Are you ready?

In my dream, I was in some sort of prison. It was a life prison. I couldn’t remember life before the prison or why any of us were there. We all the same prison clothes, shoes, and jacket. Everyday, someone was executed. It was inevitable that everyone would die in this prison. There was no way out. The executions were not doled out according to your crime or how long you had been there. They were random, like a lottery. I suppose you could’ve been there a day and your number would be up, or you could’ve been there a lifetime before it was your turn. Everybody would gather together in what seemed like a coliseum. The warden would stand in the center of the stage, and the number was drawn. If your number was drawn, you would go down to the center stage and become hooked up to an electric chair. Everybody would watch. There was no cheering, only silence.


In my dream, my number was drawn. I was sitting next to someone who was a good friend of mine, so I said good-bye to her. On the other side of me was an empty chair, and usually my closest friend was sitting there, but today he was late. I looked around for him so I could say good-bye, but could not find him. I felt more disheartened that he wasn’t there to say good-bye than I was about my ultimate doom that lay before me. I handed my jacket and shoes to the friend who was there, as was customary, and asked her to bid farewell to the missing one.


The closer I got to the stage, the more frightened I became. Then I fell to my knees and on my face. I began to pray right there in the middle of the stage. I was so focused on my anguish; I did not know what was going on around me. I was begging God to help me to get through the fear and the pain. I don’t know how long I was there, but it seemed like a long time. I was aware, however, that there was a lot of noise and lights flashing in the auditorium. I guess I began to assume that I hadn’t even noticed them hooking me up to the wires, and so here it was…my death. I was so exhausted. I’d never been through such intense praying before. Then I stopped. I noticed it was quiet around me and I became confused. As I struggled to catch my breath my mind was racing with questions. “Did it really happen? Why am I still alive? Maybe the lights and sounds really wasn’t the electrocution after all. That’s right! I was never strapped down. I’m still here in the middle of the stage.” I still had not looked up when I felt the warden put her hand on my shoulder. She asked me, “Are you ready?” Somehow I knew she was not asking me if I was ready to die. Though still confused about the question, I still knew to say “yes”. I started to look up, and two people came over to me to help me to my feet. I was so weak, I could hardly stand. I obviously was not dead, but still had to reassure myself as I examined my body. I was drenched with sweat. I looked back down at the floor and saw my puddle of tears. I though about the scripture that says Jesus was sweating drops of blood at the Garden of Gethsemane, but I did not see any blood mixed with my tears and sweat. I did, however, have sticky hands and face covered with snot, but it did not seem to bother the two men who were smiling at me. There was a low murmur over the crowd as the men led me out of the prison to where I had never been before as if I was free. I had never seen such a thing happen before in all the time I had been there, nor had I ever heard of it.

As I regained my strength, gasping for air every now and then from the hyperventilating affect that crying has on a person, we walked up and down the streets through crowds of people that they introduced me to as if I was some sort of celebrity. I was amazed how everyone seemed to know me. They kept saying “You’re the one.” “You’re the one he did it for.” “You are so loved!” Then without a word spoken, the two explained it to me and it finally all made sense. My friend, the one I could not find before the execution, had taken my place while I was on my face sobbing. That’s what the noise and the lights were. And the question that was asked, “Are you ready?” was really “Are you ready to accept what He’s already done for you?”

That was my dream, and I don’t remember anything else after that….

Written by Amie Spruiell