Tended Dreams
This is a fiction piece by Amy D. Christensen
So many coffins! Why were there so many coffins?
Image by Lisa Yount from Pixabay
The One who stood beside me looked out over the vast area filled with every manner of death box imaginable. There were pine boxes, reminding me of the Old West, golden sarcophagi, dark cherry wood polished until it shimmered and many, many more. It would take days to count how many coffins filled the valley: literally a valley of dry bones. Here and there I could see beings of light, I assumed were angles, tending to the coffins.
“Who are they,” I asked looking up into his dark eyes.
They were brown, but seemed to be edged with golden light; a light that came from deep within His heart.
He smiled at me, though I could tell there was a deep sadness behind that smile. “Not who, but what?”
“I do not understand.”
Image by Jackson David from Pixabay
He took my hand, squeezing it firmly. It felt as though just a bit of strength tingled from his fingers into mine filling my whole body with warmth. It was as though someone had just draped a warm blanket over my shoulders.
“These coffins hold dreams.”
“Dreams?”
“Come. Let’s walk and I will show you.”
I was afraid. I had always been afraid to be around death. I never liked going to funerals and walking through grave yards was fine during the day when the sky was blue, but when the sun went down and the mists began to creep along the ground, no thank you! I planted my feet firmly.
He turned to look at me. “It will be alright. You are with me, and I would never let anything hurt you. Not any more.”
His eyes took in the depth of my soul. It was then I knew. He knew everything about me and yet, it was completely obvious how much He loved me.
“Come.” He smiled again and I let myself be pulled along.
We moved in among the elongated boxes and I couldn’t help but admire how intricately beautiful some of them were. Many were very simple and completely unadorned, while others had been carved and embellished with decorative swirls and etchings, some of which looked to be letters in various languages.
He stopped before a dark box whose wood was so polished and smooth I could see myself in it.
“This one belongs to a man who took great pride in his work. He built his own business from the ground up. When he met his wife, he knew he wanted to have a family. He wanted many children, hoping that a few of them would one day carry on the family business. His wife died in child birth. He never remarried and eventually sold the business.”
He moved me along to another box a little ways away. This one was much more ornate than the last one. It was covered in beautiful scroll work.
Image by JamesDeMers from Pixabay
“This one belongs to a woman who married young. She had dreams of becoming an archeologist, but her husband said her place was in the home with the children. She had a brood, and when there were no more children to be birthed, her husband left her for a younger woman.”
“How terrible!”
The next coffin he stopped before was smaller. Not the size of a child, but not a full adult either. It was white and decorated with pretty pink and yellow flowers.
Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay
“The girl whose dreams reside here was only 16 when a drunk driver took away her ability to walk. She wanted to be a dancer hoping that sad people would find joy in the movement of music and dance.”
He stretched out his hand and rubbed the top of the pretty box, as if remembering.
I felt my eyes sting with tears. He began to walk again and I pulled my hand from His.
“Why are you showing me these things?”
He did not speak. I could see tears in his own eyes. He held out his hand.
Once again, I placed mine in his and we walked for a while in silence.
The next box we stopped in front of was rather simple and unassuming. In fact as we had walked it occurred to me there were many coffins like this. They weren’t plain and simple like an Old West pine box, nor were they richly adorned. They were, in fact plain and unnoticeable.
“Why are there so many like these?”
He looked out over the valley, turning his head from one side to another. “These are the dreams of mothers for their children; wives for their marriages; grandmothers for their grandchildren. As is so often the case these go unnoticed. Mothers go about their lives, most often never asking for the help they need, the desires that go unmet and the thanks they so deserve. Unlike many, who have one major dream of what they want to do with their lives, mothers, wives and grandmothers often have the most dreams and, as you can tell by these coffins, so very many of them must be laid to rest.”
Image by Richard Mcall from Pixabay
“Well, if that’s the case, why aren’t their coffins more ornate and noticeable? Why are they so plain?”
“Because their desires were simple. They wanted their children to grow up without damage and problems. They wanted their husbands to talk to them. They wanted their families to get along…simple things really, yet so important. Unfortunately, very few take into account the dreams of a mother. They love her and are glad for her, but they rarely get to know the woman that she is underneath all that she does: the writer, the singer, the artist, the leader, the warrior. So very many dreams that had to die.”
“But why?” I was beginning to feel upset. “Why should they have to give up their dreams?”
“Because they knew what was really at stake. They knew that the most important part of life was relationship. They were willing to give up everything else, so that relationships with their children, husbands and grandchildren could continue. You see life is not about the dreams that come true, it is about the relationships that are built, or abandoned, along the way.”
He stepped away from the box. “Come. I have one last thing to show you.”
Again, he took my hand and once again I felt the mild tingle of His strength moving me forward and warming me.
The sight we came to next took my breath away. A sea of tiny, infant sized coffins, each adorned with a small, flickering candle, floated silently on a huge glassy lake. The light on each coffin produced a shimmering reflection in the surrounding water. It was all at once beautiful and horrifying.
Image by Hans Braxmeier from Pixabay
He sensed my discomfort and putting his arm around my shoulders, pulled me close.
“Even a baby has dreams. In the world as you know it, when babies are born they do not have language, but the truth is, all that are conceived have the imprint of heavenly language. It is in this realm that they dream. They dream of small things, but still they are dreams. Smiles, green grass, blue skies, their mother’s face, their father’s laugh, the feeling of human touch, but alas, none of these dear ones ever got to realize their dreams.”
I gasped, as the sea of coffins seemed to go on forever. Tears slipped down my face.
He turned me towards him.
“You have dreams too. I showed you all these things because I want you to know that each and every dream you have is important to me. Each and every dream that you must give up, I will know about and I will tend to. That is how much I love you!”
* * * * * * *
Often, when I write a piece like this, I feel it is God giving me a way to express my own feelings and thoughts, but in the form of a story. An allegory tells a story in the form of imagery. I hope that the picture I painted above shows you, that Jesus loves you with an everlasting love and that every single dream you have achieved, and every single desire you have had to give up, He is aware of and He holds in the palm of His hand. I write, because I need to remember this, and maybe you do too.
You are deeply loved!
