“A Haunting Dream: The Orphan Killing”
A true testimony of Becky Wright, Written down on Aug. 2, 2010.
Thirty-two days ago, on June 30th, 2010, I had a very disturbing dream. Its images and sounds are so vivid in my memory that it haunts me even now. I knew when I awoke that I was supposed to write it down—not that I could ever forget the details of it, but so that I could share it with others. However, I am reluctant to speak of it (and have only told two people the details of the dream so far) because it is not a “happy message” or a beautiful thought to contemplate. I’ll share at the end what I believe God has shown me to be the meaning of the dream. Perhaps He will show you, too, or help you understand it better than me? I pray so. Amen.
“Extraordinary Choir Rehearsal”
It was our final choir rehearsal before the bigger-than-ever patriotic July 4th service. The music, the voices, the instruments sounded heavenly, and we were all exuberant with anticipation for this Sunday’s outreach. We prayed for lost souls to be saved, for God's protection of our military, and for people to be blessed. Our pianist then announced that we were adding another aspect to our “performance”: a choreographed field marching routine, like a high school band would do for a half-time show. I couldn’t believe it… but we all went to the field to sing and play, perfectly choreographed, in precise formation, to reach the lost. It would be the “best performance ever” from our church choir and worship team, and God would be glorified through it... at least that was our hope and assumption.
“Stepping on Children”
As we left the rehearsal, we had to crawl through a very small and rustic door opening (as if between two floors of a building) to put away our choir notebooks. The pianist and I chatted excitedly until we entered the room to put away our music. The room was filled with children, maybe fifty or more, jam-packed and sitting cross-legged on the floor. They appeared to be Latino, and there was one woman (also Latino/ Hispanic) at the front of the room, speaking to them in their language. There was no aisle to walk between the children; we literally had to step on the children to put away our notebooks on the shelf in the back of the room. The children winced but did not make a sound as we stepped on their legs and hands, as if they were accustomed to such treatment. We wondered why they were there, but still we left without speaking to the children or to their caretaker.
“The Swamp Creatures”
After we exited the building, I found myself alone, and looking at a grotesque sight. Standing on the edge of a swamp, a murky-looking pond, I saw two babies on a nearby shore. Their heads were deformed and their legs were shorter than usual, like an unfortunate combination of birth defects or dwarfism. One was black and one was white, one with hair and one with none. They let out a pitiful and weak cry, having been left to die by their mothers, who were nowhere to be seen. I then noticed a man with a television camera apparently filming a documentary about these pathetic creatures. I could even hear the British accent of the narrator who told the story of these “forgotten children”. They did nothing to help the babies, but only told their story for the world to see... like a freak show. A sordid form of entertainment.
“Drowning the Children”
I then heard the splashing of water and turned to see a sight that still makes me shudder and scream inside. It appeared to be my own husband, a good Christian man, throwing children—all sizes and colors—into the water to drown. He put a heavy weight around their arms to hold them down- like an inner-tube made of lead, and plunged them into the water to drown more quickly. I screamed at him to stop, but he methodically continued, seemingly overwhelmed by the task of caring for these orphans who’d been abandoned, and (in his way) attempting to end their suffering. He then picked up a red can and began pouring what appeared to be gasoline into the water, to poison the water and hasten their death! At first, the drowning children looked somewhat disfigured, and were mostly black or Hispanic-looking. But soon the children being “thrown away” began to be Caucasian-looking, blond-haired, with no obvious physical deformities-- much like my own children.
“My Own Son”
Then the most horrific part of the dream occurred, and I cry and rage every time I see it. My husband grabbed our own first-born son, Aaron (age 14) and another boy approximately 4 years old, and wedged the heavy “ring of death” around them both, which held their arms down so they could not escape, and shoved them into the water. I saw the little boy coughing and screaming under the water, and watched my own son Aaron as his eyes simply closed as they began to sink. I jumped into the water and grabbed the boys from underneath, to free them from their yoke of death. As I pulled them to shore, I heard Aaron groaning and knew that he must still be alive, so I began to breathe into the little boy’s mouth and give him chest compressions. He started to cough up water and cry, so my attention turned back to my own son. I shook Aaron and cried, “Aaron, are you okay?” Aaron scrambled to his feet and replied, “Yes, just get me away from him,” nodding his head toward the man who’d thrown him into the water – the very person whom he’d once trusted with his life.
“Awakened from the Nightmare”
I awoke suddenly from this horrible, unimaginable nightmare, and immediately tears filled my eyes and my heart pounded—with relief, with rage, with compassion, with guilt, with a deep sadness, but also with a sense of urgency --and destiny-- like never before. I wept and prayed intermittently throughout the day, asking God the meaning of the dream, then weeping all the more as He revealed it to me, bit by bit. Here’s what I understand, as I continue to pray for even more understanding:
“Spreading the Gospel?”
Before I continue, please don’t misunderstand what I’m about to share. I am a professional musician and songwriter, a voice and piano teacher, and former school music teacher who has written and produced hundreds of “shows”, both in schools, and church/evangelistic outreaches (utilizing music, etc.). I believe what the scripture says about “playing skillfully upon the instruments”, and in presenting the Gospel with excellence, utilizing whatever talent and resources each particular situation requires. In my dream, our choir and music ministry was doing just that—what we truly felt God wanted us to do in presenting a fabulous musical outreach to the community. However, in the hoop-la and busy-ness of all our “service to the LORD”, we stumbled upon the children in the obscure, crowded room. We had to stoop to even reach them, entering through an almost “half-door”. It wasn’t comfortable or convenient. And, like many others before us, we stepped on and right over the children, never inquiring to see how we could help their situation. It was as if we pretended they didn’t exist.
“Disposable Children… to Whom?”
In the dream I believe that my husband represented the “every-day Joe Christian”. Hank is a father of nine children, and a Child Welfare Supervisor, a former pastor and Navy Chaplain, a faithful church attendee, and an obvious Christian. Yet, seemingly overwhelmed with the task of so many children in need, he saw his murderous acts as “mercy-killings”, since (he thought, as many of us do, even unconsciously), “We can’t save them all, so why try?” And, like the deformed babies left on the beach to die, we’ve erroneously come to believe that “disabled” or disfigured children (or adults), particularly with a different skin color and different language, are “disposable” or less valuable than our own children. We would never admit it, and it’s certainly not politically (or spiritually) correct to say such a horrid, ego-centric thing.
“Not My Child!”
We stepped over and upon the quiet children with brown skin and a strange language, huddled in a cramped room, as we went on our way doing our “Christian service”. They weren’t our children, we reasoned. Like the camera man filming a documentary, we watch with a mix of intrigue and sympathy —but react with apathy (by not acting), because we see the task as overwhelming, and therefore not worth the effort. Our very lack of action, however, is the fruit and evidence of what we truly believe, what we treasure —or what we devalue. If GOD, our Heavenly Father, had such an attitude, NO ONE would be saved… no, not one.
But when my OWN SON was in danger, being “disposed of” like garbage, then I sprang into action. Then I saw the urgency and necessity of immediate intervention, to stop this ongoing crime, and save these children. They were each precious in God’s sight!! They were ALL called to be His, and to represent every tribe, tongue, and nation around God’s throne in Heaven one day, as Revelation 5:9 tells us: "You are worthy… and with your blood you purchased men for God from every tribe and language and people and nation.”
“What Now?”
I found my eyes filled with tears a few hours later as I went grocery shopping. I only had $7 to spend, so I counted every penny to choose some things to last for four more days until my next paycheck. Normally, I might have felt a little sorry for myself for my “cash-flow problem”, but today I only felt blessed—and guilty. As I walked through the fresh produce, I thought, “Just think how many people this much food would feed in an impoverished village! I’ll have more money in four days, but they won’t. My children have never gone hungry, but millions of children die of starvation. We have so much… What can I do? What do You want me to do, LORD?” I prayed for clear direction concerning what GOD was leading me to do, and also how/when/where to even share this disturbing dream.
“From Despair to Destiny”
I have no doubt that the LORD sent this dream, as I could and would never have conjured up such a horrid event. (The Word says that God will send dreams, more and more, in the last days.) I would never purposefully kill my own child, let alone another child, even a “stranger’s child”. But what I truly believe Jesus meant for me to see (and hopefully, those who will read or hear this) is just this: As we value the children of the world, so we will value our own children--- if we can grasp the heart of God in this matter! GOD loves them just as much… and died for their salvation, as well! (John 3:16, Matthew 28:19-20) We must go to the remote and obscure places where they cry for help—and answer the call. Isn’t that where Jesus would be? He said He is… and so are we… when we meet their needs, “the least of these”, in His name, by the Spirit’s power, and with His life-changing love.
“The Promise (and Definition) of True Religion”
In John 14:18, Jesus told us: “I will not leave you as orphans; I will come to you.” God came to us… so we should take God to them. Matthew 25: 37-40 gives us this promise: "Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?' "The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.' Romans 12:21 admonishes us to “Be not overcome with evil, but overcome evil with good.” I believe that James 1:27 defines and summarizes this high calling: “Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress and to keep oneself from being polluted by the world.”
For Christ’s Sake, and for all of His children worldwide, Becky Wright Aug. 2, 2010 www.beckywrightsongs.com
