I’ve had two sorts of weird dreams in my life. (In fact, the only two types of dream I can ever remember.)
The first type is when one of my cats figures into the dream. That’s all of the dream I remember–my cat shows up. Except he’s different from normal, like he’s painted in geometric patterns. (You know: Bottom half all black, top half white and green stripes. Or red background with blue circles…) Very bizzare. I hope it isn’t God trying to tell me something!
On the other hand, I was eight years old when my grandfather died from lung cancer. He died the day before Thanksgiving in a distant city, my father was out with him, my mother and brother were home alone. Day after Thanksgiving, we went to the mall to see “Santa.” I told him all I wanted for Christmas was for my grandfather to get better; he told me that, with a grandson like me, he was sure my grandpa would be fine in no time. Needless to say, when my dad came home a few days later with the news, I was crushed.
I cried, I screamed, I yelled at God–in short, I sobbed myself to sleep. That night, I dreamt that I took a walk with God (I remember it clearly–in my dream, he looked like a cross between Niels Bohr and the long-haired Jesus we see in paintings). God told me that things just have to be sometime, but that He would help me to keep my loved ones healthy through prayer. In return, He said, He would want something from me. I agreed.
Funny thing is, it seemed like my prayers
did work more than usual. A great-uncle had what would normally be a fatal heart attack: I prayed, he lived several more years. My father had spinal encephalitis, same thing. I have seen this same pattern play out time and again and, while I don’t claim to have the power to heal people, or even that my prayers are more efficient(?) than other’s, it is an odd feeling.
Fast forward to my mid-to-late twenties. I am in my last year of law school, and have a dream of which I remember every detail. I am on a horse on a giant army skirmish line (think Braveheart), and I am wearing no armor. On my left, a giant figure on a beautiful reddish-brown horse, wearing white armor from crown to toe, turns toward me and, with visor down so that I can’t see the face, asks: “Will you help me?” I would have that same dream two or three more times.
A few years later, I am a practicing lawyer. I have one more dream. In it, I can see nothing, but only hear the words, “Will you help me?”
Is it an overactive imagination? Is it the voice of God? Is is (as Scrooge would have it) a bit of undigested beef?
Who knows? But I’ll tell you what–it sure makes it interesting to think that these are the only dreams I remember (cat-dreams aside!) when I must dream every night!
Cheers,
Alberich
