August 29, 2009

• Dream a little dream with me…

  My friend Eleanor has the most interesting dreams.  First, she remembers them vividly, and secondly, she seems to have them with great regularity.  Probably because my sleep is often Ambien-induced, I don’t recall what, if any, colorful dreams I have – at least not often.  But I had a dilly the other day during an afternoon nap, and after I told Lois, she said it’d make a great blog entry.  And I do have a photo!

  A couple of prefaces, for those who may not know me as well as Lois does.  I did not vote for Obama.  I would vote him OUT today.  ObamaCare terrifies me, personally, as one whose individual health needs may be decided by a committee of people who’ve never heard of Dercum’s disease and what it can do to someone with the condition. 

  Also, we live in a rural village.  In Nowhere PA. 

  And my friend Jane R., who used to live 4 doors up the road, now lives in Bethlehem, and I haven’t heard from her in some time.  But I think of her often, as this dream attests!

  Finally, my casual shopping days are over.  When I was younger, to go off for a full day or a weekend of shopping was great, and we did it a few times a year – sisters, or friends or a combination.  But it’s been years, and I sincerely doubt that it will ever happen again.  And certainly not in Washington, DC. 

  Aha!  Got your attention now, haven’t I?  Well, keep up.

  In my dream, Jane and I had gone to DC for the day.  To shop or sightsee, I wasn’t quite clear.  Jane and I most often shopped together, so that’s why I lean toward shopping…

  Since we were in town, and as we discussed the terrors of ObamaCare, both of us with rare, chronic and progressive illnesses, we got more and more determined to talk to the President.  So we walked up Pennsylvania Avenue, knocked on the door of the White House, and asked to see Mr Obama.  Of course, we were given immediate admission! 

  We had a very cordial visit, although nothing of any substance was discussed, and since I was bubbling in my soul with outrage and nasty thoughts toward the President, I got a nudge from the Holy Spirit to make an overture of some kind, so that we might come to understand one another.  So I invited him to Thanksgiving Dinner. 

  He immediately accepted. 

  So we strolled out of the White House and immediately we’re Dream-Beamed to my house – not the house we live in, of course, but this new house in my dream, in a sub-division, obviously very close to the Capitol.  Except it was still here…but not.

  I was married to Faron in this dream.  And some things, like the eternal clutter that accumulates in our house, were the same.  When I told him that the President was coming for Thanksgiving, he just said,  “You’d better get that dining room cleaned up – you have all kinds of stuff in there that needs a home!”  Oh, here – in our real, house, we do have a dining room, but it’s our only indoor eating area – ours is a galley kitchen with no place to sit.  In my dream house (but not my Dream House, if you get the distinction) we had an eat-in kitchen where we always ate, and this huge dining room with a table that could seat, oh, 20 or so, and which tended to collect odds and ends no one knew what to do with.  Barbells in one corner, sewing machine in another – that sort of thing. 

  So Jane and I Dream-Cleaned (ZAP!) the dining room, and it was set, immediately, and somehow weeks ahead of time, like this:

   

  Or very close to it.  (That’s even very similar to our every day dishes – although why I’d use my every day stuff for the President…) And of course, that’s only showing half of my dream table.

  So now we move on – Dream-Beaming to a neighborhood barbecue.  (I know, it’s at least early November, and we’re having a barbecue – go figure!)  People who live on the blocks nearest us are at this barbecue.  We know one another quite well.  There’s a somewhat stocky, fair-haired man we’ve (obviously) known for years, who is delighted when we announce that we’re going to have a time for drinks at our house on Thanksgiving Day, so everyone can meet and greet the President.  When I make some snide comment like, “That’s if he really shows up – I mean, why would he come here?” this fair-haired man says, “Oh, he has cleared his schedule for you for the entire day.”  And someone whispers to me that this guy is Secretary of State.  Suddenly there are whispers all over the room, “Did you know he was Secretary of State??”  “I didn’t know he was Secretary of State!” 

  He’s very cordial about the fact that none of us knew what he did for a living.  Seems very normal that no one knows.  When he and his wife (faceless, formless – obviously not important in my dream) are leaving, he is pleasantness itself, very much looking forward to MEETING the President. 

  It’s a dream folks.  It doesn’t have to make sense or be consistent.  So the Secretary of State knows the President’s schedule but has never met the President.  Go figure!

  Underlying all of this craziness was a sense of urgency about the state of Obama’s soul.  I wanted to know that he really knows Jesus, and that he understands the eternal implications of the decisions he’s made since he came to office.  I am inviting all the people I possibly can, from RC Sproul (Jr & Sr)  (dream, folks) to Dr. Sinclair Ferguson and quite a few others who might be able to direct conversation (casually, with some of the best theological minds we have today) to an easy discussion of faith and the role it must play in the lives of the faithful. 

  Dream-Beam to the Day and he’s there and I wake up. 

  Hey, did you expect a happy ending??

  me<><

  • 12:03 pm
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