In my dream, I was casting a fishing line in stormy conditions, and I was chest deep in turbulent water. I casted my line, gracefully and cautiously, as to not make a splash.

I felt constant tension on the line, and I finessed the line when it was in the water, but I’d get nothing back—not even the bait—despite my skill.

I thought to put bread on the hook, but I used a sprig of asparagus instead. I took the asparagus from a thin bundle, and I bit off one of the heads. Meanwhile, the storm and the waves were blowing my fishing rod all over the place. When I regained control over my rod, I put the asparagus tip on the hook.

I casted my line with more gusto, causing the line to fly far away and make a splash where it landed. However, a tiny yacht approached my line where it had fallen, and it began circling my hook, and I worried it would get tangled on my string, cause I saw that this tiny yacht had another fisher’s line attached to it.

I maneuvered my line left and right and in circles, feeling constant tension where there should have been a bite. While maneuvering, I’m drawing back my line, sacrificing its length, until I feel that something isn’t right. So I reel in the rest of the line, and I find an empty hook. The asparagus is gone.

I realized that I was fishing in a concrete swimming pool and not a natural body of water. On my side of the pool, me and other people were treading in poverty, and on the other side, I saw wealthy people, yachts, and white buildings—all of which were above the water.

Here, the fish had already been caught, or perhaps never existed, but the illusion of potential led me to feeding my bait—which had been my dinner all along—to the tiny yacht and its artificial environment. I must have been mistaken or in denial about my situation because I never saw a fish in the crystal clear water in which I repeatedly casted my line.

I am standing on a rock in this dream. I have footing the entire time. This rock is pushing its way through the swimming pool, and my feet are faithfully planted on it. The rock will not help me find a position for catching fish, but it is the means for my escape from the barren waters of material wealth.

I am in a swimming pool. I am not in natural waters. This place was made by the hands of many people. It was not made by God. I need to get to the shore, but the conveniently uncanny currents draw me back.

One day, I will not throw my fishing lines to chance, as if they were dice, nor cast my lines into the artificial waters that openly and repeatedly deceive me. I will enjoy the fruits of my faith and labor on the shores of God’s kingdom.

And the rock protrudes evermore from beneath me, as I plant my feet on its redemption, in this container of troubled waters.