I had a dream this morning.
In it, Jesus was executed via firing squad. It was about 200 years ago. It was on a bumpy green hillside, and there were small clusters of young people all around. I was there, and there was an anonymous girl with me as well -- she was like a sister. When it happened, some of us were sad. My sister and I were sad, but there was a 60-something year old couple looking after us, trying to force us not to be sad by distracting us. We were in this little corner of an outdoor store, with toys around on the shelves, and the man told me just to steal something or make plans. When he mentioned stealing, he motioned toward the toys. When he mentioned planning, he held up this etch-a-sketch with these rigid rhombuses and dots lined into it, and the woman held up this assortment of cardboard with the same designed penned in. He got really upset when I told him I wouldn't steal and that I wouldn't plan like him, and he got up to hit me. He raised his hand to backhand me across the face, and something inside told me that a lack of fear would cause it not to phase me. Deep down, thoroughly, I wasn't afraid, and when he struck me it was nothing. After this I "woke up" in the dream, but all the same things were happening, and I told my sister about delving deep into the entirety of your being, and rooting out the fear, and how it saved me from the pain.