The relative in the dream has a spouse who is a US veteran and who has had ongoing health problems.  I immediately start praying for this person, that the Lord would grant them a long life.  I later call my relative to ask how they both are doing.  Apparently the spouse has recently had surgery but is recovering and doing “fine.”  I feel, however, that this dream is a call to prayer.  I believe that even prophetic things can show us not what will “definitely” happen but what will “likely” happen unless action is taken.  I believe the best action, in this instance, is prayer.

Break into my soul.

I will unbolt the doors,

Unlatch the windows.

Rush over me

Like a waterfall,

A violent current,

Rip through this wall.

Your words in waves

of trumpet blasts,

Trembling and quaking,

Breaking at last

The slabs of rock

I lie beneath.

Speak into me; break into me!

The LORD your God is with you,
He is mighty to save.
He will take great delight in you,
He will quiet you with his love,
He will rejoice over you with singing.”

I was unaware of this verse when I had the dream.  I was only aware of a young man, whom I knew somehow to be God, singing to me.  Before waking, the last part of the verse formed in my mind: “. . . He will rejoice over you with singing.”  Perhaps I had heard the verse before; that did not really matter.  What mattered was that He loved me, and I could still feel that love.  That was probably three years ago.

In last night’s dream, I had the vague notion of being at my grandparents house but really no other context.  I began to hear the music clearly in my ears, more lucid than a dream should be.  But these were many voices together singing of the greatness of God and of His great love for me.  I do not remember seeing God and yet I was aware of His presence.  It seemed to be a wonderful song although I can’t recall the melody or words, only the feeling of love that still lingers.

These are gift dreams–existing for no other reason than to feel that overwhelming compassion, and dare I say “passion,” of the Creator for His children.  Thank You.

I press on to

Your higher calling.

You’re all that I desire

And this longing

Is a fire that draws me up

Past the circle of the earth and the night

To the place where Your beauty resides,

All the creatures declaring

The risen Christ.

(repeat)

Farewell to Grandmama: maker of three course breakfasts, reader of nursery rhymes, generous servant to her husband, children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.  She was soft and gentle like a lamb, cut from a different fabric than this world. I remember her floral nightgowns, dark brown eyes and how she always smelled of lotion and powder.  I would beg her to cut up apples or carrots for me so that I could make a trap in the woods for a stray horse that just might wonder into the back yard. Her words were always kind, although I would quickly become bored as she would tell the same old stories about growing up in Cumberland Gap, TN.  How I wish I had paid more attention to them.

Farewell to Papaw: giver of backslapping hugs, watcher of Looney Tunes and (later in life) Judge Judy, collector of native American artifacts. I can see his wide grin and still hear him say, “Hiya Rozzy!” when we would greet. He spent many years outside exploring–hunting arrowheads or hiking in the mountains beside Grandmama.  Back pain and instability would later keep him from even walking to the mailbox and I’m sure this must have been hard for him emotionally.  I developed a great appreciation of my mountain heritage from the hikes that they would take with me and my sisters.  We were always bounding off ahead to see what lay around the next bend but they took things more slowly and savored every wildflower, bird and tree.  How I wish I had paid attention to the things they were always pointing out to me.

But I must say that their greatest legacy was their faith.  Not that we shared every doctrinal view but we agreed on the fundamentals of the Christian Faith, which is what mattered most. Up until the last conversation I ever had with Papaw, he would always tell me, “You know I pray for you and those kids every single night.”  Lord knows I needed those prayers.  I could, in fact, use them now.

Welcome to my mind.

It felt strange sitting in the left front seat of Phil’s red Vauxhall estate (wagon) and not driving.  It felt strange sitting next to the man that I loved but had only just met, in a country populated by roundabouts.  The wet, verdant countryside flew by as we chatted about our plans for my stay and listened to his favorite albums.  I recall one particular song, “One Night Stand” by The Aloof; amazingly soulful and yet anthemic, the artist sings, “What am I doing here?”  Indeed, but in a slightly different context, what were either of us doing here?  Philip somehow managed to hold my hand between gear shifts, and it felt nice and not at all forced.  I think there was a great sigh of relief from both of us.

Mostly, I just sat back and enjoyed the scenery, or what scenery that could be viewed from the motorway.  Everything held my fascination: the zippy little Euro cars, the Little Chef signs at the rest stops, pubs with funny names like “Slug and Lettuce,” snug little semi-detached houses with postage stamp lawns, and roadsigns denoting the direction to such amusing place-names as “Dorking.”  It was at this point that I found myself beginning to fall deeply in love not only with this man beside me driving on the wrong side of the road but with this weird and wonderful new world, Inglaterra.