When I was younger, I dreamed of being at a party in a brightly lit room full of people. I recall talking to various individuals and taking a turn or two around the dance floor. But then a tall, muscular man approached and tapped on my shoulder. He said he wanted me to follow him “down the hall.”
Sensing it would be all right, I agreed; and the man led me into a dimly lit room at the end of a long corridor. He pointed to a baby lying motionless on a slab. As I moved closer, I realized the baby was deceased, and the setting was very much like a morgue. I also knew innately that the baby was a boy.
The man disappeared, and I was alone. Peering down at the still little face, I felt deeply saddened that he was dead. But to my immense shock, the baby suddenly opened his eyes and smiled at me.
I don’t think I can ever explain what that smile looked like except to say that an indescribable shock came over me, and I immediately knew who the baby was.
A final thought: I also realized that His mother’s love for Him and the suffering she endured are beyond the realm of my comprehension.