Dreams of Death

It is my eager expectation and hope that Christ will be honored in my body, whether by life or by death. For to me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.

The last four years have forced me to think and reflect on death and what it means in ways most people will never realize.  It caused an enormous shift in my view and understanding of Christ, the resurrection, and just how sovereign our Lord is.

The old challenge is to ask what your life would be if you died tomorrow, or next week.  I wonder though, how often have you thought about the reality of death?

It was innocent enough at first, a nightmare at the end of a long day.  I don’t remember when it started, just that I was particularly alone that previous day.  That night was the first, but not the last, that I dreamt it.

It was a convoy like any other long, slow and tedious.  They’re fun at first.  But after a few there’s a certain amount of extreme dread and backwards excitement to it all that gets boring.  Not enough action and you lose your edge, to much and you lose your nerve.  Death is always one breath away.

Someone spotted a suspicious bomb, prompting a sudden halt to the convoy, and security was set up.  I fanned out to my position, as I had practiced countless times before.  Small arms fire was exchanged briefly, but quickly met with the interrupted arrhythmic fire of dying hand on an AK-47.  The silent vigilance lasts forever.

Mount her! The commander finally yells, and we rise to join the convoy and head out.  I place my left hand down to push myself up from the prone position I dove into.  As my hand leaves the ground I hear a threatening clink.  My eyes race down as the mine races up.  An air burst mine, it rises 6 feet up and detonates.  I leave my body.  It’s not mine anymore.  It’s just a body.  It explodes, almost in synchronization with the mine.  I watch in horror for what seemed like days as my body exploded in slow motion. 

And I woke up.

It didn’t bother me too much; I’d watched similar things during my first deployment and just figured it was a memory.  But then it came back the next night.  And the next.  And it continued for a month becoming not just a dream, but a hallucination.  I would day dream, physically feeling the pain of every bone being shattered, aching inside and then waking up or snapping out of the dream unaware of where I was or what I was doing.  My heart would be racing and I would often have bloody noses or blood in my mouth.

I was convinced this was how God was going to end my life.  I believed it was just a matter of time.  I wanted so desperately to just end my life then and there, but didn’t want someone else to suffer in the same way, so I continued on.  But I didn’t live for Christ in any way those months, I merely lived to die.

I spent all of my time engrossed with work, working out, and living for myself. I avoided friends and family, insisting (and believing) that I was happier alone.

Thankfully, surrounded by Godly men and true friends, I wasn't alone and they confronted me with the gospel and laid the importance of community on me. I've never felt so weak or ashamed as those days when I realized what a poor friend I was to them, and I praise God that He has taken care of me so well. This is why community is so important to me, and why I struggle to understand the reluctance by so many Christians, particularly college students, to place community in high regard. Without those strong relationships and the desire my friends had for me, I can't imagine the state of depression I would be in. I continue to dream the same dream on a daily basis, but thanks to those who know and love me most care enough to seek me out, I am constantly reminded of the gospel and God's perfect will. It is well, with my soul.