I felt shame for my lack of love, but God said, ‘You can do better’

I knew I was dead, but I wasn’t upset about that. I just felt shame that I didn’t have more to show for the life I had left behind.

This was different from any dream I’ve ever had. It felt more real than anything from waking life. At times, it was more beautiful and loving than anything I’ve experienced on this Earth. At other times, it was painful and I felt shame.

But I was asleep — and I’m not dead — so it had to be a dream.

This was the second time lately that I’ve dreamed about my death. The first time, I just dreamed that I had died. I saw my body as though I was a spirit who had left it. But the second time — this past Saturday night — was much more than that. It was a dream about meeting God and talking about the life I had left behind.

I was in the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, but I can’t describe it. The scene was dominated, though, by an intense light that was unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It was brighter than any light I’ve experienced, but it didn’t hurt my eyes to look at it.

From that light, I felt what 19th century minister Charles Finney called “waves and waves of liquid love.” I felt small. I felt ashamed of my inadequacy. But I knew that this Creator of all the universe loved me unconditionally. I knew that this place was my home.

The love I experienced from the God inside that light was unlike anything I’ve ever felt here. I didn’t want to leave that light. I didn’t want to lose that love. But I felt so unworthy.

I reacted like a guilty prisoner who had been brought into court to be judged for his wrongdoing. And I had no way to justify myself.

As I stood in the waves of warm love, I started trying to justify the life I had lived on Earth. I didn’t have monstrous evil to confess. The things that came flooding to my mind were all things that we would consider small, maybe even insignificant.

The things I’ve done in life that had seemed so good and noble at times didn’t seem to matter. The only things that mattered were the times I had hurt other people — and all the times when I didn’t love others as I could have.

I was flooded with memories of people who I can’t stand in my human life. I was powerfully conscious of the resentments I had for the people around me who have been hurtful to me or who have felt unworthy of my respect or love or forgiveness.

I felt ashamed of not having loved a lot of people. I felt ashamed of not having been more forgiving and accepting of small things that I’d held against others.

I started talking — giving my excuses for the lack of adequate love that I’d sometimes shown to others. The words tumbled out in a disjointed way, as they can come only from someone who’s guilty and has no defense. But I didn’t feel any condemnation from the God in the light. I just felt love and acceptance and patience.

“I couldn’t do any better,” I finally said. “I’m only human and I didn’t know how.”

I didn’t hear God’s voice as some booming sound from an Old Testament movie. I just felt a loving voice in my heart and mind.

“Have you ever loved anyone the way I love you?” he asked me.

I admitted that I hadn’t. I told him that I didn’t know how.

“Yes,” he agreed. “But you can do better.”

And I knew with everything in my heart and mind that he was right. I couldn’t be perfect, but I could do better.

God told me it wasn’t my time to die. He told me that I hadn’t become what he had put me in this life to become. For what seemed like a long time, he talked with me about what I was supposed to be — and the life I was still supposed to live. But I couldn’t remember any of that when I woke up, just as he told me that I wouldn’t.

The voice in the light told me that my first and most important responsibility was to love. He said this is why we’re all here, first and foremost.

As I understood that God didn’t condemn me or hold my mistakes and sins against me, I understood more deeply than ever — not just as a matter of theology — what it meant to be saved. It wasn’t a matter of being saved from the torments of hell that we imagine. It was a matter of being saved from being cut off from this warm and loving presence I felt in the light. It was being saved from the consequences of being myself.

And then it was over.

I don’t remember enough to say more than I’ve said here. I don’t remember a lot of what he explained. I just remember the warmth and love that were more powerful than anything I’ve ever experienced in this life.

I don’t know exactly what to make of this dream experience. I still know that I’m hopelessly human. I still know that I’m going to slip back into acting in unloving and haughty ways at times. I still know that I’ll feel shame at times about my human imperfection.

But I know he was right when he told me I can do better. Even though I’m going to make mistakes and I’m going to fail, I know I can love better than I have. And that’s what I’m going to try to hold onto — until the day comes when I can feel the warmth of his love in that light once again.