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Salt-Savoured Meat of the Word
by Jack Vorster I had a dream. I found myself standing at the entrance to what looked like a place of business with a long u-shaped counter running along the three walls. The entire frontage was made up of glass doors that had been folded together to give an open- air effect. Behind the counter were attendants waiting for something to begin. Suddenly, it began. For some reason I was in a race with others to collect a packet of salt from each attendant and the first one to go around that u-shaped counter and get to the end first with enough salt would be the winner. Each attendant had to be approached with a "Please, may I have salt!" and only with these words would they hand the salt over. I managed to get ahead of every person in the race and won. With all the salt I had collected, I went to sit down at another counter on the right side at the entrance. At this counter a man wearing an apron was making milkshakes. He looked at me and offered me a delicious-looking milkshake. I turned him away with a firm, "No thanks!". I just somehow knew I had to wait. That's when I noticed that this place was located on top of a high cliff with the vast sea below and that there was a path running slightly upwards towards the place where I was sitting and the cliff edge. Two women wearing robe-like dresses were walking up this pathway towards me. They suddenly stopped. The one was young and the other quite a bit older. Then I heard sobbing and weeping coming from the younger woman, lamenting that her child had been taken away from her and hoping that someone would return the child to her. Compassionately, the older woman, with her arm around the shoulders of the younger one, said, "Don't be concerned. Someone will return your child to you. With that, the older woman turned around and walked back in the direction from which she came. The younger woman stood there, placed a sheet of paper on a flat rock in front of her and wrote something on it. She folded the sheet of paper once and dropped it in front of her and in the same motion also turned back and started walking. I sprang up and ran forward towards the paper floating down and managed to scoop it up just before it could hit the ground. As if in a hurry, with a sheet of paper in one hand and a lot of salt in the other, I ran back past the frontage of the business where I had collected the salt and into the open doorway of the adjacent shop. To my amazement, all the walls in that shop were lined with row upon row of shelving from the floor to the ceiling, absolutely filled with all kinds of shapes and sizes of raw meat. With no further thought I immediately knew that it was my task to apply salt to all that meat and that this process would pave the way for the return of the missing child to the younger woman. The sheet of paper from her contained the instruction to do just that. The Interpretation. My zeal for the Word of God drove me to compete and win the salt-collecting race. The milkshake (milk of the Word) was no longer part of my diet. The younger woman represented the New Covenant Church and the older woman the Church under the Old Covenant. The missing child in the New Covenant Church was none other than Jesus and His power through the Holy Spirit. The meat of the Word had no taste and had to be savoured in order to be enjoyed and spiritually digested and understood, so that every person who partakes thereof will be able to rise and walk in the Spirit and the Power of the Holy Ghost, for the sea of lost humanity had to be reached with nothing less. NOTE. I do not place myself above any other child of God, for I can do nothing, am nothing and have nothing without Christ. But what I have received I would like to pass on to anyone willing to listen. Now retired, Jack Vorster has a background in marketing in the field of newspaper advertising. As a result of a life-changing experience he turned his attention to the study of the human make-up and the realities connected to human behaviour based on the Word of God. Article Source: http://www.faithwriters.com |