Dreaming About C.S. Lewis

So, this morning I had a really awesome dream, that I wanted to share because I think that you might get just as much out of it as I did. (It was so incredible, it made me a little late for a meeting with Samuels teacher)

************************************************************

I am in a corridor, and there are display cases lined up down this hallway. They are full of different types of jewelry-pearls, diamends, gems, etc-and other costly items, including cash.
Then, on the end, is a glass display case of some unassuming notebooks and rolled up papers that had belonged to C.S. Lewis.

An older man is sitting at a table, just watching a group of us looking into these display cases. Some people in the group were trying to think up ways to get into these cases.

The old man behind us says "here is a key, and the most valuable item is yours if you can figure out what that is, because this key will only fit that one box"

So, everyone around me grabs at the key, and they take turns trying the different boxes. I am standing by, just observing the melee. The old man turns to me and says "aren't you going to try to get the opportunity to get the prize?"

I responded " I already know which box I would open, and no one seems to be headed that way" thinking of the box with the notebooks.

All of a sudden, a sharp cry of excitement causes both myself and the old man to look down the hall at the large group of individuals. At the head of the group, I see a beautiful young lady covered with massive ropes of diamonds, as beautiul as they were heavy. Immediately, after putting them on, she became fearful of everyone around her, afraid that they would try to take her precious jewels. At the same time, she was desperate to receive recognition that she had found the most magnificent treaasure in the hall. Vanity and fear warred in her heart, and vanity seemed to truimph as she paraded down the hall.

The old man turned to me sadly and reached into a pocket and pulled out an old key. Now, the other keys were brassy and new, like you expect to see when opening a jewelry display case. This one was old, with a patina that the other keys, being recently manufactured, would probably never reach. He handed it to me with a wink and says "Why don't you try this one".

I race to the box and put the key in, expecting it not to open. After all, there were cases that had ropes of diamonds. How could this possibly be the most valuable item?

The key slid in like easily and turned, opening the lid of the display case. I reached into the treasure chest, greedily gathering up the old leather bound notebook, the weatherd and stained copy of a hardback book. I carefully pulled out the rolled up papers from a padded container. and the loose papers were gently stacked on top of my great find.

I was ecstatic! Overjoyed! I couldn't believe that the key opened the very box I desired most!
Then, I started to look closely at my treasures, and realized that they weren't quite what I expected them to be.

The hardback book was an original copy of "The Lion, the witch, and the Wardrobe", but it wasn't the same as later copies. It showed editing marks and criticisms in the margins.
The notebook wasn't a day planner, showing the amazing life that Lewis had led. It was full of sentences, snippets really, of his books. It was his "brainstorming" book, where he wrote phrases and ideas down to remember before turning them into a story.

As I unrolled the tightly packed sheets, I was surprised to see drawings, pictures cut from other books, diagrams, and folklore stories with notes in the margins about how these different things inspired him and the stories they inspired. Nothing in the rolled up papers was his own work.
And lastly, the little stack of papers. What would this last stack of papers be? Maybe now I would find the lost manuscript of Lewis!

It was a pile of medical papers, related to his wife. She had passed away, but he had kept these insignificant papers? Why did he need to keep such sad and painful reminders of her life?
I turned to the old man, with tears streaming down my face in joy of finding these wonderful tidbits of Lewis' life, but not truly understanding everything I held in my hands. I asked him, "Why did he keep these papers?" showing him the medical records.

"I kept them because they are just as much who I am as that book you are holding" he gestured to the hardback book.

"I don't understand" I replied.

He said, "What you have there represents the greatest treasures of my life. My creativity, imagination and inspiration are evident on the rolled up papers. I learned to look all around me to find the creativity that God gave us."

"The notebook is full of the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, as I was open to hearing and receiving from Him. He has guided me in everything."

"The book represents my tenaciousness, my determination. Even though it is full of supposed obstacles and crtiticism, I was dedicated to the result."

"And what of the medical records? What use was that to you?" I asked him, thoroughly confused as to their merit. I could understand the other aspects of the treasure chest, as they revealsed the true genius of this man, but the medical records?

"Those records represent every drop of pain I had to endure. If I had not gone through that, I could not have written with such certainty about the nature of God and true christianity. I would have written, yes, but it would have been about how God makes you feel good, not about the deepest passion of His heart regarding us His children. It would have been shallow, without substance.

That is why those papers are in that box. They are the most valuable of all....for they represent my humanity and my triumph. They expose the heart of me for all to take a piece of, and perhaps receive healing in their own lives".

I looked at my treasure trove of items, and realized that I would have to return them to the box. These items were born out of sweat, blood and tears. They weren't collectors items. They were his soul.

I wept again, as I took one last look through all the items. My hand trembled as I stroked the pencil drawing of Aslan. I carressed the worn out copy of the book, and returned them to Lewis. My heart was broken as I gave up those precious shards of connection to one of the greatest philosophers in the christian faith.

And I turned, walked away, and headed down the hall, ready to begin storing my own treasures.

************************************************************

What does this dream/parable mean? I shouldn't have to tell you, but if you need some clarification....
As a believer, we come to God with our pain. He promises to heal us. Buut not to protect us from more pain.
Instead of seeing pain as weakness, we must embrace the places of pain, for out of those deep places can spring the sweetest and most life-giving water to others. Pain is not punishment-It is necessary for the complete development of us as christians, and people.