Three Warriors and a Lamb

Jesu, juva

This is one of only a few dreams I have carried with me for many years, and it remains the most formative. It came during a season when much of my life was being stripped down and rebuilt, whether I understood it at the time or not. Though I have had other meaningful dreams before and since, none have stayed with me like this one.

I will describe it as clearly as I can, not as something imagined long ago, but as something lived. I wish I could fully convey every detail, every emotion, every sound, and every expression. I cannot. Words fall short. Still, words are what I have.

I call this dream Three Warriors and a Lamb.

The Training

The dream begins with three young men. We are close friends, bound together through long years of shared discipline. We have been taken in and raised by an old man who has trained us as his own sons. Every day has been preparation for a single mission. He tells us plainly that it will demand everything we have, physically and mentally, and that failure is not an option.

The reward, he says, will change not only our lives, but the life of the one we are sent to rescue, and many others after him.

We train on the crest of a high hill. The land there is alive. Trees are green and healthy. The ground is rich. Flowers grow freely. From that height we can see a long valley stretching below us, and even from a distance it looks barren and hostile.

We wear white garments, simple and functional, the kind seen in old illustrations of biblical times. When we train, we use swords. Nothing else. The training is demanding, but there is laughter between us. Brotherhood has formed here, forged through shared hardship and shared purpose.

The old man watches everything.

He speaks little, but when he does, we listen. His words are measured, precise, and often unsettling in their clarity. He is hard on us, relentlessly so, yet never cruel. We do not fear him, but we would do anything to earn his approval.

What I remember most are his eyes. They miss nothing. And when we do well, there is a smile that feels like victory itself.

He has a reputation among the people. Stories follow him. He could gather followers, live comfortably, even be celebrated. Instead, he lives quietly with the three of us, pouring everything he is into us, preparing us for something only he fully understands.

The Descent

The day comes when the training ends.

We are armed, prepared, and sent down into the valley. The old man stays behind. This part is ours.

As we descend, I look back often. Each time, he is still there, watching. Even from a distance, I can see his eyes. I can see his smile.

We do not speak much. We are not afraid. We trust our training. But we know we are about to face something no amount of preparation can fully replicate.

We were warned of an enemy that does not fight the body first, but the mind. An enemy that feeds on fear, doubt, and surrender. Many have faced it. Few have returned.

This enemy has taken a prisoner.

The Valley

The land changes as we descend. The air grows hotter. The ground turns hard and red. Vegetation disappears, replaced by dry brush and cactus armed with long, vicious spines. Nothing here grows freely.

Ahead, we see a shallow pit in the ground.

Inside it, tied to an old root, is a small lamb.

He is weak. Filthy. Barely standing. His body is thin, exhausted from exposure and hunger. But worse than his physical state is what I see in his eyes. He has given up.

The rope that binds him is old and dry. Weak. The pit itself is shallow. From where he stands, he can see out. He can even see the green hill in the distance.

But he does not believe he can reach it.

The Lamb

I become the lamb.

I feel his weakness. His despair. The slow erosion of hope that comes not from one defeat, but many. He has tried to break free before. Each failure convinced him further that escape is impossible.

He prays. Not boldly, but desperately. He asks for rescue, yet cannot imagine how it would come. He makes vows about who he would become if he were free, though he no longer believes freedom is meant for him.

Still, he clings to the sight of that distant hill. Some days he believes it is real. Other days he assumes it is only a cruel illusion.

Then he sees white at the edge of the pit.

The Rescue

I am myself again.

I jump down into the pit. I take the rope in my hands and pull. It snaps easily. The root breaks with it. I realize how weak the lamb truly is, and how little strength was required to free him.

I lift him gently and carry him out.

As we begin the return, the air changes.

Black shapes descend on us from every direction. They are not clearly formed. They are simply dark, fast, and hostile. This is the enemy we were warned about.

Fear hits hard.

I remember the old man’s words. I remember his eyes. His presence steadies me.

I set the lamb down. I tell him he must walk. We will do the fighting, but he must move forward.

We form a triangle around him and draw our swords.

The battle is relentless. Harder than anything we trained for. Thoughts of doubt push into my mind, but I drive them out with everything I have been given. It feels as if the old man is with us, unseen but present.

Eventually, the black things retreat. They vanish.

The Return

I carry the lamb again.

The next clear memory is stepping onto the hill. The old man is there. I place the lamb into his arms.

“Well done,” he says.

That is enough.

The Succession

The scene changes.

I am now the old man.

Before me stand three young warriors in training. One of them is the lamb. Strong now. Steady. Capable.

I understand then that I was once the lamb. The old man had rescued me. That is why he knew how to prepare us. That is why he stayed behind.

I do not know where he went.

But I carry him with me.

The Awakening

I wake up changed.

Some days, even now, I feel like the lamb again. Worn down. Carrying the cost of poor decisions. Wondering if I have what it takes to become the man I know I am meant to be.

Other days, I am given the chance to help another man. Sometimes through provision. Sometimes through presence. Sometimes through truth.

Those days carry weight.

I now understand this:

No man rescues himself.

No man is rescued for himself alone.

Every man will be the lamb at some point. Every man is called to become a warrior. And every man, if he endures, will one day be required to become the old man for someone else.

I am still looking for him.

And I am preparing to be him.

How This Story Lives in the Real World

Often, dreams that feel special are not meant to be dissected. They are meant to be carried.

If you try to over-explain them, they lose their edge. If you ignore them, they lose their purpose. This one asks something of the man who reads it, whether he wants to admit it or not.

This is not a story about a dream. It is a story about the cycle of the Gospel.

The Hill

The hill represents ordered ground. It is a place of clarity, discipline, and preparation. Nothing there is accidental. Growth is intentional. Strength is earned. Brotherhood is forged, not assumed.

In real life, the hill is any season where a man submits himself to training before he feels ready. It is where habits are built, truth is learned, and correction is accepted without resentment.

Most men want the mission without the hill.

That never works.

How This Meaningful Dream Lives in the Real World for Me Today

The Old Man

Every man needs an old man.

Not a motivational voice. Not a crowd. Not applause. A man who has already been broken, refined, and made steady. A man who does not need to prove himself anymore.

The old man does not explain everything. He prepares you anyway.

In time, every man discovers the truth that the old man cannot walk the valley for him. He can only make sure you’re prepared enough to survive it.

If you never find an old man, you will train yourself poorly.

If you refuse to become one, the line ends with you.

The Valley

The valley is where theory meets resistance.

It is loss. Failure. Consequences. Dry seasons. Decisions that looked harmless from the hill but cut deep once lived out.

No man stays on the hill forever.

The valley exposes what was learned and what was merely repeated. It strips away bravado and reveals whether courage was borrowed or owned.

Men do not fail in the valley because they are weak. They fail because they are unprepared or alone.

The Lamb

The lamb is not weakness. It is wounded strength.

Every man will become the lamb at some point. Pride resists this truth. Wisdom accepts it.

The lamb is the man who once stood tall and now finds himself bound. Not by iron, but by lies, fear, shame, regret, or exhaustion. Often the rope is weak. The belief is strong.

Many men remain bound not because they cannot leave, but because they no longer believe escape is possible.

The enemy thrives there.

The Enemy

The enemy rarely attacks first with force. He attacks with distortion.

He whispers that the pit is deeper than it is. That the rope is stronger than it is. That the hill was never real.

Men do not surrender their lives in one moment. They surrender them slowly, one believed lie at a time.

This enemy is real, and he is patient.

The Rescue

Rescue does not come from comfort.

It comes from men who have been trained, who descend deliberately, and who are willing to enter another man’s pit without becoming trapped themselves.

No man escapes alone.

And no man is meant to.

The Battle

The battle is never clean.

Fear will be felt. Doubt will press in. The cost will be higher than expected. This is where many men drop the lamb, either out of panic or self-preservation.

But the lamb must walk. No one carries another man all the way home.

This is the balance of masculine brotherhood: protection without control, strength without domination, presence without pity.

The Return

Healing is not instant.

Strength returns over time, through care, discipline, and belonging. The lamb becomes a warrior not because he was rescued, but because he submits himself to training afterward.

Rescue without formation creates dependency.

Formation after rescue creates men.

The Succession

This is where the story stops being about you.

Every man who survives is entrusted with responsibility. Not comfort. Not retirement. Responsibility.

You become what you once needed.

If you refuse this, you waste the rescue.

The Question this Post Asks About You Right Now!

This meaningful dream I’ve shared from long ago (November 1986) does not ask whether you believe it to be real. It asks where you are in it today.

In this season of your life, are you still on the hill, training? Or, are you in the valley, feeling defeated and believing the enemy’s lies? Or, are you confident in your spiritual training, ready to traverse a path that will challenge the core of your faith to rescue a fallen brother? Or, are you becoming the old man, realizing your call to nurture and train the rescued?

Every season carries a cost. Every season carries a calling.

Choose to Accept It, Choose to Answer It!

God richly bless you brother!

Blane

SDG