Man of My Dreams

I don’t dream. 

I’m sure I do, but I don’t recall them. Once in a while I wake up with the fleeting memory of something from my dream state, but it’s gone before I’m fully awake, lost to whatever vacuum dreams go to upon waking. That happened just the other day. I woke up with the faintest recall of a dream, but that’s all I can remember – that I dreamed something. It faded into nothingness before I could wake up enough to hold onto it, just like almost every other dream I’ve ever had.  

My friend Tracey has epic dreams. They’re fantastical, colorful, full of adventure. She wakes up with near total recall down to the most minute details. If she ever wrote them down, she would have one wild fantasy series on her hands. 

Me though? 

I got nothing. If I have epic dreams, they’re gone before I blink my eyes open. There is no recall. 

Except.  

When I was 22, I had… we’ll call it a dream, but it felt – different. It was more of a vision? I can’t describe how it was different from a dream, just that it felt that way, even if it was just a dream. 

I was on the upside of a bad (bad) breakup at the time. It had been several months by that point and I had worked through a deep bout of depression and near daily panic attacks, slowly but surely. I had read The Secret and started to rediscover my spiritual side. I was praying for the first time in a long time, journaling, practicing gratitude, starting to plan my move to Tennessee. It suffices to say I was in a good place after a long while of existing in a not so great place.

The dream – vision? – played out like this: 

I was in my bedroom, in my bed. My mattress and box springs were on the floor. I was very into the low profile/no bed frame look at the time. My bedding was a silky brown number with neutral flowers embroidered all over. My dresser was straight ahead, my desk catty corner. My TV sat on the end of the desk and I had a papasan chair positioned at just the right angle and distance from my TV. It was where I sat to write and journal and dream. My vision board – full of photos of Nashville, the University of Tennessee, and my dream apartment – was perched on the floor near my desk. I had a framed photo of Nashville’s skyline on my nightstand.

The dream – vision? – was simple. 

There I was, in my bed, sitting up, eyes on a man in my doorway. He was tall with brown hair that touched his shoulders and friendly blue eyes. He wore jeans and a black button down shirt. He leaned against the frame, arms crossed, and just smiled at me. 

The natural response should have been fear, right? A strange man, in my doorway, watching me sleep. That’s how horror movies start. But that wasn’t the case. I sat there, gazing right back at him, and thought “He’s the one.” 

And that was it. A peaceful moment where we gazed at one another, no fear, just a knowing and a thought of “he’s the one.” I came back to myself or woke up or whatever happened after a few moments, but instead of fading away, the dream stayed with me. I remembered it in detail the next morning – and then I had it again the next night, the exact same dream, the exact same thoughts, all of it. 

It’s been almost fifteen years, but I haven’t forgotten it, nor have I had it again since (at least not that I remember).

You may call me crazy, but I think I dreamed about my husband. 

I’ve thought about this dream – vision? – a lot over the years. It will fade away for long stretches of time, only to creep back into my mind. I’ve prayed about it, asked God to give me discernment. So far, He’s been pretty quiet about it all, but I bring it up to Him every so often, asking for an update, for any sort of revelation He’d like to share. Once in a while, He’ll give me a little confirmation that He hears me, but so far, we’re on His time. 

A little over a year ago, I had another dream. I won’t go into detail about that one. I’ve only shared it with a few of my closest friends as it feels too personal to put out there. It, too, was vivid. Different. I remember even the most irrelevant details, like what was written on the chalkboard at the bar we went to and the color of the tile and the laminate of the table at the restaurant. I can even remember what the sand felt like under my feet. 

Vivid. Detailed. Different. 

A sequel. 

I had what I call “Part One” of that dream a year or two earlier while living in Chapel Hill. I don’t remember as much about that one, just that it was at the same place with the same people and that this more recent dream takes place a year later with us returning to that same location, somewhere I’ve never been in my waking life, but that looks to be a Cape Cod or Nantucket-like place. I don’t know anyone in this dream in real life with the exception of one person that I recognize but don’t actually know or even follow on social media. Like my “man in doorway” dream, it has stuck with me. I described it to one of my friends as a cloak – it’s wrapped around me, travels with me. 

I don’t know what these dreams mean. I don’t know that the man in my doorway actually is my husband. I don’t know if the dream from a year ago means anything, if it will play out exactly or if it will prove to be some sort of metaphor. I don’t know if I’ll find myself in this Cape Cod-like place with these people I don’t currently know or if it will prove to be some parable as we know Jesus loves a parable. All I know for sure is that I’ve asked God about it a lot and He has made it clear that it came from Him. Every time I doubt that, He comes through in oddly specific ways.

The thing I do know is that God uses dreams to communicate with us. I’ve had that affirmed for me time and time again. There have been well-placed podcast episodes, passages in books, even conversations that confirm that. Those conversations have been especially special – each of them came at a time when I’d been praying over these dreams and served to remind me that God can and does use our dreams and that when He does, He tends to make them different. And that he can do above and beyond anything we ask for or dream about. Just last night, my scripture reading (I’m currently going through Ephesians) reminded me of this: 

“Now to him who is able to do above and beyond all that we ask or think according to the power that works in us.” – Ephesians 3:20

I don’t know why I felt compelled to share about the man in my doorway today, just that it seemed to be the thing I was supposed to write about. I haven’t gone out actively looking for a long hair, blue-eyed tall man. In fact, nearly all of the guys I’ve dated have not fit the bill (perhaps that’s why none of them have worked out?). But I know what I felt in that dream, and what I still feel some fifteen years later. I can’t help but believe there is a reason, whether literal or not, that I remember those couple of dreams in such detail. 

If I end up married to a tall man with long hair and blue eyes, you’ll know – he’s the literal man of my dreams.