i met a man who said he had a dream of going to God’s house. He said he walked through a beautiful green wood where the trees whispered goodness, and the little flowers softly trilled at him in their tiny flower voices. As he came to the edge of the woods, there, across a short green field was an immense mansion with many, many windows and many, many rooms. He said it had a one of a kind carriage court, and beyond was the grand external entrance which led to another grand internal entrance. He said for some reason, although he knew it was very impolite and inappropriate to peep in someone’s windows, for some reason he felt invited to look in the windows, into the Eyes of God. With great courage he went to the tall, double hung, ornate sash window close to the the main entrance, and there… inside… was a huge room with pictures hung all around, on the wall high and low, over the great fireplace, in the window sills, just everywhere. In the middle was a small desk supporting the book of remembrance and a good pen of precision laid across the pages. In the dream he was made to know all those pictures, framed with bright verbs, adjectives, and descriptive phrases in gold, were God’s favorite snap shots of the past, and of favorite memories of things which had not happened yet. He told me it may seem odd to say, but in the moment, he didn’t think it strange because the Lord knows the end from the beginning, so He’s already been to the end and gathered favorite memories, if that makes any sense.

He said as he was looking in the window, far above him, up around the tracery, between the elaborate flying buttresses, one of the high ornate windows opened and a very large flock of brightly colored birds flew out and to the east, each carrying a glowing jewel. He said he figured it was the Lord pouring out a blessing from the open windows of Heaven. In the moment the Lord spoke in the dream, with a voice like bells in the distance and giants laughing for gladness with a shout in the middle, all at once. The Lord said, “My blessing is sent at my discretion. You can’t tithe the windows open, beg them open, fast them open, nor hate them shut with bitter drinks, unbelief, and disappointed brooding. My outpouring is because I send it, not because any man pry’s it from my hand.” The man went on to say he then moved to another window far around the side, and upon looking in God’s eye, the window, this time he saw an impossibly large kitchen with expansive work tables, many ovens and stoves, where the daily bread was kneaded and baked.

In God’s kitchen was every good thing beyond imagination for those who would but ask. He could see stacks of delicacies wrapped and ordered with people’s names on a little tag, he realized they were piles and piles of blessings which had not been asked for, just waiting for the person who’s name was on the tag to ask, seek, and knock. He was sad because he knew people had not asked so their blessing and provision simply sat there. He thought to himself, “If only they would believe and ask.” Near one long kitchen table were vats labeled wisdom to the mighty, honor to the brave, integrity to the courageous, and hope for the poor. On nearby shelves there were large containers of refreshing waiting to be tapped for those faint of heart, having grown weary, stumbling in the heat of the day. As the fellow woke up he said he was thinking about Eph2:10, where God says we are His workmanship, and poetry.

He spent the morning looking out his windows at the passersby, pondering the extreme dream. He thought…… from my windows, inside looking out, i see the people going their way, and in my opinion, they don’t look much like poetry.
Poetry sit’s neatly in a line,
with meter and rhyme,
and the people i see don’t sit neatly in a line,
they have unidentifiable meter,
and profoundly don’t seem to rhyme.

But from inside God’s windows looking out, He sees a very different picture. Which one is more true, that we are poetry with beautiful meter and rhyme, or we are thinner than faint shadows, no more than a smudge on a white wall?

i think it is profound that God loves us who seem so inclined to find nothing loveable of ourselves. In fact, as C.S. Lewis implied, more often than not we see ourselves as no better than a sooty stain on fresh air, as shades with no substance. But from God’s windows, He sees all our potentials, calling our probablies, and more than likelies as yes and amen. From His window, He thinks we are beautiful, like God-poetry, bright and luminous. Now there’s something we’ve really got to get into our heads. c