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Permission to Live

Searching for Jesus

Last updated on: January 31, 2010 at 6:56 pm   by Melissa

Searching for Jesus 2010-01-31T18:56:00-07:00 Melissa

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

My dream begins with a deep felt frustration. I find myself in ‘the house’ again, the same house I always end up in when my dreams are distressing.

It’s roomy and cavernous and empty feeling, and yet the walls seem to press in on me. Familiar and yet unfamiliar. It’s kind of a creepy place, and usually it is in the middle of nowhere, but in this dream ‘the house’ is in a city.

I am looking for Jesus in my dream. I search through ‘the house’, but most of the rooms are empty, and I can’t find Jesus anywhere.

I feel oppressed, dark, heavy. As if I am carrying a huge burden. Why can’t I find Jesus?

There aren’t even any images of Jesus around. The walls are empty.

I can’t even find my rosary (the one I got from Rosary army that I can’t find in real life either) at least that would have a small image of Jesus on it.

I explain to the people I run into that I am looking for Jesus, and they tell me that I will be unable to find him because I have the wrong attitude. What does that even mean? The depression gets heavier. In desperation I run out of the house, maybe I can find him somewhere else.

Its cold outside and the snow crunches under my feet. I roam through the streets looking for Jesus. I still can’t find him anywhere.

I look in a church, but there is no sign of Jesus anywhere, the rooms are empty, the walls are blank. The cross on the wall is empty as well. My frustration grows. I find a small Nativity, it has a baby Jesus. But it isn’t what I am looking for somehow. I’m not even sure why I am looking for images of Jesus in the first place?

Walking the streets I come to a Cathedral with arched doorways. I run up the steps into the dark entryway and run straight into the arms of a woman wearing some sort of head covering.

Even though I can’t see her face, and have no idea who she is, I break down into sobs and pour out the whole story. As she holds me, I talk about all my troubles and fears and frustration. Finally someone I can talk to. Someone I feel safe with.

And the burden is gone. I feel peace. My heart feels light.

And then I woke up, with my heart racing.

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