Dream to purpose

Every night, I was transported to the same dream: I stood at the pulpit of an old, rustic church, its wooden pews filled with expectant faces. The air was thick with anticipation, the kind that made my skin prickle. A single beam of light streamed through the stained-glass window, casting colorful patterns on the congregation. I could feel the weight of their eyes on him, their collective breath held in unison, waiting for my words to break the silence.

In the dream, I was dressed in a crisp, white robe. The Bible in my hands felt both heavy and light, its pages whispering secrets to me. I opened my mouth to speak, and words flowed out with a clarity and conviction that astounded me. I preached about love, faith, and redemption, my voice resonating with an authority that seemed to come from deep within my soul. The faces before me transformed; eyes welled up with tears, smiles spread, and a palpable sense of hope filled the room.

Despite the power and serenity I felt while dreaming, i woke up each morning with a sense of dread and confusion. I was not a preacher, nor had he ever considered a path in ministry. By day, I was a software engineer, more comfortable with code than with crowds. The dream felt like an alien intrusion into my orderly life, an inexplicable anomaly that left me rattled and questioning my own purpose.

During the day, I found myself distracted, unable to focus on mine work. The vivid images of the dream replayed in my mind, making me restless. I began to avoid social gatherings, fearful that someone might notice the turmoil I was in. My colleagues and friends started to notice my withdrawn demeanor, but i brushed off their concerns with weak smiles and vague reassurances.

One evening, after another exhausting day of battling my thoughts, I decided to confide in my friend, Mary, who was a psychology student. We met at a quiet café, the comforting hum of conversation around us providing a safe backdrop for my confession.

"Mary, I've been having this recurring dream," I began, my voice barely above a whisper. "Every night, I see myself preaching in a church. It's so vivid, so real... but it's not me. I don't understand why it's happening."

Mary listened intently, her brow furrowed in thought. "Dreams often reflect our subconscious, Joshua. Maybe it's a part of you trying to communicate something important. Have you considered what preaching might symbolize for you?"

I shook my head, feeling a mix of frustration and helplessness. "I don't know. I'm not religious. I mean, I believe in God, but I've never thought about becoming a preacher. It's just so out of character for me."

Mary suggested, "Perhaps it's not about preaching per say, but about finding your voice. Maybe there's something in your life that you're passionate about, something you need to share with others. The dream could be urging you to step out of your comfort zone."

That night, armed with Mary's insights, i approached the dream with a different perspective. As I stood at the pulpit once more, I felt a shift within myself. This time, I paid attention not just to the words I spoke but to the emotions driving them. I realized that the dream was not about becoming a preacher but about embracing my ability to inspire and lead others, to share my own unique message with the world.

I woke up with a newfound clarity. The recurring dream had been a call to action, a push towards embracing a part of himself i had long ignored. I decided to channel my energy into mentoring young programmers, sharing my knowledge and passion for technology. As I did, the dream began to fade, replaced by a sense of fulfillment and purpose in my waking life.

In the end, I discovered that the dream had been a gift, guiding me towards a path I had never considered but one that felt intrinsically right. And with that realization, the echoes of the old church and its expectant faces finally found their peace, leaving me to live my waking hours with a renewed sense of direction and meaning.