An answer that would take the strength of kryptonite to contain it. An answer that would surely swallow me whole.
Well I worked up the courage. So I asked him, quietly one day. Like a little girl...."Dear God..." And I believe he revealed the answer to my question to me in a dream. I did not like the answer. I knew that I was not going to like the answer. Which is why I could never bring myself to ask it in the first place.
It was a question, that has been lurking in the bleachers, waiting, hoping for the day it could escape. It was not a plea. And, it did not involve the question "Why?" No, I did not ask why. I did not think I would get the answer to that question here on earth. So, I did not ask it.
I can imagine you are wondering what the big question was. What the answer turned out to be. But I cannot share that. I cannot even face it myself. It was a blessing that it came in the dark, in the fog of a dream, in the whispers before dawn. I am grateful for the haze of it.
Since I cannot bring myself to say it out loud, I will dance with it here. I will twirl it around. Shimmy and bump it. Glide back and forth with it. Maybe even step on its toes a little. I will allow myself to dance with it here.
Well, you know how dreams can seem so very, very real. So very, very vivid. How sometimes you can feel every feeling. Smell every smell. How sometimes, the tears leave a stain. The laughter, it echos.
You know how sometimes, if you don't like how the dream is going, you can tell it go another way. And sometimes, you can't.
This dream, this answer. There was no stopping it. It had a mission. It had a job. It had a message to deliver. I reacted the same way I would if it were an actual real life event. I grew quiet. My heart was breaking, my heart...it knew the right questions to ask. Questions needed to be asked. Yet, I remained silent. I remember being frustrated with myself, in the dream. Like, really, you are just going to stand here. And say nothing. Yes! Even in my dream. For I was afraid of the answer.
Some people are wired to go after the tough answers. To ask the tough questions. I am not. I have tried recently, with friends. Asking a hard, honest question. In a loving way. But they are questions about themselves.They are not questions about me.
Somewhere along the way I have learned that in life, if you look hard enough you can always find something good, mixed in with the bad. I did not like the answer. I did not like the question. I did not like having to ask it. I did not like that it was difficult to ask.
No.I did not like the answer.
But like I said, if you look really hard, there is bound to be something good mixed in there somewhere. And there was. Freedom. In the midst of this tension and fear, among the crumbling heart and shallow breaths. This dream came with answers. It also brought with it freedom. And it has offered me a dance. A dance I cannot refuse. A dance to remember. To never forget.
The answer, I did not like. But I know it is true. I have always known the answer. I have always known the truth.
This is why I can dance. This is why I must dance. And never forget. It took a lot of courage, a ton of strength, a tremendous amount of trust. To ask the question. God was gracious to help me see. I cannot disappoint him. I cannot sit this one out!
If I choose to forget the answer, I will forever put myself in a corner. I will never feel the music again. I must remember that I asked and I received. The truth is ugly. But it is truth. And that is better than a lie any day. It is better than no music at all.
So, although this dream will haunt me, I will take the answer that was given me. I will say thank you. I will accept the hug that is offered in return. I will put on my dancing shoes. And I will accept the dance.
~ Psalm 30:11 ~
Thou hast turned for me my mourning into dancing: thou hast put off my sackcloth and girded me with gladness. KJV
You have turned my sorrow into joyful dancing. No longer am I sad and wearing sackcloth. CEV
You have turned my sorrow into joyful dancing. No longer am I sad and wearing sackcloth. CEV
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