Dream of jesus, wave, heart

It always started with a vibrant color red slowly fading into the background, like a backdrop of evil setting the scene. Around the edges and into the corners of my vision were black shadows, the darkest I had ever seen. I entered from the left, terrified beyond measure, yet determined to get what I came for; my grandparents’ release from Hell, from the bondage of Satan himself. Nana and Papo, my paternal grandparents, would enter from the right, distraught, resigned, yet, a bit hopeful. I ran to them, hugging and kissing them. I can still feel the way my grandfather’s solid middle felt against my skinny, half-grown arms. And then there was Satan. His voice boomed over us like thunder. My heart seized with panic and sank like a rock within me as terror washed over me like an ocean’s wave. For just a moment, the three of us huddled together, Nana, Papo and me. Then, after what felt like an eternity of being frozen in fear but seconds of being comforted by the warmth of their bodies, of their love, my voice found me. I freed myself from the entanglement of their arms and knew I had to do this on my own. I demanded their freedom. I asked that they be able to return with me to my home. While I do not remember the words that roared from the scoffing voice overhead, I remember that my request was denied. Nana and Papo had to stay in Hell. There was no question about it. Then, they turned and exited back from whence they had come, resigned, saddened but willing. I screamed. I screamed their names. I screamed in protest. I screamed because of the injustice. They did not belong there. They knew Jesus. And yet, it had not been enough. In that moment, He had not been enough. That’s when I would awake in a panic, crying, hardly able to breathe. Yet another thing was out of my control. Yet another injustice was being committed and I could do nothing. My voice was not being heard. My stomach was churning as was my heart.