One night that week, I had a dream that put an end to this chapter for me. It was simple. Sort of matter of fact. No parting of the seas, no walking on water. Just a voice that declared, “There is proof that Jesus is alive.”
Well, there you go then. I felt light and free when I woke. Considering how long this was gnawing at me, the whole thing was probably a microsecond in real time.
My dream voice didn’t say what that proof was, and my dream self didn’t ask. In a sense, the question, “Did Jesus exist?” had lost a lot of its power. It just didn’t seem that important. I was looking to draw conclusions. Hoping fervently for a “yes” which only opened the possibility of a “no.” Which one was it? Yes? No? Maybe both!
My dream voice didn’t offer conclusions, as much as a starting point. A place to begin. Like someone had tipped the box I was trapped in over on its side, and I crawled out free, stood up straight.
I looked around at a vast, unencumbered landscape and asked, for the first time, “Now what?”
“Now what?” In a very real sense, that’s where all prayer brings us to and where living starts. Everything else is sleep walking. And, as unpleasant as they are, God uses these moments of crisis to wake us up. Even if you wake to discover that it’s too early to get up. You need more time to sleep. Go ahead, go back to sleep. That sleep is never the same. And sometimes the dreams in that in between sleep are even more vivid and compelling.
After my dream, I went back to sleep. I still wasn’t ready to get completely out of that box. I took the words as a challenge and an assurance. I knew that what I was looking for was there to be found. So, I began to search for what that proof might be.