Weak Hands

I dreamt a while ago that I was in church, and it was as if the church was a government agency. We were fighting to recover our land from people at first, and what jarred me was that we were fighting physically.

Everyone had different skills and weapons. Jesus was the Oga (Boss). At a point we were fighting to get other people’s territory too – it changed from defense to offense. I had a pair of boots, soled with thick bars of metal. If I kicked people, they died or became unconscious, but my hands were my normal hands, and if I hit people, it hurt.

I got upset with Jesus that we were fighting physically, because it was very violent, and I felt the church was meant to be peaceful. I went to hide inside while others were fighting. When I went to hide, I slept.

Later, I came out, and I saw someone practicing with something like a robotic exoskeleton for her upper body. It was like armour and power, because a punch was just as lethal (if not more) than one of my boot kicks. She didn’t feel any pain or exert much energy. I wished I had something like that, because I had nothing for my hands. Jesus looked at me watching her and told me that it was originally mine, but since I didn’t use it, it wouldn’t lie around unused. He explained that it was not as effective as it could have been (it looked old and worn), but at least someone was using it. I felt terrible. I still didn’t have anything for my hands.

– Sis M.E.
Monday, April 02 2018