No to Nightmares.
I haven’t had nightmares in years. In fact, they had become so rare that I almost forgot what they felt like—most of my dreams are harmless patterns that repeat themselves occasionally which I work on to figure out. But this past week, unexpectedly, I had a couple of nightmares. At first, I brushed it off, but deep down I already knew the reason. I had been nursing an offense toward God because a few things didn’t unfold the way I wanted them to. I felt unsettled, spiritually distant, unable to pray freely or listen clearly. And for nearly five days, I let disappointment sit in my heart like a quiet intruder. Looking back, it’s no surprise those nightmares followed.
Now, this explanation might sound unreliable to some, but here’s what I’ve come to understand: we are always engaging with the truths—or lies—we carry, whether consciously or unconsciously. Our thoughts, our emotions, our actions, even our dreams—they all flow from whatever belief we allow to take root. When things don’t go our way and disappointment enters, a subtle lie often slips in: “God let me down,” “God doesn’t care,” or “Maybe I’m not loved.” And when we entertain these whispers long enough, they grow into an even bigger lie—“Maybe I’m not His beloved at all.”
What makes this even heavier is that our offenses and judgments about God rarely stay pointed at Him. They turn inward. We begin judging ourselves. We start believing that we aren’t important enough for good things to happen to us, that we aren’t worthy, that we won’t make it in life, that we are somehow disqualified from blessing. The lie becomes double-edged: “God isn’t who He says He is” and “I’m not who He says I am.” And the moment our hearts step out of the awareness of His love, fear rushes in to fill the space. Fear grips the emotions, reshapes identity, pushes us into an orphan mindset, and convinces us we must carry life entirely on our own shoulders. That fear becomes a doorway—a portal—for more lies to attach themselves.
When I say “portal,” I’m simply talking about the spiritual atmosphere we choose to live under: love or fear. Love brings peace, clarity, life, rest, and wholeness. Fear brings anxiety, confusion, heaviness, emotional chaos, and an inner death that slowly eats away at our joy. When fear becomes the soundtrack of our day, it eventually bears fruit in the night—and for me, that fruit was nightmares.
I didn’t want to remain in that space. So I did something simple, honest, and humbling. I sat down in prayer and said, “Holy Spirit, I’m done throwing my tantrums. I lay down my offenses and the lies I believed. Yes, things didn’t turn out the way I expected, but I choose to trust that they unfolded the way You wanted.” Within minutes, I could feel His presence again. My emotions began to soften. My heart slowly shifted from tension to peace. By the end of that prayer, the Spirit had spoken so much to me—gentle truths, quiet reassurance, a sense of being seen and loved.
That night I went to sleep peacefully. And guess what? No nightmares. Instead, I woke up with fresh words from the Holy Spirit resting on my heart—words that energized me, steadied me, and reminded me who I am to Him.
So here’s the conclusion I’ve drawn: nightmares rarely come out of nowhere. More often, they grow out of agreements we’ve made—agreements with fear, offense, disappointment, or lies about God and ourselves. But the beautiful news is that we can break those agreements at any moment. We can release the lies, step back into love, and reclaim our peace.
For some, this shift happens in a matter of hours. For others, it unfolds over days, weeks, or even becomes part of a longer healing journey. But it’s a worthy journey—and it always begins with a single step of returning to love.
So take the jump. Come back to the place where fear loses its power. Come back to the One whose love has no rival. Because fear cannot rule where perfect love reigns.
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