As I was walking through life, listening to the struggles of others and balancing my own responsibilities, I thought about the answers to it all. Then I looked, and I could see it all very clearly, as if it were happening. I was standing in a library, with books from floor to ceiling. Before me was a panel of people, very serious looking men in dark robes. They began to ask me questions, but I couldn’t answer them. No answers came to me, either from my head or the books that I frantically searched. They asked me about my life and my dreams, and all I found in my heart was empty space and my own questions. The more I frantically searched in the archives, the less sure of myself I became. When I started asking my interviewers, their faces became more somber and disapproving so I shrunk away in fear.
I decided to find the answers on a quest. It was night, and the passages of the great hall were dark. I groped along the walls, eyes as wide as they could go. Outside the night was black, and I hesitantly put one foot in front of the other, searching for light. I wanted to go someplace to find answers or encounter others who could give me the answers I sought. Suddenly, one appeared before me radiating light. However, his wasn’t the light that hurt my eyes when they adjusted. It flowed and warmed and glowed, but yet when I looked at him, it was intense. His face looked like someone strong and ready for hard work, and his eyes spoke of intelligence. His hands were gentle when he took mine in his. “Come,” he said, “and I will lead you.”
We went to another room, and this was a cozy study. It was large, but it didn’t feel large. People were sitting comfortably on pillows, couches, chairs, or spread out on the floor. They were reading. “What are they reading about?” I asked my guide. “Most of them are reading different things, trying to learn about where they came from, and get answers to who they are now.” Maybe this room could help me. I walked over to a table filled with books and started flipping through the covers. Self-help, modern magazines, fiction novels, sacred writings of world religions… Suddenly, the man who emanated wisdom and love stepped beside me, picked out a purple book with a soft leather cover and silver pages. “This book is yours. It’s the royal genealogy that you belong to.” I thought he must have made a mistake. “I’m not royalty,” I corrected him. “Yes, you are. You are a daughter of the King of the universe, the Bride of the Most High. Open it – it’s your story, your history.” When I looked at the cover, I saw The Holy Bible embossed on it.
“Jesus!?” I asked, incredulously. “I’m surprised it took you this long to figure it out, silly girl,” he said, but it wasn’t mean. The way he called me “girl” reminded me of how my dad said it, how I talked to myself, but with so much more meaning and feeling behind it. Now I felt rather foolish. Sheepishly, I laughed. “Hey, how was I supposed to know?” I asked. “You felt familiar, though.” I looked at him shyly and said, “Hi.” He reached out his hand, and I took it.
Then we passed into a room with a lot of mirrors, like at a carnival. Some of them reflected normally, but some were distorted. Some images looked better, and some looked worse. People stared at their reflections, and their reactions played across their faces. Some liked what they saw, and they expected everyone else to admire them. Others viewed only flaws and the furrow in their brows said that they were thinking about what to change. Others hardly looked, as if they were ashamed of their reflections. The dramatic types struck poses, and even spoke in different voices what everyone else was thinking: “Who am I?” “What am I?” “What is my purpose?” I looked at my guide. As we passed the mirrors, his reflection didn’t change. I kept looking at my reflection, sometimes fascinated and sometimes embarrassed when he caught me looking. We came to a big mirror – full body. He stood behind me and squared me up to it. I kept looking at him in the reflection, but he pushed me closer. “Look carefully,” he said. I hesitated. “Go ahead,” he urged encouragingly.
First, I saw the things I didn’t like. My grimace clearly demonstrated my thoughts as I looked at my body, my nose, the stray hairs. My eyes caught his steady ones in the reflection, and I realized how silly my expression was. I started to laugh with him. When my eyes flitted back to the mirror, I realized I was beautiful. It all worked together perfectly. And as my eyes darted between my reflection and his, I realized we looked alike. How did that happen?! My bewilderment showed as I looked at the laughing man behind me again. “You are made in my image. I formed you. And every day that we’re together, we look more alike,” he said, still smiling.
“Jesus, do you know where I should go?” I asked, surprised. “Yes,” came the simple reply. Then he reached around my waist, pulled me close, and walked with me into another room. This room was a strange combination of shifting shadows, sunlight, and murkiness. I soon saw that it was a grand room, with tall windows and wide doors lining the walls. Some were opened, and others were closed. People walked in and out of the doors, and some even hopped through windows. Their movements made the light from the openings change.
“Pick a door,” Jesus said. “What?” “This will be your future, the next step. Pick a door.” I was paralyzed. There were so many opportunities. So many doors seemed to be open, or at least looked like I would be able to open them. And some of the windows, too, swung open invitingly. I started to breathe heavily. “I can’t just do that. Won’t you bring me to the right door? Tell me which one you want me to go through?” “Look at them closely,” he said. So I did. Some of the doors were labeled. I could see warnings on some of them about danger, or advertisements for things that I knew I didn’t want to be a part of. I could see the activities through some of the windows, and while some looked good, I immediately shielded my eyes from others. I realized that not every window or door would be a good choice. However, there were still a lot that seemed fine – good, even. “Will you help me choose, please?” I pleaded. “Dear one,” he said, “you get to pick things for yourself, you know.” “Okay, but I want to make you happy. I don’t want to choose the wrong door.” “There are a lot that would be okay.” “But which one is BEST?” I cut in. “Choose from the three doors on the right,” he said. “The rest is up to you.”
So I pushed one open and went through. I was assailed with images and feelings and words. I saw people laughing and crying, I felt purpose and joy, I heard words of affirmation and faith…This was a good choice, I knew. As I walked through the scene, I did not regret my choice even when things were not ideal. Sometimes I would be right next to Jesus, other times I would lag behind, or run ahead. Soon, I had come into a very dark place again. I couldn’t see anything, couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t smell anything…
“Jesus?” I queried. Nothing. I thought he must have just stepped away for a minute. Maybe he was a little farther ahead or behind. Maybe. But the minutes passed by, and I couldn’t find an outlet. It was a closed room. “God? Are you there?” It was strange not to feel his presence nearby. He had such an impact when he was around that I was almost positive he wasn’t anywhere close. I tried to be patient, telling myself it was fine, it was all in God’s plan. Then I became discouraged. What if he didn’t come back? Had I done something wrong? I started saying all the things I was sorry for doing, sorry I’d made him go away. When he still didn’t appear, I started crying. I heard all the ugly voices of my past, telling me that I was ugly, that I was foolish, that I was stupid. No one could ever really love me forever. Then I started feeling like the voices weren’t just in my head. There were whispers and creepy things in the shadows. I started fighting against the creatures I thought were advancing on me, slashing out. At first I quoted Scripture, but it felt hollow. I started just yelling, but they yelled even louder. Finally, I curled into the fetal position, crying and simply asking Jesus to come, repeating his name over and over.
I don’t know how much time passed before I realized I wasn’t on the floor – I was in a lap. And he was back, stroking my hair, wiping away my tears. “Why did you leave?” I asked tearfully. “I didn’t leave you. I heard everything. I was here.” “I don’t understand,” I whimpered. “That’s okay right now,” he replied. “I have prepared a place for you.” Then he picked me up and started walking.
We went out of the dark room, out of the building. He brought me to a meadow at sunrise and showed me many people gathered together, dressed in white and worshipping the Lord. “Who are they?” I asked. These are the people who have followed my directions when I told them where to go. They stumbled out of the library without direction, but they were willing to follow my lead even when others badgered them with questions and doubts along the way.” In the crowd I recognized a few faces, and they surprised me. I saw my own parents – but I was not surprised because I knew their story, their journey from agriculture to carpentry. I saw Elizabeth Eliot and Martin Luther and Abraham Kuyper. I saw many faces of spiritual heroes. “But,” I protested, “following came easily for these people. Look at them. They are giants of the faith, famous. Of course they followed you. They could hear your voice more easily or something. They always knew you had a purpose for them.” He looked at me with a cocked eyebrow. “Well,” I stammered, “okay, maybe not. I guess.” He continued to gaze at me. “Okay,” I conceded, “I’ve always known you have a purpose for me, too. But what do you actually want me to do?”
“Trust me.” “But it’s not that easy, Jesus!”I protested – I knew it was him because his spirit was familiar to me. “What job or school should I actually sign up for? What would be best? How can I glorify you?”
“If you are asking those questions, dear one,” he smiled, “you are already on the right track. If you follow me in the small things, and do what you think I would like, it will not be wrong. I will always help you get to where I want you to be. Follow me.”
Then he stood tall, like I’ve always imagined him at the synagogue or the temple, full of authority and intelligence and kindness. He handed me a pen and paper and told me to pay attention. Then he spread his arms and spoke words of comfort and conviction, words of motivation and castigation. When he finished, he kissed my forehead. I opened my eyes and felt better.
