“I can only explain it to you this way,” she began, telling me of her dream.
“I was inside my home. As days and years went by, with every major failure, both in the ways I’ve failed myself and in the ways I’ve disappointed others, I placed an empty green glass bottle near the door.”
She paused. “I know this sounds crazy, but just remember it’s a dream,” she continued. “Well, it’s a dream that is also true of my life… you’ll soon understand.”
“Go on,” I said.
“I remember getting so used to the bottles that I almost considered them decoration. They didn’t bother me as much over time; sometimes, I found them mildly comforting… just part of the house. I was not paying attention to the fact that the more I accumulated, the less I could see of the door. Eventually, the bottles had barricaded me inside my own home.”
She went on to say that her living space had diminished with the accumulation of all the empty glass bottles. She adapted to the space she had, doing less and less, recalling that friends and family would knock on the door, trying to check on her from time to time.
“Sometimes they even banged on the door… hard,” she explained. “But eventually, even the sound of their presence was muffled by the bottles until they either stopped showing up or I stopped hearing them.”
She looked at me. “Told you this was a crazy dream.”
“Please, don’t stop,” I said.
“Well, I realized I was down to just a chair — I only had enough space to sit in this one chair. I closed my eyes, sitting in stillness, realizing that my life had been nothing but a series of disappointments and pain. I sat for a long time, opening my eyes to the sound of splashing water.”
“Water?” I asked.
“Yes, water. My shoes were off, and kneeling before me was Jesus who had one of my green bottles, now filled with water, pouring it into a basin,” she said. “Jesus washed my feet. MY feet,” she repeated, shaking her head.
“I tried to get up, telling Him I should be washing His, but I had no room to move. He just kept caring for me. I felt His love wash over me — to speak of it now makes my entire body feel remarkably alive.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
She smiled with her eyes. “He put a folded white towel on my lap, stood, and walked through the door.”
“The door? I thought the bottles barricaded it?” I questioned.
“They did, less the one he used to wash my feet. Jesus walked right through the bottles and out of my house. As He left, the bottles fell, one by one, each shattering to the floor. Not one bottle remained intact. Not one.”
“What did you do?” I asked.
“I put the towel aside and looked around at all the glass. Then I saw the door and rushed out of my home to catch Jesus and thank Him. When I got outside, He was nowhere to be found, but my family and loved ones were all there, waiting for me and receiving me with open arms,” she said.
“It was incredible,” she whispered.
“Incredible.” I echoed. “Christ came for you. It reminds me of how Christ went after the one sheep to return it to Himself.”
“Yes!” she exclaimed.
“And the feet washing,” I said. “The disciple Peter was uncomfortable with Jesus washing his feet – much like you were. And yet, Jesus washed the feet of all the disciples, each with the same tenderness, regardless of their past or what they may do in the future. He even washed the feet of Judas, the one who betrayed him with a kiss.”
“Yes,” she said again, this time quietly. “Even Judas.” She looked at me. “I have been both Peter and Judas. I have been a lot of things I’m not proud of.”
“Was that the end of the dream?” I asked.
“No. After Jesus left, I no longer collected empty bottles. Instead, I lived my life, coming and going freely. Yet, I was still in a lot of pain,” she said.
“Pain? Why?” I asked.
“Because I didn’t clean up the broken glass. I walked on it daily like a field of remembrance of who I was and what I’ve done,” she said. “Jesus had forgiven and freed me, but I was still choosing to walk in shame.”
“What happened next?” I asked.
“I decided to finally pick up the towel that Jesus had given me and wipe my feet, bloodied from all the broken glass. I returned to the chair, sat down, and unfolded the towel,” she said. Her voice cracked.
“And?” I asked, noticing that the woman was crying.
“There was blood already settled in the folds of the towel. It had been there the whole time. Christ’s blood settled my account and washed away not only my sin but even the STAIN of my sin!”
She began to smile. “As I sat in the chair holding the towel, I felt Christ’s love return to me, telling me that His perfect sacrifice on the cross was sufficient — that I needed to stop punishing myself for what God has already forgiven and blotted out.”
Continuing, she said, “I had positioned myself above Christ by living like His sacrifice wasn’t enough to cover my shame. I was still hiding, feeling secretly disgusted with myself at times. Holding the towel, crying into it, I realized His sacrifice didn’t cover my shame like someone who hides. No! It was meant to obliterate my shame! Utterly remove even a trace of it. And as I acknowledged and received this, the broken glass went with it.”
I left the woman and thought for some time about her remarkable dream. I couldn’t help but wonder how many people are doing life, going in and out of their homes, walking on the sharp edges of unforgiveness of self and shame.
Friend, take a moment to sit and be still in the caring presence of Christ Jesus.
Allow Christ to wash over you as you speak to what is troubling you, ask for repentance for the ways you have fallen short of His will, and receive the gift of His grace, love, forgiveness, and freedom.
Then rise and rejoice, living into the gift rather than the past!
Do not hinder your steps of progress, position, and praise by walking upon the broken glass of shame. Clean house, mentally, physically, and spiritually.
You are meant to walk as a child, healed and held by our Savior, Christ Jesus.
This column was initially published by CherryRoad Media. ©Tiffany Kaye Chartier.