I had lunch with my sister-in-law today who told me she'd had some really weird dreams last night. We got on the subject of dreams, and I realized I'd had some off-the-wall dreams myself lately. Those early morning dreams, the ones you remember, seem to be the ones that haunt me the most.
I have a lot of dreams about a ginormous tornado, air plane crashes, and end-of-the-world type stuff. Dreams where I wake in a sweat, clutching my sheets. Once in a while I have a nightmare, waking my husband with a skin-prickling scream. And always, those dreams are about the rapture.
Growing up in a evangelical congregation where the rapture of the church is held over your head like the fire and brimstone of hell, has been torturous. Note to pastors: don't do that. Don't use it to force-feed the threat of hell. Shame on you if you do that. I can name numerous people I know, my children included, who have suffered because of it. If it is the joyous event the Bible claims it to be, then leave it at that.
I've learned how to handle all these dreams. The ones I remember, I write down. The ones I forget, I don't worry about. On some level I know dreams mean something. But as a writer, I have used them in my stories. I wish I could sleep and not dream, but for some reason, I've always been a dreamer.
"Here's hoping all your dreams come true," they say. They have no idea what they're talking about. For me, goals and ambitions are one thing, dreams are entirely another.
Sweet dreams, to you and yours.