Spirit of God
Prologue:A child of God has dreams and visions fueled by the power of the Holy Spirit. So many of the dreams the Father gives vanish from the child's heart at daybreak. While some are pushed from the memory in fear of trusting what we can't see. But, God never changes. He continues to pour out His Spirit on those who will speak it. Jeremiah 20:9 I believe that God speaks to the hearts of His children in different ways. Hebrews 1:1 Sometimes He speaks through Ministers and Prophecy. Sometimes He comes in the clouds, or the still small voice in our hearts. Other times, He speaks to our sleeping conscious. This doesn’t mean that all dreams are inspired by God. But, I believe that God has spoken in some of my dreams. And, sometimes it is difficult to tell the difference between a dream of God and the presence of God. Here I have recorded one actual dream that God spoke to me through. I was 17 years old, had recently graduated from High School and wanted to go to college to be a teacher, though I had no college funds. I had a bag full of catalogs that colleges across the country had mailed me, soliciting my application. Yet, I had no money. But, I had a dream…
Arabian Dreams
The busy marketplace was abuzz with activity. Camels clattered down the sandy pathway as vendors hawked their wares. Sand was in the air, on my dry lips, and covering the cloak I wore, as well as the heavy golden chalice I carried. I was nearing the destination from where my caravan would embark; if I could make it through the crowded market, and hold onto my chalice in the dim hazy afternoon sun. I knew instinctively, felt an inner voice prodding me, to hold onto the chalice and the cloak because I would need them on my journey.
I felt the brush of humanity all around me as I was jostled on both sides. Suddenly, one of the more aggressive merchants rushed up beside me, placing his arm on my shoulder, as he proceeded to bargain for my chalice. I didn’t know, even as the chalice was changing hands, why I sold out to the merchant. A heavy sense of ill-boding disappointment hung over me like a cloud, as the noises continued to clatter in the marketplace around me.
And yet, I pressed on through the street, knowing I had to hurry to reach the caravan on time. Again, I was accosted by an even more intrusive peddler, who proceeded to barter for my cloak. Again, I looked sadly on as his back disappeared in the crowd, with my cape, unsure of why I sold it to him. The cloud of disappointment felt like it was smothering my heart now, as a sob wrenched itself loose from my throat. I felt the innate voice of my soul chiding me for letting go of both the chalice and the cloak, and knew that I needed them for the journey.
And yet, I pressed on through the street. Finally I reached my destination and entered a building with Arabian domes and spires, and found my way to an immaculately designed meeting room. The floors and walls were softened by plush royal blue carpet. A long table spanned the length of the room. Pilgrims such as myself were seated around the table on both sides, and I found my seat at one
end. The hubbub of a pre-meeting crowd died down to silence.
I turned expecting to see the arrival of our hosts, and was surprised to see two massive Arabian knights, with turbaned heads and beards. They wore bands around each bare arm, a wide belt, harem pants, and boots. Each had a scimitar at his waist. And each carried a heavy kettle, which he extended to each traveler, one at a time, stopping for mere seconds at each seat before moving to the next at the table. I watched with interest realizing that each person was being allowed to take one piece of treasure from these chests of unimaginable treasure.
I waited eagerly, anticipating what I would gain. When one of the knights reached my seat, I stretched to full height to peer into the kettle, and was awestruck at the sparkling gems, diamonds, gold, and chalices. I sensed immediately that this was an important, portentous decision, and the knight was moving past so fast. Deciding that I wanted to maximize the value of my treasure, I reached for the biggest and brightest, shiniest jewel that I saw, and felt my heart sink in my chest. That sense of foreboding disappointment again melted me, as I sank to my chair with my treasure.
At that moment my eyes opened and I knew God had warned me that what I had was more important than what I was reaching for, and that it was not the biggest and the brightest treasures that would fill my heart with joy. I took these things to heart. I was unable to enroll in college, or to find a job, as we were in the recession of 1982. I saw a sign for “Job Corps,” a Federal job
training program at the local Labor Department. I signed up for the Clerk-Typist program at the Brunswick base. I wanted to be a teacher, but I would have to settle for clerk-typist training instead. Though I found a rough world in Job Corps, and rough people, I held onto the Cloak of Salvation while I was there, and my cup full of God’s Spirit was enough to see me through the darkness. I encountered prejudice, as I was one of only a few people of my race. I encountered hatred and spite. I was beaten senseless once. (Ok, so it had lasting effects.) Surrounded by drug use, rape, a knifing, beatings and shocking things that I had never witnessed before, I watched the airplanes take off and land on the airfield out the base window, beyond the chainlink, barbed top fence. And, I learned how to use office machines and type, and I held onto the fact that I would have a job. And, we received paychecks while training. It was nice to have money in my pocket and buy my own shoes.
God had plans for more than shoes on my feet. I met two wonderful teachers in Job Corps, Katie Atkinson and Frank Beyers. They told me I should be a teacher like I wanted. They signed me up for college at the local Junior college, using federal money for application fees, and for the SAT. I continued to live in the Job Corps dorm, but instead of going to my trade classes as I had been, a Job Corps van drove me to the college every day and returned me to the base each afternoon.
There at the Junior College I worked on work study to supplement my income. I began to realize that with my total financial aid, I could go to any college I chose. I could do it on my own now. So, at the end of the quarter, I transferred out to Berry College in Rome, Georgia. Berry has an excellent teacher training program, one of the best in the country. Berry was a wonderful place, where I learned so much, and began the caravan journey to my dreams.
In an unheard of manner, God had set my dreams in motion, using Job Corps to get me a teaching degree. That was nothing short of miraculous! I knew Job Corps was the marketplace in the Arabian dream. Though Job Corps was not the brightest path, it led me down the right path to reach my dreams. Katie and Frank’s office was the meeting room. They held the kettle of treasure for me to reach for the stars. Berry College was the long caravan to my dreams. Most importantly, I held onto my cloak and Golden Chalice; my salvation and the Spirit of God inside of me. Those are my real treasure.
I felt the brush of humanity all around me as I was jostled on both sides. Suddenly, one of the more aggressive merchants rushed up beside me, placing his arm on my shoulder, as he proceeded to bargain for my chalice. I didn’t know, even as the chalice was changing hands, why I sold out to the merchant. A heavy sense of ill-boding disappointment hung over me like a cloud, as the noises continued to clatter in the marketplace around me.
And yet, I pressed on through the street, knowing I had to hurry to reach the caravan on time. Again, I was accosted by an even more intrusive peddler, who proceeded to barter for my cloak. Again, I looked sadly on as his back disappeared in the crowd, with my cape, unsure of why I sold it to him. The cloud of disappointment felt like it was smothering my heart now, as a sob wrenched itself loose from my throat. I felt the innate voice of my soul chiding me for letting go of both the chalice and the cloak, and knew that I needed them for the journey.
And yet, I pressed on through the street. Finally I reached my destination and entered a building with Arabian domes and spires, and found my way to an immaculately designed meeting room. The floors and walls were softened by plush royal blue carpet. A long table spanned the length of the room. Pilgrims such as myself were seated around the table on both sides, and I found my seat at one
end. The hubbub of a pre-meeting crowd died down to silence.
I turned expecting to see the arrival of our hosts, and was surprised to see two massive Arabian knights, with turbaned heads and beards. They wore bands around each bare arm, a wide belt, harem pants, and boots. Each had a scimitar at his waist. And each carried a heavy kettle, which he extended to each traveler, one at a time, stopping for mere seconds at each seat before moving to the next at the table. I watched with interest realizing that each person was being allowed to take one piece of treasure from these chests of unimaginable treasure.
I waited eagerly, anticipating what I would gain. When one of the knights reached my seat, I stretched to full height to peer into the kettle, and was awestruck at the sparkling gems, diamonds, gold, and chalices. I sensed immediately that this was an important, portentous decision, and the knight was moving past so fast. Deciding that I wanted to maximize the value of my treasure, I reached for the biggest and brightest, shiniest jewel that I saw, and felt my heart sink in my chest. That sense of foreboding disappointment again melted me, as I sank to my chair with my treasure.
At that moment my eyes opened and I knew God had warned me that what I had was more important than what I was reaching for, and that it was not the biggest and the brightest treasures that would fill my heart with joy. I took these things to heart. I was unable to enroll in college, or to find a job, as we were in the recession of 1982. I saw a sign for “Job Corps,” a Federal job
training program at the local Labor Department. I signed up for the Clerk-Typist program at the Brunswick base. I wanted to be a teacher, but I would have to settle for clerk-typist training instead. Though I found a rough world in Job Corps, and rough people, I held onto the Cloak of Salvation while I was there, and my cup full of God’s Spirit was enough to see me through the darkness. I encountered prejudice, as I was one of only a few people of my race. I encountered hatred and spite. I was beaten senseless once. (Ok, so it had lasting effects.) Surrounded by drug use, rape, a knifing, beatings and shocking things that I had never witnessed before, I watched the airplanes take off and land on the airfield out the base window, beyond the chainlink, barbed top fence. And, I learned how to use office machines and type, and I held onto the fact that I would have a job. And, we received paychecks while training. It was nice to have money in my pocket and buy my own shoes.
God had plans for more than shoes on my feet. I met two wonderful teachers in Job Corps, Katie Atkinson and Frank Beyers. They told me I should be a teacher like I wanted. They signed me up for college at the local Junior college, using federal money for application fees, and for the SAT. I continued to live in the Job Corps dorm, but instead of going to my trade classes as I had been, a Job Corps van drove me to the college every day and returned me to the base each afternoon.
There at the Junior College I worked on work study to supplement my income. I began to realize that with my total financial aid, I could go to any college I chose. I could do it on my own now. So, at the end of the quarter, I transferred out to Berry College in Rome, Georgia. Berry has an excellent teacher training program, one of the best in the country. Berry was a wonderful place, where I learned so much, and began the caravan journey to my dreams.
In an unheard of manner, God had set my dreams in motion, using Job Corps to get me a teaching degree. That was nothing short of miraculous! I knew Job Corps was the marketplace in the Arabian dream. Though Job Corps was not the brightest path, it led me down the right path to reach my dreams. Katie and Frank’s office was the meeting room. They held the kettle of treasure for me to reach for the stars. Berry College was the long caravan to my dreams. Most importantly, I held onto my cloak and Golden Chalice; my salvation and the Spirit of God inside of me. Those are my real treasure.
