God has blessed /cursed me with a vivid imagination,
And he uses it to get my attention.
Through dreams he helps me face things I try to ignore
During times of change and stress.
(At times it’s frightening.)
Dreams so real I have to reorient myself to the real world-
Look at the clock to make sure I can still tell time
Haven’t had a stroke or gone to a new world of my mind’s creation.
Two nights in a row I woke between five and five-ten AM.
The first night my younger sister told me a friend of mine,
Who my sister doesn’t even know, died.
Now that’s fairly easy clinically speaking.
I’m in the process of dying to a way of life.
From being part of a pastor’s family nearly all my life
To a lay-person, corporate chaplain’s family life.
Patterns are changing – never again to be the same.
Now, I’ve grown accustom to dreaming
About war when I’m avoiding facing something,
And that’s obvious too…. I have to face an inner conflict.
But tonight I dreamed about a ‘frosting party.’
Remember, this is a dream –
God’s way of hitting me over the head with ideas and symbols.
Read into it what you will, and we’ll talk on the other side.
Let’s go for it…..
I’m myself as a young adult.
My younger sister and I are invited to a real, city-wide social event at the university.
We had the proper clothes, credentials and we belonged there.
This dream was not about losing my place, or being in the wrong place.
This was about opulence.
We drove up to the fanciest building on campus,
Were met at the door,
And were ushered into the most receptive people and place ever.
And suddenly manners disappeared.
The object of delight and over abundance was a room full of desserts and cakes.
But the cakes were not themselves the glory – it was the mile-thick frosting.
There were no forks, or those little fancy plates I’m so fond of.
There wasn’t any alcohol of any sort served.
This was a proper party gone wild.
We ate the frosting off the cakes by the handfuls,
Occasionally reaching through the frosting to grab handfuls of the foundation,
And tasting the goodness of moist, perfect chocolate cake.
We didn’t seem to mind having frosting up to our elbows.
Hey, it’s my dream — I can overcome my diary intolerance for one night.
I lost track of my sister, was recognized,
And invited to play piano any evening in the prestigious library lobby.
When, at last, the world’s most magnificent sugar high fading,
I found myself ready to leave,
I knew I had to rid myself of the fluffy stickiness.
And that had been provided for in the form of mini-showers in the restrooms.
No one seemed to care if they had to get wet to wash the stuff off.
It felt good to feel the sticky gloves
Melt away, leaving cleansed hands.
And spots on clothes where frosting had clung were just part of the removal process.
So, damp and weary, we straggled to the lobby to reconnect with our companions.
And I, being me, was lost. At night all the entrances looked alike.
That also had been provided for;
It’s called a cell-phone.
After a kind man reassured me as to where I was located,
I called my sister who had known I would be lost.
She already had called our father and they came to rescue me.
My father came to rescue me – that alone extends to a meaning beyond the dream itself.
And the cleansing of washing hit a note of its own.
As often happens on these dream occasions,
I woke fully awake and reoriented myself to the world.
I reconsidered what I might have done to cause this specific dream.
I’d not taken the medication that gives me vivid dreams if I take it too late at night.
I’d not over indulged in sweets … sleeping with too much sugar in my system.
Things were normal
Except my whole world had just changed.
And I had work to do.
The world outside the slightly focused parsonage life
Seems suddenly filled with meaningless fluff.
We even call it fluff:
Fluffy news pieces, blown out of proportion stories, dumbed down movies and TV,
The Value of education often laughed at,
Celebrity worship and fashion divas are events in themselves,
Media’s endless urging to create a brand of oneself by buying certain names, becoming important,
Society’s need to make celebrities and let them shine briefly before picking them apart.
I’m afraid I’ll get caught up in the games of the world I’m about to enter.
Where who I am hasn’t a direct impact on my family’s wellbeing.
Where I’m a separate identity from ‘pastor’s wife.’
Not being involved in the work my husband does
Other than playing piano when he plays violin for an event,
And a little volunteering here and there.
Can I do this when I can be me
Without emotionally juggling me and my husband’s work at all times?
Wow! No wonder I’m dreaming about getting lost in the frosting of life.
Gorging myself on the surface things
And losing my spiritual core –
Losing sight of the God-given dream
To reach out to people I’ll never meet.
No one is watching my changing patterns.
We all have a new pastor’s family to embrace
To support and help understand they make a difference in our lives.
And, as in my dream, God has made provisions for me.
Friends remain constant in my life.
I have time to rejuvenate a tiring spirit.
I have time to adjust to changing physical and mental needs.
I have emotional release, knowing the people I love
And to whom I’ve been pastor’s wife will be well served by the next pastor’s wife.
And the program we started together which has often threatened to out grow me,
Can perhaps be taken to a new level.
And God will bring me up short
When I get off the track.
Just like he always has.
But now, the reason for getting off track may be different.
Help me God, not to get lost just because I’m living a private life.
Help me make you my accountability standard.
Help me keep the transparency a pastor and wife must live in.
So I can forever be a witness to the new world around me.
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