My House Dream

security, freedom, & a different way of thinking about clutter

Photo by Julien-Pier Belanger on Unsplash

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I had a beautiful dream.

I was in a massive house full of windows. The windows were open and the door was unlocked.

At first, I was afraid: Am I safe? Are there bad people/things trying to get in? I began to panic. Then I looked downstairs and saw that, on the first floor, my dad was there.

It was my dad's house.

My fear about the windows and the bad people vanished, and in its place there was a feeling of peace and total security.

The house was large and roomy— three stories high—with a winding staircase. The walls and floors were were of honey-colored wood and the rooms were full of light from the windows.

The house was full of messes and clutter. “Am I supposed to clean this house?” I wondered. My dad, reading my mind, found me. “You can clean it if you want to,” he said, “but you don't have to.”

I could spend the day doing whatever I wanted, he told me.

As I looked around, I saw that it was a pleasant kind of clutter: the kind you find in a granny's attic or a thrift store, tucked away in a quiet little downtown. There were boxes inside of boxes of strange and interesting objects, infinite books to read.

(I thought about how much my children would enjoy this place now that they were old enough not to put things in their mouths or tumble down the stairs.)

I woke up with my heart aching in about seven different ways. I knew that this dream meant something.

I thought about it for a long time.

I often wake up in the middle of the night with a feeling that something evil is trying to worm its way into my consciousness and into my life. Though I live in a safe community, consume limited news, and avoid social media, I am painfully aware of a world of dangers, toils, and snares just outside my door, and just outside the door of my conscious thoughts.

It has been said that a house is a metaphor for the self. If this is true—if the house in my dream is me—shouldn't I feel as secure in my own being as I felt in my dream, knowing that I belong to—and am protected by—my heavenly Father?

The fact that the door was unlocked and the windows were open and yet I felt secure seems significant, too, as though safety isn't found in the barring out of evil, but in the Presence of the One who dispels evil.

The fact that I didn't have to clean the house makes me wonder if my life should involve less drudgery—less of the “have to” feeling—and more of the “get to” feeling: I get to discover and explore and read and be inspired and I also get to organize and beautify things if I want to.

Finally, I wonder if this dream means to tell me something about my personality. I am constantly trying to conquer my own internal disarray. But perhaps the disarray isn't as shameful as it seems. What looks, at first glance, like messiness and clutter is, upon further inspection, a collection of interesting and meaningful objects.