“The Dream of the Waters” Part 2

—A dream from Noah, just before the flood’s fury

Noah's Tribulation had not yet come, but the clouds were thick and heavy. Noah lay on the floor of the ark, the walls of the massive vessel groaning in preparation. The animals had settled, their restless movements echoing in the silence that followed the flurry of final preparations. The scent of cedar wood and pitch filled the air, and the weight of a thousand thoughts pressed down on him, as though the world itself had become a heavy mantle on his shoulders.

That night, as the winds began to stir the trees outside, Noah fell into a deep sleep.

The dream came swiftly.

He stood again on a vast plain, but this time it was not the peaceful garden he had walked in before. The sky was dark, and the winds were picking up. He could feel the earth trembling beneath his feet, the breath of something ancient stirring from the depths. The field was empty, save for the ark behind him, a silhouette against the darkening sky.

Noah looked down at his hands—his calloused hands. The hands of a man who had labored for a century. His body was older now, his back bent from the weight of the task, but his heart was steady. As if he had lived a hundred lives and each one had prepared him for this moment.

And then the Lord spoke, not in the calm voice of the garden, but in the thundering power of the storm.

“You have built what I commanded you, but now you must endure what I will send.”

Noah’s heart quickened. The flood was coming, and the weight of that truth was not just in the rain—it was in the very air itself, in the power of a creation about to be undone.

“Will it be enough?” Noah asked. His voice trembled, though his feet stood firm.

The Lord’s voice softened, like a whisper carried on the wind.

“The ark is not just a refuge. It is a promise. The flood will pass, but My covenant will not.”

Suddenly, the ground beneath Noah cracked open, and the waters began to rise, slow at first, like the tide creeping up a shore. It was not the steady rain he had imagined, but a tumult of water that burst from the earth itself, as though the very bones of creation were breaking. The ark rocked violently on the waves, but it did not sink.

Noah looked around, but no land remained in sight. The world was water and sky, a great abyss swallowing the earth. And yet, in the midst of the chaos, he saw a figure walking on the waters—a figure not of this world, but like the One he had seen before, the One who had walked with him in the garden.

“Who is that?” Noah called, his voice swallowed by the roar of the storm.

The figure turned toward him, and in the dim light, Noah saw it was his own reflection. But the man he saw was different—stronger, more at peace, the weight of the years gone from his face.

The figure held out his hand.

“This is the man you are becoming,” the voice said, “the one who will stand firm, even in the depths.”

Noah reached for the hand, but before he could touch it, the waters surged up and swallowed everything. The ark was tossed, and Noah was plunged into the dark, pulled under by the weight of the storm.

But as the water closed over his head, he did not fear. He had seen the promise. He had felt the hand that would hold him up.

And when he awoke, gasping for air in the quiet of the ark, the storm was still far off, but the image remained—clearer than before. He was not just a man who had built a vessel to survive the flood. He was a man who had been called to be a vessel for a new beginning.

The rain would come, and the flood would sweep away all things, but in the depths of that flood, Noah knew that the God who had called him to build would not abandon him now. His covenant would endure.

As dawn broke, the light was dim, but the first raindrop fell.

Noah stood at the edge of the ark, looking toward the horizon. The storm was coming. But he was ready.

And so, he whispered, not in fear, but in quiet certainty:

"I will endure with You."

The floodwaters would rise. But the promise would stand.

M. Joseph Hutzler,

Eschatologist