Wednesday, January 19, 2011

He's the Wild One - Chloë

January 10, 2011 - Chloë

He’s the Wild One

Dream - Waves

Last night I dreamt that David and I traveled somewhere to see these wild waves. When we arrived at the beach and saw the waves, we realized they were much wilder than we had anticipated—and we knew “we can’t play in those waves.” They were wild and beautiful and so was the sky over them. (I really wanted to get in the water but knew I couldn’t).

Then from out of the water there arose a giant waterspout—this thing seemed alive. Aware. It came toward land and seemed as if it was going to go in a direction opposite us, then changed its mind and came right at us. We ran for shelter and only got a little wet—(while we were in the shelter I said to David and the others “Man, that thing had eyes!” meaning, I sensed its consciousness. The others didn’t understand what I was saying so I figured I’d seen something in the spirit about its nature that they hadn’t.)

We came back out onto the road and the waves were even wilder than before. I took out my camera to try and capture it, but before I could, the waves rose up, and we had to take shelter again.

This time shelter was harder to come by and we had to go further inland (we got more wet than before). We found a building, large like a garage, but built poorly like an old shack, and the roof leaked in on us. We knocked on a door, trying to get those inside to let us come into their better-protected space. A man answered the door with a gun and said, “You can’t come in here; people are killing each other out there trying to find shelter.”

We went back out to the road. The sky and waves were even fiercer than before. Again, I tried to photograph it, but like before, the waves again swelled up and were coming right at us. We were forced to run for shelter. We got soaked as we ran.

This time we found a little guardhouse. A man (the guard), huddled in the corner with a gun, told us we weren’t allowed there. We told him we had no choice and went in anyway. He didn’t seem to mind.

There was an opening over his head, and I looked out and saw the waves and sky. I reached for my iPhone to take a video of it, but the sun (which hadn't been present before) shone in my eyes and I was forced to look away so I wouldn’t go blind (the window had no glass and the wind was blowing so violently I couldn’t hold my iPhone steadily anyway. I couldn’t even keep my hands raised).

When I could finally look out the opening without fear of blinding, I saw the moon and planets skimming over the waves, and I wondered if it was the end of the world or some fulfillment of prophecy. Then we heard Bob’s voice saying, “The Teachers you had expected to find, aren’t here. They heard that the storm was coming and left before it came.”

The next thing I knew, we were floating in the water, bobbing up and down—but not violently (or gently). I saw the statue of liberty floating by. We heard random news reports about this ‘record breaking storm,' that was happening before our eyes.

Next I knew, I found myself inside a boat, leaning against the wall. To the person next to me I was quoting the scripture “all His breakers and waves have rolled over me.” I tried to explain the depths of God and the awesomeness of his majesty and how it related to what had just happened, but he didn’t understand and started quoting other scriptures to me that had nothing to do with it, so I just leaned back and contemplated the greatness of God.

Thinking about the dream…

He is wild and beautiful, a bit fearful in and AWEsome way. So strong and powerful and beyond our control—whether He’s crashing over us—taking us to richer depths with Him—unknown places—unseen glory in Him—or whether He’s carrying us as we float in His grace.

His depths are unfathomable—I could search forever and always find there’s more—so much more. From Him I could drink forever and at once be both utterly satisfied and thirstier than humanly possible. He is everything—all good, all wonder, all beauty—He’s all of it. He is both my rest and my restlessness.

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