A Dream and a True Story

Memorizing Scripture is important, and I must say I have not paid as much heed to it as I should have. However lying in bed one night not long ago, and dreaming up story plots in my mind reminded me of just how important it is. What if your memory was all that you had?

I had woken up in a cold empty house. The colour was greyscale; like the disturbing parts of a movie where the town/house is abandoned, pieces of newspaper blown across the empty landscape, posters faded and torn, shutters flapping eerily in the ghostly breeze. I remember waking up out of my bed, panicked. For some reason, I ran across the room to where a computer sat, veiled with dust. With shaking hands, and heart beating hard against my ribs, I turned on the computer and waited for it to load. As I sat there, the computer screen suddenly flashed to life, and automatically began compiling a list. I began reading down the column, and I realized it was listing all the people I knew online. A sense of horror made me jerk back in my chair, as next to each name, a red word flashed: deceased.

I leaped from the computer chair, knocking it over. Fear clutching at my throat, it's chill in my heart. I rushed for the door and out into the street. I couldn't find a living soul, no matter how many houses and shops I ran into. It was as though every single person I knew had vanished into thin air. I ran and ran, but I could find no one. I was completely and utterly alone.

Somehow I ended up standing on a street corning, hugging my Bible. It was digging into my ribs painfully, I was holding it so tight. My mind was numbed, and the pain of the edge of the Bible kept throbbing as I clutched it. Suddenly the pain slackened, and I looked down. The breeze that had been tossing the newspaper about had caught my Bible, and as I watched with ever increasing horror, my Bible began to dissolve. No matter how hard I hung onto it, my Bible began to crumble in my hands, turning to ash that the wind bore away mercilessly. The heartless whipping wind eventually whisked the last of the ash from my hands, and my arms were empty. I did not even have the comfort of Scripture to help me through this horrific disaster.

As I watched the last of the ash take to the overcast sky, my fear increased. I could not remember a single verse. All I had left was God to cling to, yet I could not recall a single promise in His Word. I had neglected to memorize it whilst I had it, and now it was gone. All that I would have had could have been inside my mind, but I did not take heed. I did not keep His Words constantly before my eyes. And now I no longer had a link to my Father in heaven. I was lost. Completely lost and alone.

The fear was something so tangible I felt it was suffocating. No, it was consuming me: I was turning to ash; I could feel the fear tearing at my very soul as I gasped...

...and woke up. I rolled over in bed; my Bible was on my bedside table. Never had it's black leather cover looked so inviting. As I turned on my lamp, the golden words "Holy Bible" leaped out at me, beckoning. I took it in my hands, opening it. And with thankfulness in my heart...

...I began to read.