Hey Clan!
Today’s blog post is a slight detour from the series of posts we began on the Clans of Ireland. If you missed those, you can start at the beginning with the Clans of Ireland Series: The Dal Cais.
You can also find the latest episode on Desmond here.
Today, I felt compelled to share a message God impressed upon me through a dream. It was a crazy dream. Make no mistake. Yet I find God uses unorthodox things to teach the most profound lessons.
Feature Image by Smaragd on Pixabay.
How would You Fill Your Trough?
God gave me a crazy dream last night. It left me stunned and amazed because I couldn’t stop drawing all sorts of truths from the dream. The more I reflect on it now, the more details come back to me and the more truths surface.
Don’t get me wrong. It was a wacked dream, ya’ll. I’m not kidding.
I typically have wacked dreams. So that’s nothing new. In fact, most of the time I despise my dreams because they’re rarely normal or nice. Not only are they typically insane, oftentimes they’re downright disturbing.
This dream was similar, but different.
A disclaimer before I go into the details. People in my dreams never behave in a way that’s true to who they are. That includes me. There might be subtle aspects to the person that are reminiscent of who they are in real life. But for the most part, they are an extreme. Something obnoxiously opposite or a manifestation of a fear that I often associate with people. People in general, mind you. Not necessarily that particular person manifesting that fear in the dream. So don’t presume that anyone in the dream actually behaves the way they do in real life.
Everything in this dream is symbolism. Everything means something.
So the dream started out innocently enough. It was one of those typical dreams where you’re transported back to your school days. I’m guessing that because I was able to drive to school it was my freshman year of high school. I still held a youthful perspective on all the experience, like that of a 15 or 16 year old version of myself. Yet I had the self-awareness that this present reality was not my current reality, but still applicable to my life.
The events of the school day flew by in fast-forward motion and I couldn’t recall anything about it other than it was a cold wintry time and I didn’t want to drive in it for fear of wrecking. Which was absolutely true of my teen self back in the day. I still don’t like driving, especially in bad weather.
But after school, I knew I needed to get to youth group. So I’m guessing it was a Wednesday. Because we had youth group every Wednesday night.
I showed up but didn’t recognize any of the people around me. All their faces were blurred, their identities skewed. I knew I should know them and experienced no sense of being in a room of strangers, but I couldn’t identify any particular person.
That was until it came to game time. The head female counselor was my mom. A strange thing since she never had anything to do with leading youth group growing up. But nonetheless, she was the one giving the instructions for the game, and she was eager, not only for me to play it, but to be the first one to set the example for everyone else.
There was this sense of her being prideful in my knowledge of the subject. A natural expectation that I should excel and make everyone else proud of my abilities. So I felt pressured as I was drawn from the crowd to demonstrate the game.
First, I was taken to this elaborate setup on the floor. There were troughs lined up in rows that represented rungs of a ladder. They told me that this part of the game would be important later, but wasn’t the soul purpose of the game. Only that as each person progressed through the game, they had to fill up a trough. And they had to choose what they filled the trough with. It could be anything. Really, the first thing that came into your head.
So they asked me what I would fill my trough with.
My answer?
Tomato soup.
Weird, huh? Yeah, there’s significance. But we’ll get back to it, because, just like I was instructed, it isn’t important to note until the end.
Still, one thing I want you to keep in mind is this:
If you were in my place, and you were asked to fill the trough with anything—the first thing that pops in your head, what would you put in the trough?
A Game about Satan?
Moving on…
I was urged to step back.
Before my eyes, the game of troughs morphed into a large board game resembling Chutes and Ladders. I was told that in order to progress in the game, I had to answer a question correctly according to the subject of the game.
They then told me that the game was about Satan.
Whoa!
Yeah. I totally wasn’t expecting that one. A trivia game about Satan? In youth group?
Well, I suppose it sort of made sense. Everyone was stoked about this game and all around were urging me to get psyched up and play. The pressure was on.
My mom looked at me and posed the first question.
On what day of the week was Satan born?
I balked. I didn’t have an answer. Never mind that in reality, he existed before there were days of the week. I didn’t have an answer. I told her I didn’t know.
She kept pressuring me to pick a day. Almost as if any day would count. I just needed to say something. Pick a date!
“I don’t know. I don’t have an answer.”
Instantly, she showed disappointment in me and shamed me before the group, then told me to step aside and go sit on a table by the back wall while the next person answered the question.
The next person happened to be my little sister. True to form, the crowd stoked up and rooted for her to answer the question. She basked in the attention. My mom was praising her and urging her to answer it correctly.
I sat on the table and sulked. It wasn’t fair. Why was she getting favoritism? Why was I relegated to the wall and mistreated for not having an answer? Why couldn’t I play the game?
The Blanket
Even in my mind, my two realities warred within me. I pulled a blanket over my head and laid down on the table pouting because I couldn’t play the game. Hiding under a blanket, which concealed me from all and allowed me to wallow in my self-pity, yet still permitted me to see everything going on in the room from under my sanctuary.
My sister proceeded to answer the first question. The roar of the crowd indicated she got the answer right. So she moved on to the next question.
What does Satan look like? Draw a picture of him.
She proceeded to draw a cartoonish depiction, very typical to how you might think Satan would look to the world. A long, devious face, with the pointed beard and mustache, horns, the whole stereotype.
But then she started to give him many eyes. Rows and rows of eyes.
Everyone praised her for it and laughed. Whether it was in jest or whether they felt it was honest, I didn’t know. I only knew that it seemed ridiculous at the time. I couldn’t comprehend why people would be so impressed by the drawing.
Having finished the image, my sister turned aside to resounding cheers then came back to the table and sat beside me to gloat. She picked her nose and swiped a booger on the blanket.
I immediately jumped out of it. “That’s gross. You don’t wipe boogers on blankets. People just don’t go swiping boogers on blankets. Why did you do that?”
“Why not?” She said. “I put a scab on it earlier.”
I was duly disgusted and laid the blanket aside. Then I turned to her. “Did you have the answer to the first question?”
“No.” She said, triumphantly. She then proceeded to inform me by implication that she lied in order to progress in the game. That she didn’t see what all the fuss was about. Her overall attitude seemed flippant and I was given to know that she didn’t care one bit about the game. Only the accolades she received.
Then the crowds dissolved and I woke up.
The Truths in the Dream...
At that moment, all the truths hit me like a ton of bricks.
Two things struck me right off:
- Shame, because I not only wanted to play the game, but because I pouted about not getting to play a game about Satan.
- In order to play the game, you had to become like the subject of the game.
Who is Satan?
He’s the father of lies. In order to progress in a game about him, you had to become like him. You had to lie in order to succeed.
The first question, “When was Satan born?” was a lie in and of itself. He wasn’t born. He was created before there were even days of the week or time to be counted.
Yet, I was urged to answer. To lie in order to be a part of the game. To be part of the subject.
I couldn’t.
I couldn’t lie because I couldn’t be part of the subject. I didn’t belong to Satan.
I belonged to God.
Oh, I could’ve tried. I could’ve made up an answer. And as we saw in the dream, initially, I was upset with myself for not trying. For not having an answer. So much so that I sought the sanctuary of a blanket to hide under and mull the matter over.
Then it occurred to me that the blanket was Truth.
When I was under the blanket, I was not only faced with my own inner faults, but I was provided a safe space to truly see what was going on around me, even though no one could actually see me or understand how I was feeling. They only saw me as one ashamed because I couldn’t participate–wasn’t part of the game.
I was an outsider in the world.
Yes, the game was the world. Not the physical earth, but the corrupt state of society. A world bent to model its false creator. A creator who demanded lies.
Defiling Truth
When my “sister” came up to me after succeeding in the game, her automatic response, not only was to gloat, but to drive me away from Truth.
She defiled truth.
Defiled it with something that was not only a part of her, but a part of what we typically consider to be gross.
Yet both the things, this imposter posing as my sister placed on the blanket, were substances involved in our immunity and healing. Boogers, snot, mucus, take out contaminates from the body. Scabs cover wounds to help them heal.
The blanket, took on things that the world typically considers to be gross, yet are essential to healing.
Are you getting the bigger picture of this dream yet?
The second question: What does Satan look like?
Well, by now you know. No one knows. They’ve made illustrations over the centuries, either depicting him terribly, in order to evoke fear, or trying to depict him according to the scant truths revealed in the Bible. That he is a fallen angel. Not only that, but fashioned to be the most beautiful and perfect among the angels.
But what about all the eyes.
Eyes are all-seeing.
God is omniscient—all seeing.
Satan wanted to be like God. He wanted a depiction that made him look like God, yet deceived others about who he truly was.
The crowds were shouting and excited. Stirred into a frenzy of mirth because the depiction met all their expectations and amusement. It portrayed an image that they wanted too. One that mocked the very being they were unwittingly worshipping. So they could feel confident in their actions. Justified about being part of the game.
Empowered to put down anyone who didn’t play the game.
Able to revere those who fell in line and did what they wanted.
What I Put in My Trough
As I reflected on all these truths, I was both excited and humbled. The revelations in the dream just kept pressing me on to try and remember what I experienced. With each detail I recalled, a new truth came to mind. Each truth, forced me not only to consider the realities of this fallen world we live in, but to face realities about God, about Satan, and about myself.
I could go on and on about all the lessons God impressed upon my heart in that dream. Truly, that’s another reason why I know the dream was from Him. Because the lessons keep coming. Each one more profound than the next.
But I feel it’s important to close simply with this last one. Which was the first event we discussed in the dream.
Do you remember it?
It was the troughs.
I was faced with troughs and told that in order to prove I had succeeded at the game, I had to fill the trough with something. The first thing that came to mind.
I chose tomato soup.
Why is that so significant? It seems weird, right?
Yet, the moment I voiced my choice, I was forced to consider how I make tomato soup.
You see, in my family, I compromise the typical recipe I was taught in order to make the soup palatable for all. I was taught to use condensed can soup mixed with water.
My husband’s family mixed the condensed soup with a can of milk.
Water mixed with soup makes the taste of the tomato stronger, harsher. Milk lessens the tomato taste and gives it a richer, creamier taste and texture.
So when I make soup, I mix it half and half. Half water, half milk.
Does this make sense yet?
Just in case it doesn’t I’ll spell it out. I chose to fill the trough with a half-truth. I chose to do something that on the surface pleases everyone, yet truly pleases no one.
I chose to fill the trough with a lie.
A lie, mixed in truth, but a lie nonetheless.
I proved, that if I played the game, the mark of my success would be that I became a lie.
I would be like Satan.
So now, I ask you. What did you choose to fill your trough?
Let the truth of that answer sink in.
Wow! That seems like great inspiration for a story or a chapter somewhere! The first thing that popped into my mind was water when you asked that question. Like the servants at the wedding were commanded to fill the jars w/water and bring them to the master of ceremonies. My job is to fill with water and if God is pleased to do a miracle, perhaps choice wine is poured out on the other end.
Ooh! Great idea, Pearl! Someday maybe I’ll find an opportunity to incorporate a dream in one of my stories that deals with a similar lesson. I have used dreams in novels (like Rise of Betrayal) to reveal character insight. Using them to teach a valuable lesson to the character is always fun. You know, when I first awoke from my dream, I wondered why I didn’t choose water instead of soup. Soup seemed a silly thing to put in a trough, period. But then, when God showed me that the contents of the trough revealed my sin that tempted me away from God, making me act in a way more akin to the enemy than God, then the soup made all the sense in the world. There are so many personal applications for me in that lesson. I suppose, that if one were viewing the water in the trough as the Living Water (Christ), than most definitely, He cleanses our sin and remakes us. Kind of an interesting way to look at it.
Wow. Only God. You know, I seem to recall a conversation with you about tomato soup and half water half milk not that kind ago. lol. Excellent lessons and much to ponder. Thank you. I prefer to fill my trough with Jesus.
Thank you, Brandy! Yeah, we probably did chat about tomato soup. It seems familiar to me too. As for the dream lessons, yes! I still find myself reflecting on them.