When I was seventeen, I had a dream. And I know, now you’re expecting something brilliant to follow. Well hold on, y’all. I was a resident of the planet Mars. I had pink hair, but not like now. It was entirely pink and bright and very short. Everyone around me had similar hair, actually. Not a brunette or a blond in the doughnut shop. Yes, I said doughnut shop. Did I mention that I was very thin–underweight–at the time that I had this dream?
This Martian bakery was like nothing I’d ever seen. I apologize in advance for the dream you will have after reading this. If you live within driving distance of a Krispe Creme, you might ask a neighbor to lock your house from the outside tonight. There were doughnuts filled with rich creme in all flavors. There were doughnuts with crumbled cookies as sprinkles. There were cherry doughnuts filled with real cherries. If you can dream it (or, more accurately, if I can dream it), it was there.
In true Martian form (I’m guessing), these doughnuts were in large bins and everyone pushed undersized shopping carts which they would fill to the brim with these apparently raw doughnuts. They didn’t look raw, but they must have been. Why else would people (and of course, I mean Martians) have been tossing them into a vat of hot oil upon reaching the end of the line?
There is absolutely no way I would remember this dream if I hadn’t dreamed it while summering with my best friend. When you tell someone your hilarious dream (surely to be at peak hilarity immediately upon waking), it has a tendency to stick–especially if that person reminds you of it at least once a year.
A few days after dreaming my dream, about twenty-four hours after the cravings waned, I sat in a large-circle family meeting with the family that is almost mine. My best friend’s dad–my longest running second dad–led the meeting and asked everyone to share what the Lord was speaking in our quiet times and in our dreams. I can’t remember who spoke or what they said, I just remember the eventual lull in conversation, and that it was in that lull that my friend leaned in and whispered, “Tell them about your dream.” And then I ruined the rest of the meeting with repressed and explosive giggles.
Some of you, at least one of you, are in a season of doughnut dreams. The world is speaking at least a little bit louder than the Spirit. And maybe you’re bummed about this. Maybe you desire a fresh taste of the Gospel, fresh fire that dims your world. I want to encourage you that as long as you keep on craving it–seeking Him, revival is coming. But don’t be afraid to embrace the silliness. Despise unholiness, yes. Doughnuts, no.