Devilish Dreams

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How can I explain these dreams of the devil? If you’ve been reading me for any length of time you’re aware that one of my spiritual gifts is dreams and visions.  Knowing that, it makes sense that the devil uses this gifting to try and speak to me, to attempt to sway me, to confuse my mind and mislead me.  Aware of his proclivity to utilize what God has given, I accept the responsibility to be ever vigilant to his methods of warfare.

But these days, I find myself happily dreaming away through the night, only to awaken at some point with the realization that the message I’m receiving is not what it appears to be.  That just around the edges of the dream is something sinister.  Like a vapid thread that if pulled would unravel the very cheerful picture before me and cause me to tumble straight into depths of some kind of hell.

That what I thought was a pleasurable dream was really just a deception.  Where bad memories lurk just below the surface and a wee spot of angst that develops in the dream quickly festers and bubbles and boils until it becomes frustration and threatens to morph into outright anger.

Did you know that in these dreams I always seem to be smoking?  That smoking was a terrible vice that held me in its grip for decades.  Somehow I think the devil wants me to remember those days as if they were great and good and pleasing – when in truth they were years of isolation and smelly clothes and hair and decaying gums and rotting organs.  Oh the joys of smoking!

Contrary to what the devil may wish, his inclusion of me smoking in the dream has been the very reason I know he’s orchestrating the dream.  That the dream which seems pleasant enough and happy enough ends abruptly when I realize that there is a cigarette in my hand.  I rapidly awake … knowing I’ve been played.  That the evil one is near.

You see, there is something I haven’t discussed with you, and the devil has been sniffing around my heels happy to make it the focus of my heart and soul.

There is something suspicious in my body.

That’s what doctors say when they don’t want to say the c-word.

“It’s suspicious.”

I envision the doctor on the other end of the phone repeating these words to me.  Mouth grim, head bowed, maybe even a slight nod in genuine concern.

My mind blanks.  This is not what I expected to hear.

Suspicious sounds like what it is.  Like something not quite right … precarious and nebulous … something hidden just beyond the scope of what we can see or know.

Suspicious … drawn out long … a snake’s hiss.

Was I going to let what someone calls suspicious to define me, shape me, proclaim my future?

It’s amazing how fast the devil will attack when you find yourself in a situation such as this.  Yet, it’s more remarkable how quickly the Lord responds when you run to Him.  Which is what I did.  Like a major league ball player trying to turn a single into a double with a long, buckle busting, belly-flopping slide into second.

How fast can I fall at His feet?

In a New York second.

I’ll be back on Friday with more of this ongoing story … please join me then.

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