Following God’s wake-up call (LINK) He often gave me dreams. Some were for teaching, others for personal direction. I never felt a leading to share any of them with the body of Christ at large though I did sometimes share with a small group of friends to assist with interpretation. It was in receiving the many interpretations that the Father began to teach me discernment of the Spirit from flesh. Sometimes an interpretation is what I call “formula prophetic”, e.g., a car is symbolic of ministry, a woman represents the church, etc. Often such interpretations left me with a reservation in my spirit. There were also times when the Spirit’s interpretation was a long time in coming that I was tempted to accept the formula view in spite of my reservations. “Perhaps my friends see something in me that I can not see in myself”, I reasoned. Thankfully, whenever I was tempted to surrender to the many formula interpretations God rose up to shout His view of the matter.

There are many examples of competing dream interpretations in the old testament; a consensus view and God’s message through a genuine seer. Joseph and Daniel come to mind. What follows is a recurring dream for which I had no interpretation for many years. It’s been a progressive dream where each time I had it there were more details to advance the story just a little bit more.

Recurring Dream

Lined up to race a single lap around an oval track, with many runners dressed in track attire, I was hopeful of finishing strong, perhaps even winning the race. The gun sounded and everyone leapt from the starting line as did I only to discover I was harnessed to a skid piled high with duffel bags. I had noticed the pile from the corner of my eye before the race started and simply assumed the duffel bags held the street clothes of all the other runners. Looking down at the harness, I saw that I was dressed in work clothes which isn’t surprising since I detest skimpy track suits.

Tiring quickly from pulling the bags yet still straining ahead, the judge continued starting other runners who quickly passed me. With mounting frustration I began to consider quitting the race. I didn’t question whether the burden was fair so much as I lamented there was no possibility of winning or placing. Straining for the last turn I could see the judge start one last runner and thought to myself “I can beat him”. I leaned into the harness with everything I had, but after just 2 or 3 difficult steps, he passed me like I was standing still. In complete exasperation I reached up to throw off the harness and quit the race. What point was there in running to be dead last? Looking toward the lot where my car was parked I was tempted to walk off the track and drive home. It would save me the embarrassment of crossing the finish line last, where the only person who remained was the timer who was looking at his watch and pacing last I saw him.

Before throwing off the harness and quitting, I looked from my car back to the finish line one last time. In that brief moment, people had returned to the track and lined the infield to the finish line where everyone who finished the race before me waited with a ribbon stretched across the finish line and cheered me on with shouts, clapping and waving arms. Someone even called me by name. Determination and a tremendous surge of power swept over me with their encouragement and I leaned into the harness for one last pull to complete the course. A moment later, I crossed the finish line where the burden simply fell off. The crowd greeted me with hugs and holy kisses. It felt like coming home from the war. It felt like family.

A formula prophetic interpretation

As often as I’ve had that dream, I glibly dismissed it with the words of Paul “Bear each other’s burdens and so fulfill the law of Christ” (Gal 6:2 ESV). Perhaps it simply means that I’m helping others to run their best race. I’m mostly good with that but for the frustration it brings. Recently however in reminding me of the dream, I began to wonder if the Lord was showing me that I was carrying unnecessary burdens? Upon deeper reflection, many questions came to mind. Why did I never consider what was in the bags? Why accept being harnessed to them and running with it once I felt the heavy burden? Why didn’t I throw off the harness and run, unburdened, like all the other runners? No one said if I took it off I’d be disqualified, I simply assumed it the same way I assumed it was everyone’s street clothes in the duffel bags. How pointless was it to drag them all the way around the track, where the starting line is the same as the finish line? And why stretch out a ribbon for me to come in dead last?

With so many unanswered questions about the absurdities I hadn’t considered before, there seemed to be only one interpretation: the baggage was mine and I carried it voluntarily. Perhaps it was emotional baggage, filled with memories of old wounds, inflicted by the field of runners. Also failures, frustrations, regrets, and a host of other sorrows that weighed on me. From there it seemed reasonable that this was not what Paul refers to as the great race for the heavenly prize (1 Cor. 9:24-27), rather this race was a preliminary heat at a track meet before the final. The finish line represents personal triumph, where by relinquishing my burden at the finish line, I won the heat. Pressing through the ribbon and being greeted with the cheers, hugs, and kisses of all the participants, would seem to be about forgiveness and reconciliation with those who had wounded me in running their race.

It’s not an unreasonable interpretation from my perspective as a deep seated introvert, quiet and peaceable, often wounded by people who are in and of the flesh. The sort of people who attempt reconciliation through pride and self preservation, where instead of a humble and contrite response with love, prefer to fight it out until the issue is “settled”. In fighting it out, there is always a winner and a loser, and never a draw. One is exalted and the other is humiliated as the flesh makes punching bags out of the temples of the Holy Spirit (1 Cor. 3:16-17). In common with every piece of emotional baggage is the flesh. Whether flesh railing against flesh or flesh railing against the Spirit, it’s still a flesh wound.

I can count on one hand the number of times someone has expressed remorse and asked to be forgiven with the assurance of being more loving and sensitive in the future. That’s the way of the Spirit which accumulates no baggage. So the bags would seem to represent the fleshly fight it out crowd – the turn a blind eye and sweep it under the rug bunch. It’s the Spirit who heals that condition but sadly many don’t have Him, relying instead on the brutal ways of the flesh to sustain relationships. And that approach can easily turn abusive. For that reason, the alternative to reconciliation is separation – spirit from flesh – shaking the dust from your feet and leaving behind those who assault the temples of the Holy Spirit without repentance (1 Cor. 3:16-17, 5:13, 2 Cor. 6:17, etc). I regret that I’ve had to do a lot of that. But in love for the Spirit within me and to preserve my own peace, it’s been necessary. The net effect has been to make me even more introverted which led to a heap of baggage on a skid, weighing down my every step.

If that is what the dream is meant to show, I’d rather be free of it and reconciled with the baggage owners. Sadly, it takes 2 to reconcile and where I’ve exhausted every avenue (Matthew 18:15-17), the responsibility for peace is no longer mine, it’s theirs**. When people refuse to own their sin, I can only take my burden to the Lord and ask for His help to forgive. It comforts me to know that Jesus left Nazareth after they accused and tried to murder Him for the truth. Surely He knows a thing or two about being gas lit by narcissistic sinners. Not only did He leave and not return to Nazareth, He did not return to those who crucified Him. That I can find in scripture, He showed Himself only to those who loved Him.

** So if you are offering your gift on the altar, and there you remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there in front of the altar. First go and be reconciled with your brother, and then come and offer your gift. (Mat 5:23-24 HCSB)

With this “formula prophetic” understanding of my dream, I had the brief but very satisfying vision of turning a flame thrower on the baggage skid. Not just to light it on fire, but to completely incinerate it until all that remained is ash. Thanks be to God who “is a consuming fire” (Hebrews 12:29).

A 2nd opinion from the Father

Over the years believers have suggested my love for telling stories from the past means I have a forgiveness problem which in turn blocks me from receiving from the Lord. Likewise, Karen. It’s a false accusation meant to silence our witness and testimony because it made the hearer uncomfortable and in some instances, convicted them of their own behavior. It’s especially hurtful in this season of taking care of Karen following her life altering complex spine surgery last Thanksgiving and the year-long recovery ahead. To suggest our receiving from God is blocked is a ridiculous assertion considering all the Lord has done for and through us. Others have suggested my penchant for remembering is like the sin of Lot’s wife, who in looking back at Sodom, turned her into a pillar of salt. That accusation often comes with the suggestion to look forward only and to say only nice things. About that I would ask at what point do our remembrances become a simple retelling of lived experience, which is our testimony, and not some evidence of a root of bitterness and unforgiveness?

When I was 20 years old, the Father said to me “Write a Musical according to revelations”. It’s been my life’s work (Ephesians 2:10) these last 50 years in the sense that while I have lived a fairly normal life – it has been filled with metaphoric and prophetic meaning – much of which the Lord has set to song or inspired me with heart warming memories and comedy skits. Where the musical is rooted in my life-long relationship with the Son, God has called me to be a story teller, written from the perspective of a witness among the deaf and blind of modern day Laodicea. Mostly, I’ve been His scribe – a beast of burden whose reins are in His hands (Ps 139:13). “Timothy: a musical according to revelations” expresses our shared hope (the Lord’s and mine) for a generation of Timothy’s. Young people hungry for God and appreciative of us old grandpa types (elders) who have wonderful stories to share about the living Jesus we came to know during the Jesus movement of the late 1960’s and early 70’s.

About the time I was ready to surrender to the ‘prophetic’ consensus above, the Spirit said “that’s a good and valid interpretation for some – would you like to hear mine for you?” Weakly, I said “yes”. He replied simply “The skid to which you have been harnessed these last 50 years, is Timothy”. I fell to pieces for the relief His interpretation brought to me. The dream represents a burden God gave me to carry across the finish line. The bags are not unforgiveness – they’re experiences – memories – preparation – for doing what He called me to do so long ago. His word of affirmation is a great relief to my soul. It’s significant also, because I recently finished the music, script, lyric overheads and chord charts where I can now send Timothy off to the printer and begin giving copies away. I also hope to record an audio version of the musical by years end to release as a series of podcast episodes.

God’s encouraging word also explains the many frustrations I’ve experienced along the way. The frustration of invisibility kept me hidden away from the world and spared me from many an invitation to take part in man’s vain works of the flesh. Likewise exclusion which while humiliating forced me to look to God’s Kingdom for a sense of belonging. Persecution rebuffed me whenever I ventured out to find belonging and recognition on my own. Severe pruning of my activities, interests and even relationships kept me focused and on task. Infirmities hobbled me and drove me inward where the Lord dwells within my body temple, for communion and inspiration. Calling me out of man’s church unto isolation deprived me of the de facto concert venue for a Christian song writer. Where could I sing my songs once the sweet spirit of the Jesus movement was swallowed up (Rev. 18:4, v22-24) by possessive factionism, worship wars, and theological litmus tests for visiting ministries? God preferred that I sing and play for Him alone.

By far the most heart-rending frustration has been the isolation and lack of relational face to face fellowship. I can’t count the number of times I’ve met a church going believer who upon learning I don’t go to church, beats a hasty retreat and I hear from them no more. That the litmus test for brotherhood has become “what church do you attend” grieves me deeply. Shouldn’t the standard of brotherhood be “do you belong to Jesus?” Often it seems like believers look for reasons to divide one from the other as if the basis for community and fellowship is common doctrine rather than love for Jesus. But it isn’t always men who are behind the divisions. Sometimes God sets a believer apart to accomplish His purposes. Whether entrapped in man’s fallen system of division and vain works, or God calling His sons and daughters unto Himself, it’s a lonely existence, sometimes even while surrounded by other believers as I experienced in the race dream.

Naturally, the last thing I noticed about the dream, is what happened at the very end of it. It has always been the challenge of the burden and the difficult feelings over what seems like an unfair competition that occupied my thoughts about the dream. It was in wrapping up this post that God had me consider the way the dream ended for me. In crossing the finish line my burden was released and I fell into the loving embrace of fellowship, at long last. I don’t know what that will look like since I’ve rarely ever experienced the real thing. Nevertheless I am greatly encouraged to be nearer the end of the race than the beginning, and to see genuine brotherhood and community waiting at the finish line.

In the end, my dream is of a God-given Ephesians 2:10 burden – a long-term solitary Noah-like work. It is not a contraption of my own creation out of bitterness and unforgiveness as so many have suggested. Though I imagine one of the bags piled onto that skid is filled with drive-by prophetic malpractice and word of faith nonsense. That bag warrants the flame thrower.

For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus for good works, which God prepared ahead of time for us to do. (Eph 2:10 CSB)