By Timothy Peoples
She asked, “Do you have nightmares?”
I paused before answering. “Not particularly.”
“What about dreams?” she asked almost immediately. “Uh … not very vivid dreams,” I replied.
I love my therapist. She’s perceptive enough to ask questions I don’t expect and patient enough to sit with the silence that follows them. But the moment I answered, I knew I hadn’t told the whole truth. It wasn’t exactly a lie. My nights are often quiet. But my waking hours are not. The truth is, I have nightmares all the time.
I carry the nightmare of a world where inequity has become so ordinary that many people no longer notice it. A world where systems designed to serve people instead protect power, and where those with the loudest voices often choose silence when it matters most.
I watch giant institutions and empires cast shadows over ordinary people — people who work tirelessly, who do everything they were told would lead to stability and yet find themselves one missed paycheck, one medical emergency or one unexpected expense away from losing everything. There is something haunting about watching hardworking families fight uphill battles every day while knowing the climb never seems to end.
Another is watching people become numb to suffering. We scroll past stories of injustice until they become background noise. We convince ourselves someone else will speak up, someone else will intervene, someone else will care enough to make a difference.
Perhaps the nightmare that weighs most heavily on my heart is the Church. Not because I’ve lost faith in Christ, but because I have seen too many expressions of Christianity lose sight of Christ. I grieve when the Church bows to power instead of standing beside the vulnerable. When comfort becomes more important than compassion. When preserving influence takes precedence over pursuing justice.
These are the nightmares I live with. But they are not the whole story.
I dream of communities that choose courage over comfort. I dream of neighbors who refuse to let injustice become ordinary. I dream of churches that resemble Jesus more than politics, where love is measured not by words but by sacrifice, humility and action.
I dream of a world where a person’s dignity is never determined by their race, income, immigration status or ZIP code. A world where children inherit opportunity instead of obstacles, and where compassion is not viewed as weakness but as strength.
The nightmares remind me what is broken.
The dreams remind me what is possible.
And maybe that’s the tension we are all called to live in, not pretending the darkness isn’t there but refusing to stop imagining the light.