Healing

Craving true words, words that heal.

     The next thing she knew, Dahlia awakened to the sound of tinkling bells and speckles of light beams shining through tiny holes in the fabric of the tent. Lifting the flap, she peered out and saw that the sun was already high in the sky. A small shepherd boy wandered among his sheep as they nibbled on the brown, dry brush behind the tent. Memories from the night before shifted through her mind. Endora slept peacefully on a pallet nearby.
     In her dreams, Dahlia had seen the stormy sea again, Ibrahim swimming into the blackness, Endora walking along the shore singing sweetly to herself, Artashir laughing at the moon, the light--the beam that called to her day and night. She followed it and this time it led her to a stream that flowed through the desert. Along its banks, thousands of parched, weary people stood, staring at the crystal clear water in awe as if they couldn't believe what they had found. Dahlia ran to them, gesturing for them to drink. And then she saw it. A large tree grew up over the stream, its massive, gnarly roots growing out of both banks, twisting up and meeting over the water, forming one enormous trunk. Dahlia leaned back her head, looking up, up, up . . . trying to see the branches that grew out of the gigantic, old tree, but the sunlight blinded her. "Its leaves are for the healing of the nations," a voice whispered.
(Desert Rose)

* Revelation 22:1-5