The Dream

In the dream, I was walking through a dark, wet forest. The air was heavy with moisture and decay. Twisted, gnarled trees lay sideways across the path just a few feet ahead of me. I paused at the edge of the forest’s shadowy canopy. Through an oval-like opening through the trees, I saw beyond the woods — over two rugged mountains in the mid-ground—to a distant hill bathed in light. 

And on that hill stood a tree. Radiant. Beautiful and glorious. Unlike any tree I had ever seen. It glowed with golden leaves, shimmering and shining as if lit from within. Light poured from it in every direction, illuminating the hill and the sky above it. In the dream, I knew what it was: the Tree of Life. Strong, beautiful, full of life. Its very presence called to me — not with words, but with a pull on the soul. A beckoning that pierced through the shadows and decay of the forest behind me.

It was as if God Himself was saying:

“I have set before you a vision of life — the kind of life that shines like the Tree of Life. I am the One who calls to you, who woos you not to follow the decaying desires of this world, but to follow Me into the life that only I can give. This is not a life you’ll find on the paths the world offers. My way is narrow, but it leads to life.”

And in that moment, I felt it deeply — this was not just a dream. It was an invitation. A call to choose. A holy longing awakened.

How It Spoke To Me

This dream wasn’t just for me — it was an invitation. The Tree of Life is Christ Himself. In a world full of dark and easy paths, He alone shines with the light of true life. The contrast between the shadowy forest and the radiant tree is a divine wake-up call: don’t settle for what is near, familiar, and fading. Walk — persevere —  toward what is far, bright, and eternal. This is more than a choice of direction — it’s a choice of affection, allegiance, and destiny. Jesus is calling. He is shining. He is inviting. Will you follow the light and choose life?

POEM: The Tree That Calls Me

Raimer R.

There stands a tree

— not in any forest I’ve known —

but on a far hill bathed in light.

Its leaves are not green,

but gold.

Its branches shimmer,

not from sunlight,

but from life itself.

It calls to me.

Not with words,

but with longing.

Not with force,

but with a tenderness

that undoes me.

I see it 

— and nothing near me satisfies.

The world’s glimmer dulls,

its promises fade,

its pathways feel hollow.

How could I love lesser things,

when that tree,

that life,

calls me by name?

Its light does not just shine

— it woos.

It pulls at the marrow of my soul,

reminding me

that there is a life

not built of earth and dust,

but of heaven’s breath.

Every choice I make,

every step I take,

the image lingers.

I feel its tug

— gentle, unrelenting —

asking:

“Will you let go

of what cannot last

to take hold

of what cannot die?”

O Tree of Life,

O Christ my life,

You are the love

that outloves all lesser loves.

Making the surrender sweet,

and the letting go easy,

because nothing

— nothing —

compares to You.