the freight car

A while back I had a dream.

I dreamt that I was riding in the last car of a freight train. I was there with my sister and my mom, and we were traveling a great distance. We were in a foreign land, a place unfamiliar to us. I couldn’t tell you where we were going. The freight car transporting us was in bad shape. It was leaking water from the ceiling and everybody was being jostled about. My sister and I were concerned and decided to attempt to change cars. We opened the door leading out of the car and looked down at the narrow “walkway” before us. The walkway consisted of a couple of latches of metal holding our car to the car in front of us. The latches connected to make a sort of bridge. But the bridge was rocking and bumping and it was no wider than a few inches. After some deliberation, we concluded that it was a little too risky for us. We opted to stay in our freight car. Shortly after our deliberation the last freight car detached itself from the rest of the train and we came to a screeching halt. We were left with no adequate form of transportation. The rest of the dream was made up of inquiries by my mother as to how we could get out of the country, but no resolution was found.

It is said God speaks to us in our dreams, in the twilight hours as our eyes tremble beneath closed lids. At the time that I experienced this dream I had no idea what it meant. But now as I review it I think I have better insight.

I am not a risk-taker. In my opinion, it is wiser to choose the path that looks safe and reasonable. The narrow walkway leading us out of that freight car was not safe and reasonable; it would require faith, exceptional balance and probably divine intervention to cross. This is why my sister and I, who were so practical in my dream, decided it would be better to remain in the pitiful freight car. We knew that there was a very good chance that the crossing would result in death, or at least dismemberment. But after making that choice my journey came to a standstill. We never did get out of that place.

Perhaps there is some parallel here between the reality of my dream and the reality of my life. Maybe God is showing me the result of a risk not taken. He knows my tendency to play it safe. Perhaps he would like to show me a better way.

I wonder what we would have found in the next freight car...

monday, monday

Monday night was, as Madison said, strange. Daddy was playing piano for a long time, Mommy was crying and we allowed Abigail to rummage through the contents of Mommy’s wallet, putting everything in the wrong place.

And it was a strange night. It was the summation of a long and challenging day. It was a day that seemed to be orchestrated from the beginning by an unseen nemesis, and I could just hear him laughing maniacally as I fumbled through it. It was the kind of day that gets you down, that beats on you, wears on you, and though you try to brush it off and stand up straight again, you just keep stumbling. By the end of the day I was weary, my patience was pretty thin and I was afraid to open my mouth because I felt certain of the possibility that I might breathe fire.

And then Thane began playing the piano, and I began to cry. Before that I was sitting by myself on our bed, staring out the window at the red tree in our neighbor’s front yard. Every year I look forward to autumn and the progression of the changing colors of that tree’s leaves. The leaves turn yellow early and slowly ripen to flaming red. Red is their color now, and as I looked at them against the grey sky I felt both peace and chaos churning inside of me. With the first note Thane struck on the piano, the chaos within me broke through the surface erupting in tears. This is how it happens for me; my tears always surprise me.

Thane’s music was his own, his creation, and it flowed from his heart. And with the first note I knew he was suffering, as I was. He chose to express his emotion in music. It was beautiful, and it was a bridge for me because without it I could not have reached the tears. And it was a bridge between us, because although we were choosing to walk through our pain on our own there was something within us that was reaching out for someone to walk through it with us. His music reached to me across the gap and melted my defenses, and I knew I was not alone.

Psalm 45:1-2
1 My heart is stirred by a noble theme
as I recite my verses for the king;
my tongue is the pen of a skillful writer.
2 You are the most excellent of men
and your lips have been anointed with grace,
since God has blessed you forever.

Eph. 5:19
Speak to one another with psalms, hymns and spiritual songs. Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord

rain

Once again the rain comes down
To heal the parched soil of the earth
And the ground drinks it up
And the roots of the plants drink it in
Last night
Healing waters flowed through us
Words on a page spring to life
Uttered through the voice of a woman in shame
Words that once penetrated
Like a sword to my heart
Slicing it open
Laying my wounds bare
But now the words don’t ring with the truth they once did
Forgiveness
Grace
Is attainable to me too
And I know it now
And I thank God for showing me
Because sometimes it seems like I’m clawing my way up
Through a pit of dirt
The earthen ground tumbles down on me
My fingers find no solid place
To pull my body up
To see the light of day
And then I see
The pit is getting smaller
It’s not so deep anymore and
The light is spilling in
All around me
And soon I won’t be clawing dirt
But standing above
Soaking in the rain
Like healing water to a thirsty soul
So I listen to it now
The sound of the water
As it lulls me into the peace of God
And I thank Him
For all that he has brought me through

this was a poem I wrote after the first, first Wednesday
it's still true