I keep thinking of this dream I had a few days ago.
Even though, annoyingly, I have forgotten most of it, the little that I do remember just lingers on in my mind.
In the dream, I was hanging out with Jesus. We were doing just all sorts of stuff together. "Doing life together," I guess the phrase would be.
The best part, the part that held the intensity, was His demeanor. Jesus was just so natural, and loving, and meek, and fun, and spontaneous. He was the best companion, ever.
He was about as far away from a stiff, formal person one can imagine. Whatever Jesus was doing, He was loving it. He was curious about everything.
I loved just being with Him; it didn't matter what we were doing. I just wanted always to be around Him. We were sort of in a group, though the details of that are fuzzy.
In the course of the dream, we were standing on a bridge, waiting in line for something- I don't know what.
There was a woman ahead of us on in the line, and she was curious about Jesus. At that particular moment, Jesus happened to be kneeling down and holding on to the railing. I couldn't tell if He was fascinated by the ravine, or just something on the wooden planks of the bridge.
I myself was used to Him being this way- caught up in the moment, in the details, and uninterested in His appearance. He had too much joy to be bothered. He was too comfortable His own skin.
So, I was talking to the woman about Jesus. I was telling her about His story- how He came down to be among us, and died, rose again, and returned to His Father.
As I was telling the story, I was very much caught up in His emotions throughout this process- especially the agony He had gone through. My voice was hushed, even, as I was talking. I kept my hand on His back the entire time, as though I could comfort Him that way.
The woman seemed very impressed by this story; her eyes grew wide. She looked down at Jesus, who was still kneeling down between us, looking off somewhere in the distance. Then she looked up at me, puzzled.
"Is He the real Jesus?" she asked me, doubtfully.
I knew what was throwing her off- it was His unconventional behavior. That, combined with His meekness and the almost unnerving quality of His innocence, was just not adding up for her. She was expecting someone else- someone high and lofty and formal and fierce.
I knew He could be that way; that was all a part of His heritage. He just wasn't choosing to be that way, at the moment.
For a second, I myself wavered. But I couldn't abandon Jesus. I loved Him too much, even if He was sort of acting like a crazy person.
I put my head up, my shoulders square. "I know He is," I declared, sort of breathlessly.
And as I said that, I felt this rush of fear pass over me, followed by a inner quietness, a stillness. At the same time, everything in the dream became crystal clear, as though someone had adjusted the focus on a camera.
In that moment, Jesus looked up at me from where He was kneeling. For the first time in the dream, there was so much intensity and sure and quiet and unquestioned authority in His gaze. His eyes held this sort of fierce life, but perfectly still. His eyes were brown.
It was sort of like getting kicked in the gut, but in a good way. It took my breath away.
Then the dream changed, and I knew we were in heaven, Jesus and I. Only it looked more like a lobby or something. Everyone was waiting in these lines; there were four or more lines.
Even though people were waiting, the atmosphere was friendly and easy going. People were talking, but it wasn't loud or rowdy. It seemed like everyone knew each other.
Everyone was very much an individual, all dressed differently, in different colors and styles. There were men and women, and people of different ages and races.
There was a woman in the center of the room. She would reach her hand into this container and draw out a name and that person would be next, but next for what, I didn't know.
Where Jesus and I were, the lines were pretty long, so He took me by the hand and led me around to the side of the room. Those lines thinned out, all of a sudden, and there were only two people waiting, one of them was an older man with a receding hair line and a brown sweater.
Jesus went forward and put His name in, or took a ticket, or whatever one did, and then we waited in the line behind the elderly fellow.
We could see the woman when she pulled out Jesus' ticket. She reached into the container, unfurled the paper and then her face went perfectly still.
I realized then that Jesus didn't really have to wait in line at all, and that normally His name never came up there, and that He was just being playful.
"Oh my," the woman said, with this sort of breathless delight, all cutely flustered. "We have Someone from the Deep Heavens," she said, reverently.
And Jesus turned and looked at me. His eyes were dancing, all crinkled up at the corners with merriment.
Then I woke up.
When I woke up, of course I thought about Jesus kneeling down and drawing in the dust and appearing as though He was not paying attention, and being called a crazy person, or demon possessed, and doing things that even His disciples did not understand.
And now that I've written it all down, no wonder it's been lingering! Goodness.
I really wish I could remember all of it. What stays with me is just the joy of being with Him. He was just so wonderful to be around.