I used to have nightmares that often pounced three times in a night. My tender-hearted husband would wake me up and pray for me to settle into a peaceful sleep. For the first year and a half of our marriage, I attended church with him and I kept my promise to study Christianity. I read book after book after book until something happened in my heart, a tiny spark. You know the point in the novel where you realize that you are invested in the hero because your heart moves to cheer them on? You know who’s side you are on. Despite overwhelming odds, you are there in the story, laboring with the underdog, straining with him to overcome his enemies. I slammed my book shut. My heart and mind filled with fear. It’s not safe to believe in Jesus. You can’t trust him. There are too many holes in his story. There are too many giant leaps of faith you need to take to swallow his communion and hope again in the fairytale of heaven. I would sit next to Todd in church for the next three months, but I couldn’t bring my fearful heart to open a book and risk falling into the dark abyss again created by the disappointment in those foundational men who broke my heart to the core. I couldn’t go through that again, not even for Todd, the one man I was able to trust.
One evening at around 3am, I was startled awake covered in sweat. For the first time, my nightmare didn’t wake Todd. I laid there forcing myself to slow the rhythm of my breathing, and shake off the fear that gripped me. If I didn’t believe in Todd’s prayers, why was I disappointed that he didn’t wake to pray? Fully awake but now calm, I searched to make sense of my options. I need to get back to sleep or I will not have the energy needed to meet the demands of my day of raising middle-schoolers and leading project teams. What if I pray? I can’t pray unless I believe because I respect Todd’s beliefs too much to treat them lightly. Do I have a mustard seed of faith?
I thought back to that feeling of wanting Jesus to be my hero even though I had no logical proof of God. Looking back on it now, I think God held back my fear in that moment so I could take my first step. My prayer went like this, “Dear God, this is Dawn. Well, you probably know that already because your God.” What a stupid way to start a prayer, I thought. I don’t know what I am doing. Todd’s prayers sound so much more prayer-like. Oh well, I have to keep going now that I have God’s attention. It would be impolite to stop. I took another go at it. “God, would you fill me with the Holy Spirit so that I can have peace and go back to sleep?” I was surprised by the words that had come out of my mouth. Fill me with the Holy Spirit? Where did that come from? Then I felt it. It started at the very top of my head and slowly washed over me like a dry sponge soaking up water when only the very end is touching the puddle. The peace of God melted through my entire body down to my toes. Before I could have a rational thought, my heart knew. God, once again without introduction, touched my soul. This time, he didn’t say a word, he just settled into me and I wept. God had given this tiny tree another chance to grow with him. Jesus brought me back to life with his peace, love, and hope.
I would spend the next six years growing in my knowledge of God and who I now was as a Christian. Early on, Jesus spoke to me two more times, just like he did in that cool Vermont forest when I was a teenager. We picked up where we left off. I was completely forgiven and Jesus had killed the fatted calf in my honor. When my heart searched for a way to interact with the world, specifically my coworkers, Jesus told me, “Love them”. When I asked God what he wanted me to do, he played a song in my head from my days in the Episcopal children’s choir. I can still remember the angelic voices as they sang, “Feed my lambs, tend my sheep, over all a vigil keep. In my name, lead them forth, gently as a shepherd.”
