Dream

I awoke devastated and unable to control my tears. Messy, loud, agonizing tears. I slipped out of bed and tiptoed across the house, praying-- God help me, God help me. I didn't want to alarm my kids or husband with the emotional waterfall so I settled on the floor of the laundry room, back to the wall, head against the cool metal of the dryer and cried and cried. My mind replayed the dream, never accepting as reality the images it projected.

It was a dream about Zoe, my precious Boxer. She died on May 17, 2008. I was so grieved that for months I could not control my pain and tears at the thought of her. And still, I miss her so deeply. Even as I write these words, the crushing sensation in my chest and throat draws me back to that painful, dark day.

In the dream, she was sick, as she had been for over a year before she died. But in this instance, I was unable to care for her and I pleaded with my parents to take care of her until she died. Only after losing her, did I discover that they did not take care of her, but gave her to someone, a stranger, without a thought of what might happen. I was so enraged by the betrayal and so deeply pained by the idea that Zoe had been abandoned by us all that I began beating and scratching my father and mother. Their faces were soon bloody, but they said nothing.

Of course, this is not an accurate portrayal of my folks, how I feel about them or what happened with Zoe. It didn't make sense, but it was so real, so terrifyingly real. The loss, the guilt, the anger welled up and poured out in my tears. I willed myself to get it together and my tears slowly subsided. I crawled back in bed, my two little ones sleeping soundly on either side of my still-warm spot. As soon as I rested my head on the pillow, the punching, relentless pain surfaced, I gasped and began the wailing again. Back to the laundry room.

"What, God?," I whispered. "What is this? Help me, please, help me."

Then into my mind, new thoughts. A Bible study by Beth Moore, Priscilla Shirer and Kay Arthur that I had completed this spring. And a Bible verse that I would never claim as my own.

"These people come near to me with their mouths and honor me with their lips, but their hearts are far from me." Isaiah 29:13

"Oh, God," I cried. "No! I have not withheld my heart from You, have I?"

Silence.

"Please forgive me," I said again and again.

This dream was not about anger toward my precious, loving parents. This dream was about anger toward my precious, loving God. This dream was revelation of my (as Beth Moore says) devastation with God.

How long have I held my heart far from the Lord? Has it been just this year? Since the loss of Zoe? Has it been since the loss of three miscarried babies, the loss of a marriage I had placed my hopes in? Have I removed my heart in steps? Drawing it farther away with each disappointment?

In the study, Beth Moore says that God is not interested in adjusting our lives. He wants us transformed. And, to do that, requires us to move past our devastation with Him.

I stepped out on this journey, my first desire to know God and His plans for me. I asked for it, never really understanding that as I spoke this desire, I held my heart in the distance.