A few months before we converted to the Greek Orthodox Church, I had a dream. In dreams, persons are houses, and this house was my own soul. I had smoothed the walls of the main rooms so that they could be written with holy icons. I watched through my own eyes and the double-vision distance that dreams give as I tried again and again to draw a holy figure on the walls with a little piece of charcoal. I prayed and worked diligently and brought my family in to see my work and rejoice with me. All that was on the walls were scribbles. The lines I had thought would show the visage of saints ready to be filled with light and color, were…