A few months after The Accident that took my twenty-year-old son’s life, I had a series of dreams.
In the first one Andrew was dancing before the Throne. (He was a professional dancer when he died.) There was a bright spotlight on him. My view was a closeup of him dancing though I could tell others were dancing with him.
The next time I had the dream, the spotlight was larger, showing more dancers. My view was as if the camera had pulled back a bit so I could see a bigger view. I could still see my Andrew towards the center, but he was surrounded by other saints. They were all dancing for the glory of God.
Each of the next few times I dreamed of my son dancing in worship before his Creator, the camera had pulled out farther; the view was larger, and more people could be seen. I could still see him but just barely.
The last time I had the dream I could see miles of dancers worshiping around the Throne. Hundreds of thousands. Men and women of all ages, tribes, and tongues. Modern dancers. Ancient Egyptians. Hutus and Tootsies. Cherokee and Caribbean dancers. European and Brazilian. White, black, Hispanic, Asian. All worshipping our God. I could hardly see my son; he was one of many.
I knew that would be the last time I dreamed of this. I don’t know how I knew, but I did. I also knew none of this is about me or my son. It’s about our heavenly Father. It’s about glorifying our Lord Jesus. Here on earth and in heaven.
Holy, Holy, Holy
Is the Lord God Almighty
Who was and is and is to come.
May we each glorify our God as we walk through grief.