It was early in the morning. He was tired.
Like most of his waking hours.
The alarm hadn’t even sounded. He turned over. Sighed.
Tried to get the thoughts out of his head. Rambling. Rumbling. They tugged on him. A piercingly sharp pain in his forehead abruptly forces a groan. It passed. Rubbing his head, his eyes open again.
Breathing increases. Panic. Thoughts flash. He reaches for his phone. 2:03AM. His chest is pounding. Sweat begins to bead on his nose. He clinches his eyes tight. He’s struggling to catch his breath. He rolls over on his back. His breathing cadence is more rapid now. Shorter and shorter with every second. His eyes are wide as saucers. Flicking frantically from one spot on the ceiling to another. Hopeless. He sits up. Lays back down. His breathing is labored.
Another panic attack.
Third in a week.
He questions why he’s alive. His thoughts wonder down forbidden paths. His breathing is finally under control.
He rolls over and looks at his phone again. 2:21AM. He lays on his back and looks up at the ceiling. Sheets disheveled. Hope shattered. Sinking nausea in his stomach. Pinch in his throat.
A tear stingingly forms and then slowly glides down the side of his cheek. Weary, he questions his purpose. He questions his investment. He questions everything.
His eyes find a shape on the ceiling that seems to respond to his gaze.
It’s an odd shape. Sort of a circle and sort of a cone. It’s not moving, but has the appearance of shifting back and forth. Just then it begins to grow.
He blinks. Wipes his eyes. He can’t believe what he’s seeing.
The odd shape takes on an even odder shape as he is now fixated on it. It’s not a circle or cone anymore, but now a crown. It’s growing in character and beauty. It even seems to glisten.
Just then, it separated from the ceiling and began to float toward him. He tried to move, but couldn’t.
He was locked. His hands couldn’t move. He tried to raise his arms, but they had no strength. He tried to lift his voice, but was struck by a profound silence. He was paralyzed. The odd crown-looking object continued to float down toward him.
He blinked and looked in confusion as the object definitely took on the form of a crown. He was certain that it was a crown. Its beauty was beyond description. No crown seemed to compare to this one. It was covered in jewels and a color he had never before seen. Its appearance was extraordinary.
What he found most remarkable, however, was that the closer the crown came to him the more was the peace that washed over him. He noticed that his breathing was no longer labored. His heart was calmly beating. His concern now was to not lose sight of this crown slowly approaching where he lay.
He closed his eyes for what seemed like a split second, but then suddenly he only saw a flashing light. It was a brilliant light. He wasn’t in his room anymore. He was suspended in air and was surrounded by an effulgence he had never known. The crown was closer now to his face. An object was behind him. Beside him. Beneath him. Above him. All around was a radiance of white light that seemed to increase with every moment. A figure faintly appeared. Love. Beauty. A presence. Strength. Kindness.
No longer was there any panic. No anxiety.
Just peace. Calm. Rest. Contentment. Without realizing it, the weariness was gone. His vitality was restored. His thoughts were clear. He felt a feeling of solitude he had never known. The appearance shifted. Came closer. Invitation.
He closed his eyes again.
He was back in his room. The ceiling looked as it always had before. The circle looking spot was still there. He rolled over. Looked at his clock. It was 5:44AM. The alarm was sounding in just one minute. He turned it off, got up, and sat down with his Bible.
What a dream. What an odd dream.
His thoughts took him to 2 Timothy 4, and he began reading in verse 6:
“For I am already being poured out as a drink offering, and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; in the future there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the righteous Judge, will award to me on that day; and not only to me, but also to all who have loved His appearing.”
He closed his eyes. Prayed. Remembered. Confessed. Resolved.
His Christian life meant something. His journey–though imperfect–was toward Christ-likeness. He had let lies seep. He had allowed a foothold of pity. He had forgotten who he was and Whose he was.
No longer discouragement. No disillusionment.
He remembers. His heart is calm.
He rereads the passage.
A phrase enters his mind.
“Press on.”
“Press on.”
“Press on.”
“Not that I have already obtained it or have already become perfect, but I press on so that I may lay hold of that for which also I was laid hold of by Christ Jesus. Brethren, I do not regard myself as having laid hold of it yet; but one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and reaching forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”
Philippians 3:12-14
— February 22, 2022