“The Dream of the Second Eden” Part 1

— A dream from the heart of Noah, builder of the ark

The night was still and breathless. A pale moon hung over the mountain’s edge as Noah lay on a bed of rough-woven cloth, his muscles aching from another day spent carving wood and sealing planks with pitch. The laughter of mockers had long faded into the distance, but their voices still echoed in his mind. He turned onto his side, whispering a tired prayer to the God who had spoken in thunder and silence alike.

And then he dreamed. Dream-of-the-second-eden

He stood barefoot in a wide field that shimmered with morning dew. The sun rose, not in haste, but with the calm of a world at peace. Birds circled above, their songs threaded with joy. Trees swayed in a wind that smelled of clean water and blooming life.

Noah looked down and found he wore white robes, like woven starlight. His hands were uncalloused, the cracks and stains of labor gone. The ark was nowhere in sight. Nor the hammer. Nor the mockers. Only silence and glory.

Then a voice like the sound of many waters spoke behind him, yet also within him.

“Walk with Me.”

He turned and saw a figure—not veiled in clouds, not burning in fire—but gentle, radiant, and real. The Presence of the Lord.

They walked.

Across golden plains and into a garden—not unlike Eden, but not quite the same. This one had grown from sorrow. There were flowers that smelled of repentance. Trees that bore fruit of wisdom hard-earned. The ground hummed with the memory of rain, and yet, not a drop was falling.

“This is the world you will see,” the Lord said. “After the storm.”

Noah looked out over the garden and saw shapes forming—children running through the grasses, planting seeds, building homes from trees not yet cut. They sang songs that remembered the flood but praised the rescue. Some bowed to pray. Some danced in the rain. Some raised altars of stone and wept with gratitude.

“But will they walk with You?” Noah asked.

The Lord knelt beside a stream, cupping water into His hands.

“They will forget,” He said. “But some will remember. And those who remember will teach the others to walk again.”

Then Noah saw generations pass like waves on the sea—faces he did not know but loved already. One child with eyes like flame and voice like thunder would come from his line. A Deliverer. A Restorer. One who would walk with God perfectly and invite the world to follow.

Noah fell to his knees. “I am not worthy of this task.”

The Lord smiled. “That is why I chose you. Not because of who you are, but because of who I am.”

The sky darkened—not with storm, but with awe. From every corner of the earth, he saw pairs of animals rising toward the ark, as if drawn by an unseen hand. His hands were back to their roughness, the robes faded, but the dream lingered.

And Noah understood.

He was not building to survive a storm.

He was building to begin again.

He awoke in the quiet dark. The stars above seemed brighter. He stood, walked to the edge of the ark-in-progress, placed a hand on the wood, and whispered,

"I will walk with You."

And somewhere beyond the veil of night, the Lord whispered back,

"And I will walk with you."

M. Joseph Hutzler, Eschatologist