Dreams

I had a dream last night that spoke to me (and as I’m mentioned before, I remember very few dreams.)

A companion (his or her identity was nebulous) and I were traveling by train. A large group of people joined us for a grand celebration, the Super Bowl of all parties. I felt so happy.

Suddenly, we arrived at the destination, and the two of us were the only ones left on the train. Not only that, but my once-rotund belly had flattened. I had lost my baby on the way.

The conductor comforted us. “You wouldn’t want your baby here yet.”

With that, I woke up.

At least I think that’s the way the dream went.

Symbolic? I’d say so.

A large crowd of people has surrounded us in our grief. They—you—hold us up in every way possible. You travel with us and help us forget our pain for a time.

But you know, ultimately, we reach our destination alone. I look around for a human companion and only find my divine Conductor, the Lord my Shepherd.

And He’s right. I wouldn’t want my baby here, where sin and sorrow still reign. Not now that she’s experienced heaven. That would be selfish and cruel.

The dream doesn’t make me feel either sad or glad. I think it illustrates how I’m feeling: Lonely. Needy. Weak.

I’m glad God is present to lead me down the path I must walk.