World on Fire

Once upon a time, I had a dream that the world was on fire.

It was the night of 9/11, after learning our neighbor’s daughter was on the second plane to hit the towers.

Her name was Lynn, and she had worn a red dress to prom just like I had.

There was something about that fact that weighed a lot heavier than it probably should, but then again, maybe not.

It was the realest dream I’ve ever had, and honestly, I’m not sure it was a dream at all. Because I was terrified watching all of it burn, and yet there was something else there hovering around me.

Since that dream, I was clinically diagnosed with depression, I became an alcoholic, I was socially inept for years, and I thought I could control it all by controlling the food I put in my mouth and the exercise I did to widdle down my thighs.

So, kind of nuts.

But who among us isn’t, really? We live in a world that’s already been lit at the edges, and we fall into patterns of addiction (whether we want to claim them or not) to numb out and ignore the smell of smoke.

(Recently, I’ve been watching Tiny House Hunters like it’s my job. There’s just something about people paying to defy physics that really calms me down.)

But ultimately, God knows all this. He knows my crazy. He knows the world’s crazy. He knows the crazy of the ones we love most who we can’t fix or change, but He can. And maybe that takes a lifetime, a timeline that often chafes at our “I want it now!” mentality.

Maybe the point isn’t the change itself. If we believe the change is already a reality (since God isn’t restricted by our concept of time), then maybe the point is the sitting in it. The smell of smoke, the world burning around us, and the knowing He loves us and that He’s the only one who can put out our flames.