What Are We Doing Right Now?

I had a dream.

You know how they go — you drift from one place to another without much reason, and nothing stays where it’s supposed to. First, I was in a library. Then I wandered into a crowded, expensive shop that made me instantly want to leave. I tried to find the library again, but of course, it had vanished.

It’s a dream. That’s how it goes.

I ended up in a room with about eight other people, none of whom I knew. Carpeted floor. And for some reason — totally unlike me — I sat down on it.

One man was talking about his issues with his swimming pool. Then he asked the group—just threw it out there—what we thought Jesus would think about owning a pool.

This is the point where most people choose their words carefully, or don’t speak at all.

This is also where I always feel nearly compelled to give my honest feedback. I was asked a direct question. He looked at all of us when he said it, but he looked at me. In the eyes.

I had to answer. So I did.

I said I thought Jesus would likely see a personal pool as an excess. He didn’t live his life with many possessions.

The man looked away. It seemed he didn’t like my answer.

So I added, “But Jesus didn’t live in Houston.”

That lightened the mood. Everyone relaxed a bit.

And then I woke up.

Jesus didn’t have things. He traveled from town to town, ate what was shared with him, and slept where people gave him a place. He had nothing but the clothes on his back.

We think of Jesus now as divine—God, Savior, the Messiah. But in his time, he was just a homeless street preacher.

So how do we look at the people who didn’t follow him? The everyday folks: scribes, healers, stewards, craftsmen, breadmakers—people doing their best to survive, focused on their own lives. People who didn’t have time for some strange man on the corner with a message.

Aren’t we those people?

Don’t we treat the homeless on the street corners the same way they treated Jesus?

To most folks in his time, Jesus was just another man with a voice and a cause. There were plenty like him back then—just like there are plenty now. He wasn’t someone they gave much thought to. And honestly, why would they? Why would they have paid more attention to one street preacher than we do to the average panhandler?

Looking back at the dream, I realize—the man with the pool looked like he could’ve had Middle Eastern heritage. Like how Jesus might appear today: well-groomed, short hair, dressed in modern clothes.

And I was sitting on the floor at his feet.

That image stuck with me.

Was the dream sent as a message? A moment to shift perspective? A chance to see something differently?

More than 30 years ago, my mother was in a serious car accident. She suffered head trauma that still affects her. Afterward, she changed—completely. She decided to divorce my father. And then she began taking in homeless men, one at a time, because she believed they needed her help.

Some of my siblings thought she’d lost her mind. Many of her friends were deeply concerned for her safety. But somehow, she always chose the right ones. Honest men. None ever harmed her.

I know plenty of people will judge her for that. Say she put herself in danger, made reckless choices.

But isn’t that exactly what the women in the Bible did when they welcomed Jesus and his disciples?

We like to believe we would’ve been different back then. That we would’ve recognized Jesus. That we would’ve followed him.

But would we?

Would we really?

What are we doing right now that proves it?

Author’s Note:

This piece is a little different from my usual fare. It came from a dream that stayed with me — not for its strangeness, but for the way it made me sit still and think. It's more personal, more direct. Thanks for walking through it with me.