Some of my earliest memories are of sitting on the kitchen counter in my pajamas and recounting my many dreams for my parents and the twin. It all seemed so real. So amazing. To me. Like Joseph of the Bible and his irritating knack for telling his brothers they were bundles of bowing wheat, I am sure that I was not always a treat to listen to at 6:00a.m. I am sure the coffee pot couldn’t brew fast enough for my sweet parents. “And then…you turned into a giraffe! And then…I was running SO fast.” And that was only dream #1.
As I got older, I kept it up. By the time I was in middle school, I knew how to keep the re-telling pretty pithy. But even today, I can’t resist a good dream story. Because, truth be told, sometime I think God talks to me in technicolor. The parents always prayed over us at night, that we would dream and that he would speak in our dreams. My own fears, stresses, previous meals, also talk. But every once in a while, I know there is a dream that comes from God. It seems directive or encouraging or prophetic. There have been countless times that I look back and see the purpose of a particularly memorable dream.
I’ll spare you the list.
Now that I am an adult, I don’t sit on the kitchen counter in my pajamas and list off my dreams. I sit at the kitchen table in my pajamas and write about them in a blog. But I hope it encourages you to pray tonight for your own dreams full of Jesus. And maybe some giraffes.