I had a powerful and vivid dream a couple of months ago. I woke up and wrote it down. The feelings from that dream remain vivid in my memory even now. The dream had two distinct parts, both set in an unnamed Islamic country.

In the first part of the dream I was a young, Islamic boy who was too immature to care about the lives or feelings of others. Another boy loaned me his most beloved possession, a pair of binoculars with plastic caps for the lenses and a nice leather case.

I was not very careful with the binoculars. After using them, I hurriedly put them back in their case without putting the covers on the lenses. Before climbing down an embankment of some sort, I lazily dropped the case and some books of mine to the bottom so that climbing down would be easier for me.

My books were fine, but the binoculars were ruined. They were the only thing of value the other boy owned, and he cried out, grieving for his loss.

Suddenly I was filled with remorse for my actions as I understood for the first time what it meant to hurt another person. I lost the friendship but grew in wisdom. After that I was able to laugh and play peacefully with other children in the village.

This part of the dream ended with a mysterious old woman praising me for my newfound ability to care for others.

In the second dream sequence, I was a Christian minister visiting in the same Islamic country. I went into a mosque that was almost empty of worshippers. I spoke with the Imam and a number of the elderly people. They were very sad and grieving the fact that their mosques were empty and the younger generation was drifting away from their historic faith.

I left the mosque and sat on the slope of a small hill with a group of Imams and their students. In this part of the dream I kept my Christianity hidden, trying to blend in with the others.