It is said that when God dreamt, He created the vast universe and everything in between. A beautiful kaleidoscope, stretching across eternity. Each part, crafted from a vision of what He deemed perfect, carefully placed within. But humans rarely understand that truth- especially when they refuse to wake up.

Because in your dreams, everything feels perfect.

In this world, what you have is the exciting car ride in your father’s new jeep, wind rushing against your face, laughter bubbling up as the road opens before you. It’s the thrill of stepping into a store,  lined with rows of clothes finer than anything you’ve ever touched—the soft rustle of fabric brushing beneath your fingers like a secret only you are allowed to feel. It’s the long-awaited holiday, the kind you see in glossy films, where time stretches endlessly into warm days and golden nights. It’s a beautiful place and you throw aside your belongings, suddenly meaningless, and sit to watch a sunset blaze across the horizon, setting the whole sky aflame with color.

In dreams, your eyes are open, but only to what you choose. You hold on to beauty, luxury, pleasure, for these are moments wrapped in gold, but you are blinded; and in that blindness, you forget the shadows waiting just behind you.

At first these dreams are so carefully romanticized that you almost hate to see them end. But they do. You practically sleepwalk into the truth you long avoided. The golden light fades. A monster stirs behind you, creeping closer until the air grows heavy and fear spreads through your veins.

The nightmare begins. You can’t run, can’t stop it; you can only watch as everything you treasured falls apart, leaving broken pieces scattered behind.

The comforts you once lavished in slip away.

The soft bed becomes a hard mattress without a frame. The elegant rooms collapse into  cramped hallways, walls pressing in until you can hardly breathe. Sweat trickles down your back as you climb a beaten, endless road. When you try something new, it isn’t for the thrill but because you must, simply to survive. You whisper to yourself—Why didn’t I hold on tighter? Why didn’t I savor the good parts more before they disappeared?

All seems lost, especially when the darkness finally settles in. It creeps into your bones, cold and merciless. The unknown looms above like a storm cloud, swallowing the once-beautiful sky. For a long time, there seems to be no way out. You feel yourself falling, sinking into a hole of nothingness.

And you should be afraid.

But then – light.

At first, it’s faint. A thread so small you almost don’t see it; you never knew it was there, yet it always was. Then it burns brighter. Stronger. It shines through in the quietest ways: a prayer whispered by a mother, the strength of a sister, the perseverance of a father. It slices through the gloom, scattering the shadows. The nightmare loosens its grip, forced to retreat.

And once again, the dream changes.

This one feels different. It doesn’t dazzle with colors or overwhelm you with riches. Instead, it is comforting. It steadies you. You breathe in the scent of a soft, warm shirt, carrying the faint, familiar smell of home. Strong shoulders steady you when your own foundation seems to crumble. You eat warm dishes placed lovingly in chipped plates that hold more flavor in the love they carry than any banquet ever could. And you smile at the fuzzy brush of fur that curls against you, loyal and soft.

You wonder—have you woken up, or is this just another dream?

At first the you’re scared, because what was once technicolor visions, turned grey – but now, they have returned. Though not the same, the colours  have now melted into something warmer, quieter, tinged with blue yet carrying a glow of its own.

Is it better or worse now? On most days, better.

But not always…Because when dreams cross with reality, they remind you that things will never return to what they once were – and that hurts.

Sometimes you wake up with tears sliding down your face, grieving what is gone.

But when you wipe those tears, you notice things you never paid attention to before.

The breeze rushing past as you ride down a seaside road in a tuk-tuk. A laugh echoing through an overgrown but cozy garden. The small, insistent mewl that greets you faithfully each morning when you rise. These things, once overlooked, now shimmer with quiet brilliance.

Maybe that is what dreams are really for. To make you lose something, so you learn to see. To remind you of beauty, so you don’t take it for granted when it stands right before you.

God made everything beautiful in his time, not yours.

Not all dreams find their way into real life the way you planned. Some fade into nothing, some twist into nightmares, and some transform into something you never expected. But waking up in faith—trusting that the story continues even when it changes—is sometimes the greatest miracle of all.

And perhaps that is the truest dream.