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Excerpts

Chapter One

The Gift of Rest

Life can be tiring and frustrating at times! Come to me when you are worn down – stressed out with circumstances and burdens that are weighing you down. I will give you rest!

Love,

Your God of Peace and Rest

Matthew 11:28–30

John 10:10

Inspirational Message

Do you ever feel that your life is a horrible nightmare? Doyou sometimes wish you could just wake up and it would all goaway?

When the haze of hurting moves in and threatens to shut outall the light in your life, it’s time to gaze at the eternallight far off in the distance. This inviting light offers comfortin times of trouble, peace in the place of pain, and an enduringhope that no darkness can smother. This light is the light ofhome – your real home. It’s the light of heaven. Whenlife becomes a bad dream, close your eyes and take a little mindtrip to heaven – it’s a wonderful place to visit.

In the last weeks of Christ’s life, when the ominousdarkness of betrayal and death hovered over him and hisdisciples, he comforted his confused followers with thoughts ofheaven: "Don’t let your hearts be troubled. Trust inGod; trust also in me. In my Father’s house are many rooms .. ."

Can you picture it? The fresh fragrance of new constructionfills the place. Excitement and anticipation pervade the air.Each room and every hallway is lit up with the warm love of theliving God. No fear lurks in the darkness, because there is nodarkness. And listen, do you hear the music? It’s the joyfulsound of the angels’ songs. You can’t help but jointheir chorus.

You approach a doorway where Jesus is standing. With onenail-scarred hand he points to a golden nameplate, and with theother he touches your shoulder. The nameplate bears your name;his gentle voice speaks words of assurance, "Take heart. Ihave overcome the world and all of its pain. One day you will bewith me in this place, and all that you are going through nowwill seem only a bad dream. Until then, feel free to visit herein your heart any time you wish. And by the way, you can inviteas many as you can to come with you. There’s plenty ofroom."

The little troubles and worries of life, so many of which wemeet, may be as stumbling blocks in our way, or we may make themstepping stones to a noble character and to heaven.

—Henry Ward Beecher

The Nameless Dread

"As the sun was setting,

Abram fell into a deep sleep,

and a thick and dreadful darkness

came over him."

—Genesis 15:12

When I was a child, I had a recurring bad dream. In my dream Iwas standing on a vast, flat, endless, unbroken, grassy plain.There were no large rocks, valleys, hills, trees, water, people,or towns – not a single place to hide or seek shelter. I hadno idea how I got to this place – it was as though I hadbeen suddenly born there. As I looked about me, I was filled witha sense of dread – as though I were in danger from some asyet unknown source. I slowly became aware of something like avast cloud bank that stretched from earth to sky and from oneedge of the horizon to the other. It moved slowly butpurposefully in my direction, becoming darker and more ominouswith each moment. It was – The Nameless Dread!

I do not know how it got that title - it was not of my doing. I only know that from the first time I saw it, I knew that-that was its name.

My reaction was always the same. I would begin to run –to seek any kind of shelter. I ran slowly at first, casting myeyes frantically about me, sure that there must be – had tobe – some nook that I had overlooked. Finding nothing, Iwould increase my pace as the dark horror drew nearer.Ultimately, I would find myself running in abject terror as fastas I could until I was totally exhausted – until my breathcame in ragged gasps – until my legs simply would no longermove at my bidding. I would scream for help, but my screams couldonly be heard in my head – never in my ears – and I wasaware that in this land, there was no sound, because there was noone to hear. The sound went out, but it never came back.

I was alone.

Alone in a way that I had never known – alone with The Nameless Dread.

The creeping darkness was cruelly relentless. It neverhurried, changed its pace, or varied its direction. It wasabsolutely sure of its quarry. Actually, The Nameless Dreadwasn’t after me – I mean, personally and individually.I was nothing to it – no more than a stone or blade of grass– it simply moved across this plain every day, consumingeverything in its path.

At the end of my dream, when I had reached the last extremityof my strength, I would fall to my knees, interlock my fingers,and raise my hands in a supplicating posture and beg for mercy. Iwould cry and plead for clemency in the most touching,sympathetic, and endearing terms. The Nameless Dread neverresponded. It did not and could not hear. It never altered itscountenance – it simply came on.

Just as it reached me – just as I was about to beenveloped and overwhelmed by its misty blackness, which I alwaysinterpreted as death, I awoke. My first waking sensation wasalways the vague awareness of light. I would gradually, fearfullyopen my eyes – assuming that I was dead and wondering whatkind of world I was waking to – and the light would grow.Familiar things – the quilt, the picture on the wall, mychest of drawers – came into view. I would look out thewindow and there would be the chicken coop – right where itought to be – the well and the pump, the outhouse, the peartree, and then, down below the house, the misty fog rising fromthe swamp. I was alive! It had only been a dream.

"Oh God," I would say, "Oh God,

it was just a dream –

it was just a dream –

it was just a dream!"

Over and over I would repeat that phrase as the wonderful,dawning reality swept over me that I was not dead – that Iwas not awakening to a new and frightening world. I would bedrenched with sweat, trembling from head to foot; real tearswould streak my face, and my fingers would ache from beingclenched for so long. Gradually, I would begin to relax, pullingthe familiar quilt up around my chin – its realness assuringme – as the glory of being alive – of living –washed over me.

You cannot imagine the pleasure I took in the simplest things.I would slowly finger my old, worn blanket – made for me bymy grandma Smith – tracing the quilted pattern as though Iwere seeing it for the first time. The chicken coop and theouthouse were not the drab, decaying, ordinary things they hadbeen. They were wonderful, glorious structures – and I tookindividual pleasure in them. The smells from our kitchen wouldfloat into my room, and they were not of ham and eggs but ofexotic dishes – ambrosia and the nectar of the gods. All ofthese things were created anew for me every time I had the dream.Life was born again by the morning – I tingled with it– I wanted to open the window and shake my fist at The Nameless Dread and say, "I beat you."

All of us at times feel the creeping, overwhelming, blacknessof The Nameless Dread. It has many names and many faces, and itcomes in many forms. We call it aging or loneliness or cancer. Wecall it fear, heartache, hopelessness, ingratitude, guilt, death,or depression. And when it enters our lives, we run before it,frantically seeking shelter, vainly seeking help.

And finally, we reach the last extremity of our strength, andwe fall to our knees, begging for clemency – and we lift oureyes to heaven – and we see standing there the Son of Man,with arms outstretched, with hope upheld. He’s standingwhere he’s always been – waiting for us to look up– waiting for us to seek his aid. For the child of God, theblackness of The Nameless Dread is overcome by the light of the Son.

Deliverance from The Nameless Dread does not necessarily meandeliverance from its earthly forms – for we are not promisedrelief from aging, from heartache, from sickness, or from death– but we are promised relief from the hopelessness of itall, relief from the feelings of powerlessness, relief from thedread of it all. For the child of God, there is hope and joy evenin the midst of pain.

And even greater than the relief we find here is the absoluterelief on the other side of the sleep of death. For when thechildren of God awake, the next sensation will be of light. Wewill open our eyes to familiar objects and familiar faces."Yes," we’ll say, "there is the pear tree andthere is the chicken coop and there are my loved ones –Jary, Priscilla, Mom and Dad, Judi, Lincoln, Amy, Brendan,Kamber, Kristen, and Debbie. And there is the Holy City –just as John described it and more glorious than I ever imaginedit." The alabaster walls reach ever higher, and at thetwelve gates, each made of a single pearl, stands a herald towelcome home the children of God. The city stands sparkling inbrilliant light – but it’s not the sun – thislight is a truer, cleaner, whiter, and clearer than ever the sunknew. There are no shadows here, for the light is everywhere– it is the light of presence – of being – ofGod’s own face beaming in the glorious victory of His Son.

"Oh God," we will say, "Oh God" – andit won’t be a word of hope but of reality.

"Oh God, it was just a dream,

it was just a dream,

and now I am alive –

more alive than I have ever been –

and I shall never sleep again

and never dream again

and never, never again fear -

The Nameless Dread."