Skip to main content

Captive!

My friend, Lynn, called and told me she had a dream about me and was praying for me. “Gee, Lynn, am I in trouble?” I replied. Lynn is a no-nonsense woman whom I greatly respect, so I knew she wasn’t playing games with me. Lynn revealed her dream: I was kidnapped.

The first thing I did was pray about this dream. I knew God can help me determine what all this was about. I felt peaceful and remained in that peaceful state despite the nagging of my husband. “Make sure your cell is always charged”, he barked. Make sure you call me and let me know just where you will be hiking and with whom, etc.

Why would anyone want to kidnap me? I’m not wealthy and couldn’t promise a substantial ransom.

I forgot all about the dream. Then one day I noticed how I kept thinking over and over about the phrase “held captive.” I looked up the meaning of captive in the dictionary: A prisoner taken by force or stratagem, esp., by an enemy, in war; one kept in bondage or in the power of another.

Sometimes God warns us in dreams, and several such dreams are recorded in the Bible. Remember when Joseph and Mary took a different route home after Joseph’s dream avoiding a threat on their baby’s life? As far as this dream about me being kidnapped goes, I think it is symbolic. I do believe it is a warning to me. I’m taking this as a warning not to be held captive in my thoughts.

There is a place in the Bible, 2 Corinthians 10:5, that warns about our thoughts. It assures me that I can lead every thought captive into the obedience of Christ, the Messiah. This is no easy task, but I am making a concerted effort to decide what I want to think about these days! I can be influenced so easily in this world with smooth-talking people, the media, and the books I read. On the other hand, thinking on what’s true, what is right, what is praiseworthy and noble is my goal. If what I’m thinking doesn’t line up with my benchmark for what I believe is true, I can, indeed, be kidnapped or held captive.

In closing, I want to echo Lynn’s wise words to me: Please be careful and watchful.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

A Surprise at the Mall

I lost touch with a writer friend.  I missed her and her cheerful blog posts.  We met up in a most unusual way!  I’m still in awe of how it happened. I finished my shopping at the mall and took a short cut to get to the parking lot.  The path led me through the food court.  The smell of Chicken Fajitas stopped me in my tracks.  I planned lunch elsewhere, but now I followed my nose. I chewed my first bite of chicken taco salad when, out of nowhere, a loud redhead moved rapidly past the tables and into the booth with me.  “I know you !”  She shouted.  I pondered if I knew this crazy lady.  Did she mistake me for someone else?  She shouted louder and stuck her finger in my face:  “ You’re Mary; you have a blog called Pile of Smiles and you live in the Verde Valley .”   It took me a second to compose myself.  I stopped chewing my food.  I know I stared too long at her face and then she said:...

Hitched to a Rough Road

Photo Credit:  Peggy James I got his email and wanted to shout:  “Hey, buster, does the phrase “continued behavior pattern” mean anything to you?  But I didn’t. Travis is at it again.  His email revealed a litany of complaints about our neighborhood, our country road, our board officers, bad decisions made that will cost him money , yada-yada-yada . Travis is a Christian brother but you’d never know it. He is a large, loud man who shoots his mouth off as often as he shoots his guns back here in the hills.  He interrupts at our road meetings and, like a typical hothead, he speaks truth but with a tone that makes me feel like I need to duck in case some of his words fly at me and smack me upside the face. I thought we were making progress, but we’re not. It is our rough road that brings us together .  Last year we picked up the neglected pieces of our road association.  We agreed to assemble once again to talk, make decisio...

Mama's Lipstick

I always wished I could do things with my mom like shop in the mall, share makeup secrets or go to the movies and watch romantic comedies.  My wish never materialized.     My mama behaved like a tomboy.   She loved baseball and pitched with a strong right arm.   She could care less about the latest fashion or the latest movies featured on the big screen.   She never polished her fingernails.    One day after elementary school, I walked into the house to find my mom all dolled up in front of the bathroom mirror, foundation crème, powder, eyebrow pencil and rouge all over the counter sink.  “Who are you?” I asked, thrilled to see my mama putting on the Ritz.  Makeup in place and blotted, she immediately took it off.  “I don’t like the way it feels,” she exclaimed. She retired in Arizona and protected her dry lips with a light rose lipstick, the color of natural lips, a step above ChapStick.  She wore it a few tim...