“Phone calls”

In last night’s dream, among other things:

I went to the fitness center for Tuesday’s noon class. I saw some folks sitting in the center of the floor, garbed in garish 80s garments, and a pile of more off to the side. I asked Shaina what the class was today, and she said it was “Phone Calls.” She got distracted in the middle of saying “If there aren’t enough…” and I stayed off to the side to observe and figure out what was going on. Apparently, you put on 80s clothes and sing random words to a hymn tune, as if talking on the phone. Mmm, exercise.

Preparation

He was a cross between Mark’s boss and Richard Branson. He was our contact, our host, and our leader for the work in Africa.

There was a lot of packing. One bag for books — didn’t even zip — this was for advance loading on the train. Another container — a whole room at times, other times something smaller — held a sewing machine and innumerable other things tightly and carefully arranged. I bought bananas — to make banana bread? And foolishly chose very ripe ones, which would be fine if making the bread that day, but not so great for bananas to be packed up and shipped to the Africa work. Mark chose a better one — which was suspiciously pumpkin-shaped.

Finding our host’s home was challenging. Did we arrive in the middle of the night and have to find our own rooms? I remember finding the extra pillows and telling Mark about them.

Breakfast was provided at the house — in a kitchen with a long serving bar — there was one section of all kinds of pulled meat — the usual beef, pork, chicken, plus pulled lobster (!). Several Asian fusion sorts of things.

Supposedly on our way to our train, our host instead took us to some ridiculously fancy restaurant. We had already eaten dinner (at another one, I think), so I didn’t really want anything. Accepted the waiter’s offer of some cheese. He brought a tray full of cheese slices individually wrapped in silk napkins. The slice I chose and started nibbling had a $5 sticker at the bottom. I could not believe I had just bought a paper-thin slice of $5 cheese. I was also very nervous that we were dawdling at this restaurant instead of going to get the train — would we miss it?

For whatever reason, I had to drive myself to several places. I made wrong turns. And where I was supposed to turn left, at a light, all I could see in the darkness was a short turnoff that seemed to suddenly turn and descend out of sight like a tall playground slide. It seemed far too narrow and far too delicate for a car. There was a sign but I couldn’t read it. I didn’t turn, but kept going, looking for another left — the next was the same way. Skipped it, too. The road began to spiral down… and I did end up back at the host’s home eventually.

A few thoughts on Wednesday morning

1. I dreamed that Mark and Amy and I were “still” living with my parents in the house I grew up in. While we were talking about Amy going to preschool, we were also considering me going to graduate school. I was starting to realize that maybe I didn’t want to go to that graduate school. And I was also starting to realize that maybe it was time for us to try to buy a house of our own. I wasn’t sure my parents would be ready for us to go, and was surprised and a little taken aback when they agreed rather huffily, as if to say “finally!”

2. We all seem to be over the hump of the stomach bug. I need to take things slow, still, though — I tried a bowl of cereal with milk this morning and my stomach is not particularly pleased. I am supposed to play music with my friend Beth at her church tonight, background music for a time of confession; I haven’t practiced since we’ve been sick, and now that I’m mostly better I need to make time to tune and practice today so I’ll be ready.

3. N. T. Wright said somewhere in Jesus and the Victory of God that “wrath” generally refers to armies that are attacking. That thought has rumbled around in my head since I read it weeks ago. It makes me wonder about the interrelationships of the words “wrath,” “hostility,” “anger,” and “hatred.”

I can only think of one statement in the Bible about God hating anyone — God saying “Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated.” Even then I wonder if the emotional content is what we would expect — maybe it’s metaphorical just for God choosing Jacob over Esau. In other words, maybe it’s not that God rejected Esau because he didn’t like him much — maybe he rejected him for his own reasons and described it as hatred.

There’s also Cain — God doesn’t just reject Cain’s offering, but “had no regard for Cain.”

What bothers me about the idea of the wrath of God is not so much that he judges (he is just — all deserve wrath, and it is his mercy that he chooses to forgive anyone — although yes, even that still bothers me, since he is powerful enough and good enough to choose to forgive all if he wants to) but that I can’t figure out his attitude towards the judged — does he still love those who are not elect? Does he love Esau even as he hates him? Is there a just reason for him not to like Cain?

Wright’s idea allows a glimpse of this language as more metaphorical, and less emotional.

Stuff to chew on.

People eat me

“People eat me because they are overwhelmed with / by food,” he said to me.

He was my new husband, in my dream last night. The ex-husband of the mother of someone I know. The wedding had taken place a week or two before, but we finally moved in together the night of the dream.

I was nervous, suddenly realizing his age, and worrying about the fact that his ex-wife was still in our circle, not wanting to cause her or my acquaintance pain by having married someone they cast off.

But he turned out to be younger, and beautiful, and amazingly loving.

I think maybe he was a chef or caterer or something, and saying that his food was different somehow from what most people find to eat, and that it was refreshing, truly nourishing, simple, real.

I think he’s Jesus.

“I have food to eat that you know not of.” (John 4:32)

The ominous stair

I woke up at 3 am too scared to get out of bed — the childhood nightmare type of scared, where bed is the safe haven and getting out will sic the monsters on you.

The nightmare? Bizarre.

I was drawing pictures, and / or taking pictures, and / or telling / reading a story to Amy.

The picture was of a red barn-like building, low to the ground, with a tall black roof. Off to one side, a stairway stuck out of the building — enclosed — ending in the air. It might have been in a spooky thin-trees-forest swampy environment.

It’s the stair that escalated the fear.

I can’t tell if I was trying to tell a scary story, or if it turned scary in spite of me.

Then I was inside (our house? the barn?) and in the stairwell, and flipping light switches, and I accidentally (?) flipped on the switch that starts the scary sounds. And I couldn’t believe I’d done so, and cried out in even greater fear, “Mark, oh no, I’ve done it again!”

When I woke, I was surprised at the strength of the don’t-leave-the-bed feeling. I haven’t felt like that in ages.

I tried to say “there are no monsters,” but it felt like bluffing — how do I know there aren’t any monsters? That’s not the point, anyway. To get up the courage to go to the bathroom, I had to talk to myself about how God is not safe, but good. Even if I died on my way to the bathroom, God would be good to me.

During all of this, I was also aware of how strange and amusing it all was. And how strong a theme the dream had of my own complicity in my fears.

Very interesting.

Not by flood

Even though the Noah story promises that the earth will never again be destroyed by water, in my dream last night (among other things), as Mark and I stood at a balcony railing, the ocean waves grew increasingly high and fell on top of us. As they grew taller, I knew it was the end, and said “here it comes,” and acted like all I cared about was that heaven was approaching — not concerned about the discomforts of watery death first. Accordingly, after the first attempt, the ocean did it again, and I realized I was supposed to be afraid and upset about the death thing, first.

———

I just realized that there’s a parallel to a dream I had when in my teens, a relatively new Christian. My best friend Cheryl and I were at a retreat. We were hanging out in a tree when a storm blew up. We got out and started running towards the retreat center. Thinking things couldn’t get any worse, I let out a bad word. And got struck by lightning.

(Now why did I think that was parallel?)

1. I wore my new pants today, after letting out the hems and notching the curved seams. I love them. They are warm and soft and fit. They are still shorter than I’d like, and I still tug at the back waistband when I sit, but I am mostly very pleased.

2. I dreamed last night that I was doing some work for someone I know from dulcimer festivals. She shows up in my dreams occasionally — it always seems to have something to do with my musical and other ambitions, and with my social awkwardnesses. Anyway, in this dream, she paid me with a margarine tub of cocaine. Which was awkward. I finally had to try to tell her that I didn’t feel right taking it to sell — if I didn’t feel right about using it myself, how could I feel right about selling or even giving it to someone who would use it?

3. I went to the Methodist thrift shop in Culver today, to hunt for more pants. A couple people I know from Culver love this thrift shop, especially compared to the Plymouth Salvation Army which they dislike. It’s nice enough, but I think the Salvation Army, since it’s bigger, is a wiser first choice for me — more selection. The Salvation Army store is not as pretty and tidy, but it’s not bad. Anyway, I did find a pair of dark mossy green corduroys for me and a pink turtleneck for Amy, and spent $1.25, which is nice.

4. I went to the liquor store, too. For a bottle of sherry, for the ginger beef that Mark made for my birthday dinner. The real deal, with real garlic and ginger and fresh veggies. Mmmmm. Anyway, I felt a little funny walking into a liquor store, but it was fine. The two girls working there were much younger than me; perhaps just a few years legal themselves.

5. Amy somehow got hold of the knife Mark was using to cut up her broccoli (brah-kee) and held it up, proclaiming “knife” (nie).

6. A little later she started crying in frustration, saying “help” (hup or hep). Finally we figured out that she was trying to pick up the drops of milk that she had spilled on her tray.

7. She pooped on the potty again (second time) the other night.

8. For a long time she hadn’t peed on her naked time blanket, so I had taken the tarp out from under it — it makes things slippery. But yesterday she let loose buckets three times, so the tarp is back.

Feelin’ ugly

I’m not 100% down in the pit over all of this — it’s just some of the stuff floating around. So no need to get all concerned or anything — just share in this little bit of my musings if you like.

I have been feeling ugly lately.

(Picture taken by older sister at Sophia’s party.)

Ugly especially on the inside — a little paranoid about my friends, because why would anyone want to be my friend? Surely they’re all just humoring me, being polite, that sort of thing. Second-guessing many of the things I did or said at Sophia’s birthday party, or at church, or anywhere else. Disliking things about other people and therefore assuming other people dislike me and hide it, too.

Ugly on the outside, too, as I had to buy a swimsuit four sizes larger than I thought I was, and Eddie Bauer’s Original Loose Fit jeans, also four sizes too big, are so tight I can’t zip them up. My belly looks like Amy’s birth was last week instead of last year.

Ugly in the pathways that connect inside and out, as I can’t seem to resist the donuts at church, the cookies at the dining hall, an extra bowl of cereal as dessert at home. No, I don’t eat like that every day, but I was much better at making healthier choices when the not-so-healthy options were not in plain view.

Ugly because I could exercise, I could eat better, or I could accept my body as it is, but I don’t want to do any of those things. I’m busy doing other things. I don’t want to punish myself. I don’t have the stamina or want the commitment it would take to really make a difference.

Last night I dreamed I was beautiful.

Zigzag

In my dreams last night, among other things:

I was following someone (my professor? a man, I think). The way started out across some water, on a very narrow plank bridge that zigzagged.

Then the planks were just under the water.

Then at the bottom of the water.

They were widely separated, so it took a look around to find the next one, and a kick and a bit of swim to get to it.

Finally there weren’t any more, and by now I’d lost sight of the person I was following.

The water was up to my neck, now, and I was tired / cramped so that I couldn’t make swimming motions.

Someone (a woman? closer to my own age than the man) came over to me, whether intending to help me or by chance, and I was able to get help from her — to hold onto her neck while she brought me to shore.

Dangerously furious dreaming

In my dreams last night, among other things:

My dream self was awakened to see a concerned, large black man sitting on the couch looking at me. He told me that I had been dreaming so furiously that they had to wake me up — he was a doctor.