Sunday, October 3, 2010
Last night's adventure
The funeral was Friday afternoon, and I must say it was one of the most beautiful services I have ever attended. There were three eulogies from close, personal friends of Mark. And the preacher said some meaningful things about what is important to remember at times like these. The mood was upbeat. There was humor. There was joy. It was a celebration of a wonderful life.
I sang the great Albert Brumley southern gospel favorite, "I'll Fly Away". The reception following the service was lovely.
But when Cindy and I got home, we had a hard time settling down. I think there is just something about a funeral that gets me to thinkin'---thinkin' about life and what is important. And what isn't important. And where God might see me in relation to those two opposites. It can be a deep and somewhat troubling question.
Bottom line is that neither of us could sleep Friday night. We both got up repeatedly, but returning to bed did not produce the desired result.
Consequently, by the time Saturday night rolled around, we were both zombies. I fell right asleep. And then the dreams began. The last one was a doozy. I found myself in a very rural, wooded area. Oddly, there was an industrial plant there. I somehow was sent on a mission with the plant manager---to Baltimore, which I recall was about fifty miles away---over very rugged dirt roads (why we were going to Baltimore I haven't a clue)--until our jeep came to a blockade.
A farmer had grown tired of folks crossing his land to get to Baltimore, and he had blocked our passage.
We interracted with the farmer, trying to get him to let us pass. There were two women with him, and some other men, and we began to feel threatened, like maybe we wouldn't get out of there alive.
The farmer kept trying to touch me, getting into my personal space, and I was afraid for my safety and was becoming combative.
Somehow, I got hold of the farmer's .357 magnum pistol. As the plant manager and I went to the jeep to escape, I shot myself in the foot with the pistol. There was blood everywhere, but it didn't hurt. I looked down and saw that I had accidentally shot two of my toes off. But miraculously, they began to grow back right before my eyes!
As we began to drive away in the jeep, I awoke to an early Sunday morning.
What does it mean?