Seldom do I dream and remember. But this dream from about 1987 sticks (the year of my business failure in law in a small agricultural city).

I was walking underground in a place that had the appearance of the Roman catacombs where Christians hid and worshipped in the first century. I was determined to proceed in a given direction and I heard the footfalls of an approaching torch-lit group.

They were less than twenty of Christ’s tattered “little ones”. They were being led by a man in the garb of a Roman centurion (the persecutors of the faith). He stretched out his arm and stopped the others. He came to me with greeting. He took off the uniform to reveal that he was in fact their pastor. The group had an overall appearance of fatigue and fear. Running away from something.

The pastor’s words: “I want you to go with this man. He can be trusted. I have done my part. Sir will you take them where you are going?”

I felt in my spirit that this was right. We proceeded in my intended direction, “running to the roar”, minus the pastor.

End of dream.

I have posted this at the risk of appearing big on myself. Strengthened with this image and other impressions, I had the drive to launch out with my young family for Kitchener-Waterloo and prospects of evangelism.

Twenty-seven years later, no formal ministry. But opportunities here and there to give a Word in season to him that is weary. To listen and affirm. And to write. Our Master Craftsman uses His tools in His perfect wisdom and love…D.B.


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