Many years ago, I had a dream that has stuck with me. It was soon after I met Jesus, and I was green to practicing faith and the gifts that come with it. I don’t know that I credited the dream to Him then, but it clung to the rafters of my mind, resistant to the passage of years and aging and busyness. Now I know better. Father gives dreams to His sons and daughters. Even though I lacked the skill and knowledge to do much with it back then, this dream was from the Lord.

In it, there was a home. A big, beautiful home set on a slice of green land filled with brush and trees and wild flowers. The house had a long porch that hugged the outer walls on the front, and shutters sandwiched each window. Dormers made it look as though the house had warm, smiling eyes. A dirt road lined with trees whose branches hung low led you to the home, which glowed with a soft, gentle yellow color, either because we painted it that way or because the original color had faded. Outside the old screen door lay a comfy, snoozing dog, and rocking chairs cluttered the porch. The inside of this home was just as charming. The wood floors creaked, the moldings were detailed and brilliant, the air smelled of good things coming to life in the kitchen’s double ovens. Just down the hall from the front door was a little room that turned out to be the heartbeat of the home. It served as a check-up room for the resident doctor.

This home wasn’t just where I lived with my family, though that was true. It also served as a safe place for women to come and grow their babies until we found them new families. Babies they didn’t want or couldn’t keep. During their time with us, I gathered, they lived there, took care of themselves, helped around the house,  and learned about the Creator of those babies in their wombs. We cared for their needs and made them members of our family. At the end, the babies stayed with us until we could find the God-ordained family for them to go home to.

I had that dream a few times in a row until it disappeared from my nights. It hasn’t returned since then, but still it stays in my mind, tucked away like a sweet gift I’m not yet permitted to open.

One time years ago my husband said aloud ‘What if we rescued women who were planning to abort their babies? Took care of them, provided them medical care and handled the adoption. If you took all the worries and question marks away, I bet most women would take our offer.‘ I think he’s right. I don’t think the power of suggestion in what he said is what brought on my dreams. No. Father often speaks to people in groups or pairs, to bring confirmation and clarity. This was one of those times.

All these years later, I don’t have a big house in the country filled with sweet, broken women shattered by the layers of an uneasy, ungenerous life. Daughters marked by bad nights or bad labels, about to make a heavy, life-altering decision. We’ve not cradled any of those babies in our arms, and we’ve not eaten any meals in the kitchen at the old table stretched out in front of the hearth. We’ve never even talked about his statement or my dream again. Years have passed, life has moved forward and there’s been no discussion of what could be one day.

Because we don’t have to. You can’t force the things that only God can birth. Maybe we’ll have that safe haven someday. Maybe I’ll speak aloud this dream and it will awaken in the heart of one of my daughters, or one of you instead. It is His and His alone to piece together, and I trust that He will. Because a good Father will bring to fruition the plans and purposes that rescue the lost children He loves so much.

All I know is that dreams are tools that my Creator uses to work in and through us. I find that so humbling. That this great, great God who imagined up and molded together everything good and right that ever has or ever will exist, would think to use this simple girl. What does He see that I don’t? I’m not sure, but I’m utterly grateful all the same. And it only makes me want to keep dreaming.

Dreaming with you,
Mande