God Chose Us. What's Next?

About one month later, after taking Deb home, I woke up at 5:50 a.m. I woke with tears streaming down my face. I had woken from a dream. Usually, I do not dream. When I do, I do not remember them. This dream had a significant impact on me. I did not want to forget the dream. Immediately, I got up and started to journal my dream. I did not journal everything in this dream, but I remember the parts I did not write in my journal. I will never forget those parts. Journaling, I found myself tearing up. Often, I had to stop and dry my tears. The following is my journaled account of the dream:

“Friday, March 13, 2015

Tears are gently streaming down my face, joy flooding my very soul – this was my wake-up call, my alarm clock. I arose, feeling confused and slightly frightened. God had just shown me, given me what may be an answer to my prayers. I will have to mention them later.

Before the tears, there had been this dream: It was a Tuesday evening and time to be at church. Johnny was there. He is autistic, has a quirky personality, and looks to be about ten years old.

Johnny’s eyes show, no, they gleam, a depth. A depth of sorrow or lonely acceptance. Yet I get the feeling there is peace.

Moments ago, Johnny was on the floor; a group of boys were mocking him, were kicking, and punching him. I walked up and stopped them. There was nothing significant in the process. It was as if just my presence was enough to cause the bullying to cease.

In this dream, church programs kept in the process: King’s kids, Gal time, Guy stuff, and other classes. Johnny and I quietly just walked around. I seemed to have decided to stay close and be his “guard.” I asked him if he was ok, and he quietly replied, “Yes.” So, we hung together.

Programs were ending, Johnny walked to the stage and sat at the piano. This evening, it was an old-fashioned piano, not an electronic keyboard. Slightly behind him, still not on the stage with him, Johnny began to play the piano. It was just moments of music. Those around, including myself, stopped in quiet amazement and awe at the beauty of the sound and the joy emanating from him. We hear of such things and gifts; now, we share the experience.

He did not play but just moments and rose. I joined Johnny, and somehow Johnny ends up going home with me. Johnny is now part of our family.

It is a Sunday morning, once again, at church, and I am walking through the sanctuary, doing my usual thing: stopping to chat with people before the service. Johnny is walking around, close by but not right by my side. I can see him. He is never out of my eyesight. Merely turning my head, I can see him. This is our pattern.

The worship team is still off somewhere in prayer. Soon beautiful music is playing. I turn, knowing who I will see. There is a mixed response within the sanctuary: Amazement and criticism. Quietly, I walk up to the stage, stand next to Johnny, then sit on the bench next to him. He finishes, we look each other in the eyes. Johnny is smiling. I, too, am smiling while gentle tears stream down my cheeks.

I turn and begin to speak. “Johnny is fearfully and wonderfully made!” I say this to the congregation. Then I turned to Johnny and said: “Johnny, before you were in your mother’s womb, God knew you! He fearfully and wonderfully made you be just who you are; you are unique. He loves you, and so do I. Do you know that when the Bible says to fear God, it means to love Him? Well, then when God fearfully made you, he revered and loved you too.”

I looked down to see that someone had given me a mic. Turning to Johnny, I asked, “Do you know how to play O Holy Night?” He said, “Yes.” I asked, “Will you play it for us?” Johnny turned and began to play.”

In the end, I wrote: “I do not know what Hunter’s journey is going to look like? I do not know what our journey with Hunter will look like. This much I do know that God wants us on that journey.”