How to Reach the Moon

I'm only seven weeks into this mommy gig, but one duty of parenthood that I'm really enjoying so far is the business of lulling our little girl to sleep. I love to watch her eyelashes flutter as the pacifier drops from her mouth. Before long, her breaths are accompanied by tiny sighs, and I can see her pupils darting around under her eyelids.

It's fascinating to watch her expressions as she dreams. I can't help but wonder what's going on in that newborn subconscious of hers. I also wonder if she'll experience a vivid and memorable dreamworld, as I have through the years.

One of the earliest dreams that I can remember goes all the way back to when I was three-years-old.

As I recall, the moon made a special trip down to 68th Street in Brooklyn, just to see me. He knocked on the door of our apartment and asked if his favorite little girl in the world could come outside for a chat. I stood on the stoop in my footy pajamas, and we enjoyed some lively conversation until my celestial friend winked his big crater eye and returned to his place among the stars. I wished we could rendezvous that way every night, but I understood that he must have an important job to do, shining his light all over Brooklyn and all. So, from then on, I was content to wave to the moon each night through our window, and also through the glowing TV screen in our living room whenever the McDonald's "Mac Tonight" commercials appeared. (80's kids, tell me you remember that ad campaign!)

I'm not one to assign meaning to all of my dreams, but I've recently noticed that the moon remains a recurring theme in my nighttime fancies to this day. Lately, however, my basic understanding of science and my senseless addiction to chaos have transformed face-to-face moon meetings into all-out NASA voyages that never seem to get off the ground.

When I was in college, for example, I dreamed that I was late for an appointment aboard a space shuttle. As I scrambled to pack my bags, I realized that I'd never completed my astronaut training, and that even if I made it to NASA headquarters before blast off, they might not even allow me to board the shuttle. I decided to try to make the trip anyway, and called up my uncle to see if he could give me a ride. I struggled to stuff my space gear into his trunk, but woke up in a sweat before we ever made it to the turnpike, much less the moon.

My latest moon dream wasn't much better. It came shortly after I gave birth to Karen. I dreamed that I was in a room full of specially selected civilians who'd undergone years of preparation for a trip to the moon. In the meeting, I realized that I couldn't possibly leave my newborn daughter at home in order to carry out the moon landing mission. I told my colleagues through tears that I'd have to give up my seat on the shuttle.

When I awoke from that dream, I couldn't seem to shake the feeling of disappointment. The sadness haunted me throughout the day until I finally felt led to pray about it. After some quiet reflection, a few verses of Scripture came to mind:

"Truly I tell you, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it,"  Luke 18:17 (NIV)

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"Here I am! I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in and eat with that person, and they with me," Revelation 3:20 (NIV).

My moon dreams have taught me a valuable lesson about meeting with God. When I was a child, talking to Jesus was simple and spontaneous, like the casual chat with the moon on my front stoop. I never doubted that God wanted to hear my prayer. On the contrary, I knew beyond a doubt that He loved me and that He was interested enough in me to come knock on my door.

As I "matured" however, my meeting times with God grew increasingly cerebral and plagued with guilt over my shortcomings. With the arrival of my little girl and the new round-the-clock baby schedule, I suppose I experienced some anxiety over how my devotional time wasn't as structured as it used to be. Deep down, I feared that God would suddenly be out of reach, just as the moon was out of reach in my dreams.

As I've pondered these things for the past few weeks, I've ultimately sensed that God is beckoning me to come to Him like a little child once again—to drop the agenda, ditch the guilt trip, and simply enjoy His Presence.

I believe that raising Karen will help me to see through the eyes of a child once more. As her mother, I know I'll teach her many things, but I have a feeling that she'll share several lessons of her own. I couldn't be more thankful for this new season of life.

How do you hang on to childlike faith? Has God ever spoken to your heart through a dream?