As Christians we have the book of Revelations, Doomsday Preppers have
the zombie apocalypse, but I keep having have the most delightful dream.
I’m in my house in a near panic, tearing through boxes and chests,
trying to find the finest silver, the most elegant brass. The little
silver sugar bowl with the tiny spoon, the carved copper plate, the
brass incense burner, small metal knick knacks collected over the years.
I regret not having polished them but it is too late now. I grab my
grandmother’s linen table cloth, yellowed with age, somehow knowing I
must have genuine linen, but not understanding why. I shake the yellow
right out of it and it becomes as white as snow. As if I’m off to a
picnic, I toss small metal treasures onto the cloth and gather it up
like a knapsack. Rushing towards the door I spot the lace curtain that
hangs on the front window. Without hesitation I tear a square off and
cover my head. The piece of lace feels ridiculous, inadequate, dirty,
but I am going to greet a King and it is protocol. What I look like will
not matter, it’s the thought that counts.
Outside I look left and quickly fall to the ground. Coming down the
hills on a winding road I’ve never seen before, are thousands of white
horses, white knights, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. I can
hear their hoof beats and see them kicking up this black dust that is
beginning to swirl, a roaring darkness that charges down the edges of
their path.
From far away I can hear faint shrieks and smell panic in the air.
“Do not fear,” I pray desperately. “Fear is the enemy, you need not
fear. Fear is misery, fear is death, do not fear.” I’m chanting this
like a mantra, not for myself, but because I know those who are suffering
are bringing their own misery down upon themselves. “We are going to
have a feast, a glorious feast, fear not or you will miss it.” There is
an ache there, a sadness, and I am trying not to cry. I spread my linen
upon the ground and carefully arrange my metal treasures to distract
myself. The sound of those hoof beats is drawing closer.
I look up and down my street and see thousands of people on their
knees like I am, white linen spread before them, cradling gifts for a
King. I do not understand the significance of the metal treasures being
offered but I notice we are all on the same page. I also wonder where
all these people came from. I recognize a few neighbors, but most of
these people are strangers to me. And then I spot her. She’s decked out
in purple, head to toe, on her knees in front of her linen patch like
the rest of us, but her linen has bits of purple ribbon and lace
artfully arranged around the treasures. She catches my eye and winks at
me. I gulp and try to swallow the surrealism of it all, because she is a
dear friend who passed away several years ago. My brain is struggling
to rationalize her presence, very much real, very much alive. Fear not, I
whisper to myself this time.
“Remember to breathe,” she mouths to me.
The first of the horses are arriving down the street and I see them
carefully taking note of each person and the gifts they present. I’m
focused on nothing but my breathing at this point as the riders arrive,
scan my treasures, and pass me by. I don’t know how much time passes but
the horses just flow down the street like a river, thousands of them,
roaring by.
Finally I see the King coming towards me on a white horse. He is
looking at me now, not smiling at all but His eyes are, His countenance
is. I can tell he is pleased as He pauses and looks down at me. There is
an elegance to Him, a formality, an antiquity, that is hard to
describe. I look up and meet His eyes and suddenly the dirty lace on my
head becomes the most delicate veil, hand embroidered and softly blue. I
am so excited and yet my heart is not racing at all. It’s the most
peaceful, most beautiful feeling in the world. And then He’s gone. The
third rider behind the King slows to look at me, smiles, and says, “you
have a feast to prepare and wine to mingle.”
“Wait, is it finished?” I ask. He calls back over his shoulder, “Oh no, we’re only getting started!”
Honestly, I have no idea how to mingle wine, but I know I have been
chosen for a great honor. To prepare a wedding feast fit for a King, the
King of Kings. Not a Lamb at all this time around, but rather a Lion......
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