You came to me last night in a dream
dressed like a doctor in a white lab coat
and a stethoscope around Your neck.
I know You are always mending
the cracks in my soul.
You abide in me; You are the blood
in these veins, the breath in my lungs.
In my dream I was Your assistant.
I prepared the patients and put them into
their own little room to wait for You.
You met me in the hall
with a wide, joyful smile on Your face
and said to me “He is over here.”
You like to say things with multiple meanings
and I love You for it.
This time I knew.
One of our patients died.
I had hoped You would heal him.
He was an old friend, a part of You.
My prayer was in his chart:
“Please heal him, Beloved,
so that when he comes home
our Father will be glorified many times over,
for my friend will share his love and gratitude.
But, whatever You do,
His will be done; He will always be glorified.”
You embraced me, Beloved,
and my sorrow melted like cotton candy
in the mouth of a happy child.
Sorrow is for those left behind.
Now I am awake from that dream.
When I call the hospital I will find out
if my old friend is still here
of if he is over this life of suffering,
if he is Over Here.
Either way, Beloved, I will see him again.
His Will be done.