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By Root 524 0

but she was not going out there alone. She was going out with Maria, who was just to her right in a twirly skirt and a white, tucked-in blouse with a single ruffled collar. Her coal black hair was swept back in a matching headband with a chunk of her long bangs escaping and falling forward into her eyes. Mary Beth was trying to hold on tightly to Maria’s hand as the child sped in front of her and nearly pulled her over. One of the men backstage stopped Mary Beth to brief her and, all the while, Maria squirmed, giggled, turned, and kicked out her wiry little tan legs until her mother, typical of all who have an active charge, was nearly twisted into a pretzel. I could hear Maria laughing and I could see Mary Beth smiling.

I felt myself smiling back and all the while staring, perplexed at my own frozenness. I sat completely still, as if one little twitch would make it all disappear. And then I woke up. My eyes sprung open, but otherwise I did not move a single muscle. My heart pounded and I felt butterflies in my stomach like something extraordinary had happened. I’ve had thousands of vivid dreams in the course of a long lifetime, but this was unlike any of the others. This one meant something. I was certain of that. This time God gave it to me. I was also certain of that. It was a tremendous departure for me, and even in those first few moments of alertness, I believed I knew a measure of what it meant. Part of my friend Mary Beth’s joy was going to be restored after the tragic loss of her darling Maria by telling her story as God Himself would unfold it. Her own healing would come in many ways as she ministered her pain and her hope. As she moved forward by faith with fresh vision, the memories of Maria’s playfulness and the echoes of laughter over her antics would little by little eclipse the images from the day of the accident. And I knew one more thing.

I knew Maria was alive. Very, very much alive. Many of us believe in life after death by faith and by creed, but what shook me to the bone was that I also had the rare occasion to know it by sight. The thought never occurred to me that Maria had morphed into an attending angel of some kind or, worse yet, an unsettled apparition walking around holding Mary Beth’s hand until she was whole again. I knew in that moment that her happy, playful presence right next to Mary Beth in the dream was symbolic. She is joyous and whole and beautiful in God’s presence, but the Chapmans would again recover the gladness she’d ushered into their lives as they poured their fragrant, expensive offering before God, drop by heavy drop.

I knew I had to tell Mary Beth, but I wasn’t sure how to approach a subject so tender, where even angels should fear to tread. As God would time it, her birthday offered me the perfect opportunity to touch base and ask her if we could talk soon. I still have the text conversation on my cell phone, and I delighted to discover that it was recorded right under several other texts she and I had exchanged over getting fresh highlights. I do dearly love being a woman. Here’s how the door opened to an encounter of titanic proportions for us both.

Me to Mary Beth:

Happy birthday, my darling sister! I am at a conference this weekend but I want to talk soon. I had a dream about you. I never have had a prophetic or meaningful dream but I had the strangest feeling this time. It was short but if it confirms something God is already telling you, it would be worth me sharing it with you. I love you and am honored to sojourn with you.

Several minutes later, Mary Beth back to me:

Thank you so very much! So strange that you’ve had a dream . . . I’m anxious to hear as God has stirred and is doing so much . . . if only you knew . . . Let’s talk soon. I am so humbled to call you friend. Please pray for me as I come to your mind and I will you. Looking forward to a chat!

A few days later, while I was on the way home from work, I got the courage to bring up her number on my cell and hit send. Steven grabbed her phone and answered it, “Mary Beth’s personal secretary, may I help