the meaning of it all until one day I woke up and made the revelation that he couldn't harm me, hurt me or control me if I didn't believe in him. If he didn't exist, he had no power over me. As simple as that statement was, it was effective. The realization that I was giving him power through my beliefs changed everything for me at that point. I have had fellow Christians argue the point that I could not believe in one without believing in the other....a judgment I have never felt was theirs to make.
I don't live in fear and that liberation has made me more open, more loving and more accepting of people.
I figure where there is love, there is God. And I'm good with that.
My nightmare started out with me walking to the back yard and gazing down at the big, black empty hole where I thought they were in safe keeping. I started crying and running around the neighborhood screaming, "Who took Jesus' feet and hands?" "Where are they?" "Who has them?" I would spend the rest of my dream crying and searching for his severed limbs believing that the devil had taken them.
I knew there was much symbolism in that dream. I spent many days, weeks and months thinking about the true meaning of it and what it was that my subconscious was trying to tell me. The horror of the dream and the fear ran deep. This was one of many dreams where I felt great evil was at the center. And I was in constant fear. (Having watched "The Exorcist" didn't help any.)
It was my deep fear of the devil and the power that I thought he had over me or the power that I thought he wanted that haunted me the most. I struggled with the meaning of it all until one day I woke up and made the revelation that he couldn't harm me, hurt me or control me if I didn't believe in him. If he didn't exist, he had no power over me. As simple as that statement was, it was effective. The realization that I was giving him power through my beliefs changed everything for me at that point. I have had fellow Christians argue the point that I could not believe in one without believing in the other....a judgment I have never felt was theirs to make.
I don't live in fear and that liberation has made me more open, more loving and more accepting of people.
I figure where there is love, there is God. And I'm good with that.
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