The Hill

It was almost to the point that I didn't want to go to sleep again. I'd had the same dream for several nights running. It was the same, but not the same. Each night some of the details changed, but I knew it was the same dream. Each night the dream developed a little more. Throughout the dream I had been overcome with this horrible sense of guilt and hopelessness.

There was a hill in the dream. I wasn't sure why, but the hill filled me with dread. I could scarcely even look at it. Yet, for some reason, I was drawn to it. I didn't want to go, but something made me. My feet seemed to move on their own; against my will. As I approached the hill my sense of dread deepened.

The darkness was deep and absolute and yet, as could only happen in a dream, I could see. At the top of the hill was intense suffering. My deepening sense of guilt told me that somehow, in some surreal way, it was me. I was the one suffering. It felt like walking to the gallows. At this point, the sense of dread and foreboding was so intense that I usually woke up. However, last night, it went further. As I staggered to the top of the hill, I stumbled and fell. As I lifted my hand from the mud....mud? It wasn't raining! Why was the ground muddy? When I looked at my hand, I saw why the ground was wet. My hand was covered with blood. My blood! When I thought I would surely faint, I heard a scream from very near by. It was a terrifying scream. Almost otherworldly!! It was so loud it woke me up. Sheepishly, I realized the scream was my own, but before I could smile with relief, the memory of the dream flooded my mind.

I don't want to go to sleep tonight. I want to stay awake, but I know I won't be able. Sure enough, here I am, standing at the bottom of the hill. Those old feelings of dread and hopelessness wash over me again. I actually even hear myself whimper. Moving of their own volition, my feet begin their march to the summit. I stumble in the same place. I find blood on my hand again. I hear the scream again. This time, though, I realize it's not me. Someone else is screaming! Who is it? Looking closer at my hands, I see that the blood is dripping from above. Beyond my hands I see what looks like a post coming out of the ground. Slowly, I look up. A drop of blood hits my face. Someone is hanging above me. He's still alive, but just barely. Even in the darkness I can see His face. It shows the agony He feels. The scream had been His. His pain was intense. Yet, He looked at me with eyes full of love.

Suddenly, realization flooded over me. The hill was Golgotha. The Man was Jesus. Then I realized that I no longer felt the dread and guilt. As it all began to sink in and as the tears poured down my face, a rush of words raced through my mind: "Blessed are they that mourn..." "Father, forgive them..." "Having been justified by His blood..."

My guilt forced me to ascend that hill. It and my sense of dread and hopelessness were deserved. Yet, when I reached the top, I found Another hanging in my place. His blood washed my guilt away. My guilt, dread and hopelessness were replaced by godly sorrow, love and hope. He died for me. I will live for Him. My dream had been a journey to the foot of the cross. Suddenly, sleep never seemed so sweet.

God loves you and so do I.

Donnie Bates