Important Disclaimer

Since I currently have several employers/supervisors/churches/etc., please know that none of the words on my blog represent them or their beliefs. This blog is my own creation.

It also does not represent my children's perspective, nor my mother's; they think I am funny, but misguided.
(Quick update: only my mother thinks I'm funny now.)

Thursday, March 20, 2014

Second Sleep

And their father Jacob said to them, "I am the one you have bereaved of children: Joseph is no more, and Simeon is no more, and now you would take Benjamin. All this has happened to me!" Then Reuben said to his father, "You may kill my two sons if I do not bring him back to you. Put him in my hands, and I will bring him back to you." But he said, "My son shall not go down with you, for his brother is dead, and he alone is left. If harm should come to him on the journey that you are to make, you would bring down my gray hairs with sorrow to Sheol."
~Genesis 42:36-38

Yosemite, ~1920 or so

I woke this morning from a terrible potent as my early morning dreams sometimes are. I wake often in the early morning and sit in the dreamy quiet of 4am. Sometimes I read. Sometimes I daydream. Sometimes I play with third shift twitter, because they are silly and funny and poignant in ways that daytime twitter doesn't quite grasp. 

And then, after a while, I drift back to sleep. It is in that second sleep when my dreams become bold, with bright colors and power. Not always, but today...

I dreamt we were on an apocalyptic journey and my son was the last in a gymnasium, trying to pass a
skills test to run and jump around cones. Such a silly thing, but not something he is good at. It was life or death though. I hadn't known he was still there, and he was the last who could not do it. The door was locked, but I could see him through the glass. he turned and looked at me terrified...I woke, startled, weeping.

It doesn't matter which son--the metaphor holds. And it means nothing, just a dream. But a metaphor nonetheless. Our children will learn or die--this is our fear, isn't it? And ultimately the futility of it all is that we will die anyway, no matter what we learn...all is vanity and a chasing after the wind (or as one of my seminary professors translated Ecclesiastes: "a pissing into the wind"). No matter the children's fears or mine, we can never quite reach each other through the glass.

But oh, how I love these babies of mine!

I do not want to write today, but I promised God I would.
I do not want to work today, but this is not a day for rest.
There will be rest Sunday night, when this retreat has come and gone, and all the teenagers have been given back to their own parents, and the boxes of stuff are messily shoved into the youth lounge, then, THEN I can rest. And woe be to the fool who calls me on Monday.

If I had the day free I would take my children to the childhood mountains in California with their soaring heights and valleys deep, and the trees that stretch all the way into the sky. We would breathe the pine forests and feel the air on our skin. It is different there.

Except that my children hate the mountains and barely tolerate trees. The bugs would cause them to shriek with rage and frustration. I cannot quite fathom it, how I birthed two children who cannot abide the outdoors. But there it is.

We cannot quite reach through the glass, and our terrors are our own. Fortunately for my children, they do not have to bear my fears. I do not know how they could go on if they did.

The mountains soon, I hope. Perhaps in the summer.

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