To listen to The Second Stone: A Dream, parts 1 and 2 together, click below.

In the dream, I understood that I would never see my parents again. I would never have a chance at eternal life in Heaven or the new earth again. But for the first time, I understood that I was completely separated from God. There were no second chances with Him from hell, and that was the most devastating part of all. My chest tightened, and the chasm that separated me from my Creator, the one who loved me and suffered a cruel death for me, suddenly became eternally deep and mournful. I was scared, and there was no changing that …

Until I woke up.

I woke up! It was a dream! It was only a dream! Like George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life, I woke up from my nightmare, eager to live again! There in my coming awake, I experienced a desire that I couldn’t resist, nor did I want to. I didn’t have to run through the streets of town, only down from my bunkbed and into the adjoining room, where my parents slept. I spoke loud and clear to my mom, whimpering as well, but determined not to waste another second. I told her what happened in my dream, and that I wanted to belong to Jesus right then and there. Forever!

I didn’t care if I was called to be a missionary and die telling others about Christ. I didn’t care if I ended up enjoying the Bible and being made fun of for it. I didn’t care if people noticed that I had changed, if I became annoyingly nice, feminine and even wore lovely clothes. I wanted refuge, eternal safety, and while I didn’t understand all that I was getting into, I wanted to be with God. I wanted to belong to him, and for him to belong to me.

So, we prayed. Young and shy as I was, I talked to Jesus as best I knew how and told him how I felt. I was sorry for the countless sins I had engaged in, all rooted in pride, thinking I could do better, knew better, wanted better (anything but Jesus). I believed he was the Son of God who sacrificed his life for mine, he died, then he came back to life and conquered sin and death. By believing in him, he would dwell with me and I would be made new. And in my death, my spirit would dwell with him forever. The offer was nearly unbelievable but completely irresistible. Yet, I believed it to be true. So it happened. I was made new. I belonged to him, and he belonged to me. I was safe. Nothing else in all the world mattered except the deep joy and peace I was experiencing for the first time and could keep forever.

“I feel like the smell of Winterfresh gum,” I told my mom. She laughed with me. I was no longer in this hellish world of believing God exists but not responding. The in between was killing me. I didn’t realize how much I hated that world until Christ bridged the chasm for me and I came on the other side. When Christ knocked on the door, I opened it, and he came in. Oh, what a world of light and color I opened to. Everything was instantly brighter! Music was more pleasant, food more satisfying, silence and nothingness were filled with the voice and presence of the one who filled me.  I had been washed white as snow. I was clean. The filth and shadows washed away by pure, glorious light.

So when it comes to the story of how we came to live in our farmhouse, none of this would have ever happened if I had never been made new, never washed white. I never would have met Eric. And if I had never met Eric, I never could have lived here.

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