The Mother of Light

I’ll be the first to admit that I usually don’t read too much into dreams. I rarely have them, and when I do, I don’t remember them all too well. The concept is fascinating, though. It’s like a movie of my own making. (I think my dream production is mostly on vacation, though.)

When I dream, it has to be very profound or vivid for me to remember it. The ones I remember typically resemble slice-of-life, but they are strange enough that I wake up and know that it wasn’t just me in a tired state. 

My recent dreams have been an anomaly. In the past few weeks, I have had several vivid dreams. I don’t think about them, but the last one I had over the weekend made me reflect.

In real life, we had invited our friend from my husband’s work for Labor Day weekend. In my dream, I was back at the party. 

I sat with my husband, nephew, and friend in my living room. I drank a strange orange liquid and saw red and pink flowers growing from the floorboards. 

It looked cool, but I wrote it off as whatever was in my drink. I tried to talk with everyone, but they weren’t making sense. I knew it was English, but I couldn’t connect any concepts. My mind was going all over the place, trying to follow the streams of consciousness. 

At some point, I was full-blown hallucinating. I was mesmerized by the neon lights I turned on in the living room. I remember staring at the normal eyesore of vertical blinds leading out to our patio. But the neon lights glaring off them and the swaying blinds made it look like the Northern Lights. 

There was also a tapestry hung on the wall depicting a starry night. Typically, it’s just black and white, but this time, it was colorful and looked like the stars were moving around—very trippy.

By far, though, the strangest part was a light I bought earlier. I have a lamp on my coffee table, one of those trendy TikTok “mushroom” lamps. 

Everything was starting to go dark. The people in the room began to fade away into oblivion. It was just me and this lamp. I was terrified. At the moment, I could only think of grabbing onto the light and holding it tight. As I stared at the lamp, its warm glow was comforting, and I started to cry.

My husband popped back up. He told me I looked beautiful with the light glowing on me, and all I could muster up was, “I am the mother of light.” End scene.

Back to reality. On my way to work, I could only think about that mushroom lamp. I thought maybe there was a lesson God was trying to show me through this experience.

After reflecting, this was what I could muster: In this earthly life, it’s important to have a solid support system, which I think my husband, nephew and friend represented. They were helping me, but I was terrified because I lost them when they faded away. 

But the light was the only thing I could see, representing God. In John 8:12, Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

When everything was going dark, having that light was a source of strength, and I believe Jesus does the same for those who walk with Him. We sometimes live in a dark world, and that darkness creeps in and hurts good people. But the light of the world is there to light the way and guide our steps. As we walk with this light, we become more like it and shine as well, giving people hope and becoming a source of blessings.

Though its full meaning may still elude me, this experience has instilled a newfound appreciation for the mysterious ways in which dreams can mirror and illuminate the contours of our souls. So, I’ll carry it with me — not as an enigma to be solved, but as a testament to the light, capable of illuminating the darkest of nights. 

In a world that often feels overshadowed by turmoil, it’s a reminder that hope, much like light, ushers us towards envisioning a brighter tomorrow and becoming a luminous presence in this world, one that guides, inspires, and perseveres, no matter the darkness it faces.

Honestly, I have no idea what the “mother of light” comment has to do with any of this, though, so I’ll keep that one a mystery.