Dream @ MindSay

A flower grows from beneath a blanket
Of fine and purest white
It reaches toward the sun for warmth,
For heat and for the light

My love for you grows stronger still,
Despite the surrounding cold
My heart is yours, bartered gone
For yours has it been sold

Its petals shine from morning dew
Its stem grows stiff and strong
It stands strong through the freezing cold
It stands the winter long

I long for you, for your soft touch
I miss the way you smile
The longer that we stay apart
The longer every mile

The flower stretches through the snow
It reaches toward the sun
And now without you the color is gone
The flower's petals, dun

But as we talk, and as we learn
The flower comes back to life
The snow now melts and goes away
As you take away my strife

Spring is here and growth abounds
As you and I are one
We are together, we are in love
The snow for now is done

I see the future, in dreams I have
Of our life, long and true
I see the times where all I need
Are comforting words from you

I see the times when winter comes
As winter tends to do
But we still love, and we still live
And I do still love

I see the flower, older now,
But still strong with fresh new leaves
I see it growing, tall and strong
Reaching to the eaves

We are now old, as years have passed
But old together are we
And strong our love still today
As strong as it can be

Okay, so lately i have been feeling alot better, happy even and somewhat inspired.

This is all down to a guy. Yeah a guy. I know it shouldn't take someone else to make me happy, but he's amazing and without him i feel empty. It's funny, how much of an impact someone else can have on your life.

 

Okay so about this guy. His name is Justin, he's dark, handsome and sweet. My prince. The guy all little girls dream about meeting when they grow up.

Our love is so special, magical. When i'm talking with him it's as though nothing else matters, just us.

He makes me nervous. When he calls me beautiful or pretty, i get an amazing feeling. Or when he calls me his baby, i feel my heart beating hard inside my chest.

I know he's the perfect person for me, we're meant to be together and he loves me just as much as i love him.

I would do anything for him.

 

 

k so the last thing i wrote was this friggin long thingy. now i'm just going to talk about someone who just kinda's been stuck in my mind for a little. yes, it's a guy, so for the few people who read this, if you don't want to here about my love life, skip this particular blog. k?

 

his name's richard and he's in the class below me. i think the big thing about him is he's very similiar to josh buttke, the only guy i believed i ever truly loved. besides jon. but especially when richard had longer hair, and he put on glasses it was insanely close to buttke. he cut his hair, and the resemblance isn't as close but at least part of it is also his personality. a very dry wit, but tons of fun to hang out and flirt with. i always had fun snowboarding with him, or more like him making fun of me as he whipped past me.

 

but i hung out with him and kyle a few days ago, then the next night i had the trippiest dream. the part that's really weird is i remember the feelings and people in it, and for me to remember my dreams at all is really unusual, and never do i remember them with such clarity.

 

i was on my way to somewhere, or running from someone, and i was with my family. first i got arrows chot ar me from under a tree, and the pain was this fuzzy feeling i get when i'm hurt in dreams ever since i read heir apparent, because that's how they described it, but anyway-

 we were running away on an icy slope and i remember slipping down and losing control and some black guy in a wheel chair making fun of me, then i thought i'd get ahead by sliding anyway, but i slid off a cliff and to a river, where there were bad guys and stuff but that's all i remember of that half.

the second half is where it gets interesting. i'm with richard, like with him with him. i remember kissing him, my hands are on his face, then we're at milly's house but it's not actually her house, and we're just always together and i'm looking out a window and i get mad because i see kids smoking and i think its him or kyle but its not and just the feel of his lips on mine just won't disappear. and i've never even kissed the kid! odd.

            This is a recent communication from a friend of ours, a young lady who is living in Papua New Guinea.  For the last few months, she’s been teaching the nationals about HIV AIDS.      

            It’s 6 o’clock in the morning, and I am awake.  I had not planned to be.   In fact, it will be another half hour before my alarm goes off, telling me it’s time to prepare for my morning run, and I’ve had less than 6 hours of sleep.  Not for lack of trying mind you.  I was in bed by 11pm last night, knowing that today would be a full day, a day for errands in Mt.  Hagen, and I would need my sleep.  But I couldn’t sleep.  I didn’t know why.  Indigestion?  Excitement or anxiety over the events of tomorrow?  Another night fraught with sinus congestion due to allergies?  There were any number of plausible explanations, and I knew willing myself to sleep would not make sleep come any faster.  So I prayed that God would allow sleep to come at His will, and I waited, for over an hour I waited. Finally sleep did come, and along with it a dream, one that I feel compelled to share.

            In this dream, I was with my parents, not surprising since one of my last activities of the day had been to write emails to them.  My mother and I were walking together through a house drama, similar in style to “House of Judgment,” for those who are familiar with that genre of drama.  Each scene of the drama takes place in a different room and the audience travels from room to room, following the actors.  I do not now remember all the details of the drama, but I remember being quite impressed.  It had followed the life of a young woman and her journey.   And then came the punch line.  My mother and I were led into a final room, where we were joined by my father, whom I don’t remember traveling with us through the drama, but perhaps he was in another room.  We all sat down, I in a chair and my parents on a sofa with a wood frame.   A man came out with a little slide card, one such that you might slide through the jacket in order to match up the name of a guitar chord with the string alignment or a teacher might use to match up the number of questions with a grade allotment.  He was struggling to figure out how to use it.  It seemed that each answer we were meant to give coordinated with a next response, and on the wall was a chart where our responses would be marked and assessed.  I soon realized what was happening.  This man was trying to use this sliding card and chart to speak to us about Jesus, to give us the formula for being “saved.” In my dream, I became visibly distressed, and I could tell by the glances from my parents and the way they shifted in their seats that they too were agitated by this experience.  In unbelief, I asked the man, “Are you assessing my Christianity with a little card? Are you really trying to give me a formula for salvation?” Finally, in desperation and anger, I proclaimed, “Well, am I “Christian” enough? What do you think? Have I said all the right things? Have I done all the right things?” The man looked clearly surprised and perplexed by my questions.  Finally, he shrugged his shoulders, and looking downward, shaking his head slightly, he admitted, “I don’t know.” The tension in my countenance lessened as I looked at this man, and I asked sympathetically, with tears bristling in my eyes, “May I offer a suggestion?”  He glanced up eagerly, giving me permission to continue.  “I loved the drama,” I said, “But it was only a drama.  What I would have preferred to hear in the end was not a formula or what I must do next, but a story, a real story.  I want to know about you.  What did it mean to you? What does it mean to you?” The man looked suddenly relieved, like a deep burden had been lifted.  He said simply, “Thank you,” and then added as an afterthought, “Would you be willing to tell this to my superiors?” Enthusiastically, I proclaimed, “I would be willing to tell this to whoever you want me to!!” We walked out of the room, and I caught the eyes of my parents as I left, which glittered in agreement and support.  I then went to the front desk of what seemed to me to be a hotel, and spent much time imploring the man behind the desk to change the ending of the drama.  And just for the sake of full disclosure and as proof that this was in fact a dream with all the random absurdities of a dream, I remember my father standing in the corner of the room, completely at peace that I was taking care of the situation, enjoying a piece of chocolate cake, a delicacy I don’t eat frequently in Papua New Guinea and sometimes crave.  Yes, I implored the man behind the counter with all the passion and emotion that was within me.  But he just stood there, smiling a patronizing smile, as if listening to the whims of a small child.

            And thus I awoke, tears still pooling in my eyes.  I was in my bed, in my little house in Papua New Guinea, fully awake, though the hours of sleep had been few, and urged by an impulse to write.  It is now 6:30 am, and as I sit here in my bed, typing on my laptop, the sun is rising over the mountains.  The morning chill has started to numb my fingers, but I could not begin my day without writing this.

            I leave you with this appeal.  Christianity is not a formula.  It is not something we do.   It is not a set of rituals, or saying the right prayer, or speaking the magic words, or believing something rightly enough that it might possibly earn you a ticket to heaven.  How dare we reduce it to such! How dare we judge others based on our criteria of what is right! No, Christianity is about a relationship, an experience of God reaching to your heart, through no power, strength, or action of your own.  If you are going to speak of anything, if you are going to share anything, speak of what Christ has done in your life.  Speak of that moment or that lifetime of moments when you realized that you weren’t enough, that you needed the hand of a loving God in your life, and it was there.  It doesn’t have to be a single moment or a visibly life-changing “I was a drug addict, and now I’m clean” kind of moment.  It just has to be your moment, your experience.   Speak of that.  And leave the judgment, formulas, and attempt to do all the right things to others.  There’s enough of that in the world… sadly.

So I dreamed once again that I was in Bethlehem. But it was one of the more sinister ones. There's different types of Bethlehem dreams: nostalgic, pleasant, practical, supernatural, sinister. They often blend as more than one as well.

 

We went into this house, the bottom looked like me great grandmother's house, and the top floor looked like the top floor of my grandmother's house. (my great grandmother doesn't have an upstairs) They looked the same in set up, but not design or feeling. There was something eerie & unwelcoming about it. When we left, someone mentioned something about it being the home of a psychopath. We had to lock it specially when we left, and put a black bar/piece of tape over the house number.

 

Today I decided to look up billboard top 100 hits of 1997-2000. Added some to my iPod. Hearing them brought me back...

 

This weekend was slow. It probably has a lot to do with the heat, but this weekend somehow felt like a weekend of '98. Time wasn't as relavent. I didn't care what time it was, it just didn't matter. It doesn't feel like I just woke up like it usually does each day at this time. And I didn't even do anything today.

 

Is this a rare taste? This isn't the first one though, just the longest lasting one.

 

Maybe now that I can tell when it happens, I can savor it more, and maybe make it stay longer...