“Shhhh…. Do you hear that? Someone’s weeping.” I shook my head because I thought the enemy was trying to distract me from studying the word. The soft voice whispered again, “don’t you hear that?” I shook my head once again. “Close your eyes and listen with your spirit.”
I wasn’t spooked because I knew the voice was the Holy Spirit. He sounded disheartened and grieved. I closed the Bible and then closed my eyes. All of a sudden I could hear the crying. It was a man and he sounded heartbroken.
I was so focused on the weeping of the man I didn’t noticed that I had been whisked away from my bedroom to another room that was dark. At first I couldn’t see a thing, but as my eyes adjusted to the darkness I looked down. I was sitting on a sofa.
The weeping man was across the room. For some strange reason I was not afraid. I jokingly whispered, “you’re not in Kansas anymore Dorothy.” I cleared my throat and called out but not too loudly. “Who’s there?” When no answer came I said, “Sir, are you ok?”
One lone word laden with pain was spoken. “No.”
Fear tapped me on the shoulder but I shook it off. There’s no need to be afraid God is here. “Sir where are you?”
“I’m over here,” he answered calmly.
Why was he sitting in the dark? My eyes had adjusted some more so I could make out the outlines of the furniture. Everything in the room was white, even the chaise I sat upon.
I stood up, held out both hands in front of me and made my way across the room. As I edged along the low table in front of me, I saw two large pewter candle holders that looked familiar. With each step, I realized that I had been in this room before. “Hey, this looks like the place where I fellowship with the Lord.” My heart began to race. Suddenly the room began to glow as if my recognition was what was needed to illuminate the room.
It was the room of my imagination. The low white chaise sofa sat in the center of the room. To the left was a window that normally revealed white fluffy clouds. The curtains were sheer, tied back with gold cords.
My Lord stood to my right. Blood steadily trickled from his hands and feet and pooled around his feet. I was stunned. What did this mean? He no longer wept but smiled.
I rushed to him and knelt at his feet, not caring about the blood. “My Lord.”
He touched my head then reached under his robe to take out a box. As he held it out, it became huge! Taken aback I leaned away and almost lost my balance. He steadied me.
My focus was no longer on his blood, but the box. I took it, shook it. It was extremely light. “Uh Lord, what’s in the box?”
He smiled and said softly, “Answers to prayers that you never got. You see that’s how long it’s been since we’ve spent time together.”
Guilt assailed me. I hung my head. “Is that why you’re weeping?”
“No my beloved. My tears are not for me, but for you and my other children who cry in frustration because their prayers aren’t answered. You send up prayers and only during your times of desperation do you wait for the answers. I have longed for your company, I’ve missed you.”
Tears sprang to my eyes, “I’m sorry Lord, but I’ve been so busy with that new job you blessed me with and decorating my new apartment and…” The look in his eyes halted my excuses.
“My Beloved complains about being rejected, but none of you know the rejection I feel as I stand at the door knocking, but my knocks go unheeded.”
I dropped the box and wrapped myself around his feet. I wanted his blood to fall on me. I needed to be cleansed. His blood covered me, but my gown remained white. At that moment I began to weep and repent. How often had I rejected my Lord? How often had I caused him to weep?
Jesus took me by the shoulders and lifted me to my feet. He then dried my eyes. “No more tears, all is forgiven. So, will I see you tomorrow?”
I humbly nodded.