Dreaming on the First Floor

Last night I had a very soothing dream. I dreamed that someone, who I will allow to remain nameless because they do actually exist outside the dream world, met me at my work and told me that the "tough stuff" I have been going through over the last few years was "ridiculous." He said he could understand why I would be hurt. This person, who happened to be a very important man, said he could not believe how it had "all gone down." He told me he was surprised that I had held up so well. He said he noticed I had quietly "gone off the radar" and missed seeing me. Then he gave me a big hug and told me to "bounce back" and "continue doing great things." As he said this last line, he was holding my shoulders and looking me right in the eyes. It was a very powerful moment. Then he disappeared out the front door of my office building as quickly as he had appeared. I stood there, in my office, speechless. I felt relieved, validated, soothed.
Then I woke up.
I am one of those people who can remember most of their dreams.That's always been true. Even as a child, I remember waking up from vivid dreams and being able to recall and retell them, some I can even remember all these years later. I remember one where a giant sized ball of tightly wound yarn and a huge shiny

needle were in the middle of a big empty room, just sitting there, looming ominously over me like something in a sewing museum. I would stare up at the giant strands of yarn and marvel and feel slightly anxious.
I remember one dream where I am running down a long pier made entirely of dark jagged rocks that stretch out toward the ocean. I teeter as I run too close to the craggy edge, the ocean waves crashing way below. The pier was always very dark, the rocks black, wet, drenched in sea water and foam and the time of day was always the very late afternoon, right before the sun goes down. I had this dream many times and the giant sewing kit dream more than once. And of course, like all good kids, I had the dream of being chased by dinosaurs. One night, while running from a T-Rex as fast as I could (Where was that cave? The Land of the Lost folks always found it!), I woke up with a thump and pain in my mouth and realized I had fallen out of the top bunk of my bunk bed and bit my tongue. At least the dinosaur didn't get me.
Dreams can be strange. But the one I had last night was very soothing. I know dreams are something that MY brain makes up so it should come as no surprise that this very important man said words I needed to hear. He validated my suffering. Something about that was, and is, very healing. To just have someone say, "I hear you and you have every right to feel that way" can be so reassuring. I try to say those words when I am listening to people who are struggling -- try to help them feel not so "crazy" for feeling the way they do, because let's face it, with rare exceptions, we have all felt "that way" haven't we?
Lately, I have not felt in touch with my spiritual side. I have felt a bit discombobulated and lost due to a variety of things including the "stuff" that this VIP man in my dream was trying to help me get over. 2013 wasn't a bad year by any stretch, but it was challenging to say the least. I cried as hard as I have ever cried a few times, but also shared quite a few hearty laughs and celebrated a number of successes. I guess that is how life goes, but I really was glad I had that dream last night, before the end of the year, to help me put a little more "closure" on a rough patch from the past year.
The other day, I picked up a little book by Andrew Murray entitled "Abide in Christ." (Get it here for $1!) It is about 50 pages long and divides up nicely into 31 readings. I read the introduction and preface yesterday and plan to read one chapter each day in January. The book is about how Christians starve on the first floor while the second floor is full of food. In other words, we don't know how good we have it, how loved we are, how Christ wants to bless, comfort and heal us, so we writhe around in our misery, starving and weak, on the first floor of our troubles instead of abiding in Him. If we only knew. If we only reached out.  Seeked. Asked. Knocked. I am sure I found this book for a reason. I'm not a spooky mystic, but I do believe that many things happen for a reason. Like soothing dreams. And small books at Thrift Shops strategically placed at eye level.
Maybe I will find this book to be like the kind man in my dream last night? Maybe while I have been down here on the first floor eating Top Ramen, there has been home-made lasagna on the second floor? Maybe while I have been trying to lift a heavy box all by myself on the first floor, there has been endless pairs of helping hands on the second? Have I been running from dinosaurs on the first floor when there has there been a safe haven just above me?
That's what Mr. Murray is going to try and tell me in his little book. Maybe that is what the VIP man in my dream was trying to help me understand? Don't disappear. Don't struggle alone. Don't just dream on the first floor. Come to the Second Floor.
Now if I could just figure out what in the world that giant yarn ball and sewing needle was all about? Maybe I missed my calling as a seamstress?
Yeah right.

-Hope A. Horner, 2013
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Your Music is Scaring My Dog

The other day I took my dog out in the car with me to run errands. We pulled up next to a monster truck at a stoplight and I heard a screeching noise next to me. My dog whipped her head out the window to see what the clamor was. We both heard what sounded like zombies singing along with a drum machine. My dog literally cocked her head (think RCA dog), pulled her head back inside and hunkered down in her seat. I couldn't have agreed with her more. The music was scary. Picture the movie World War Z - one of those zombies trying to "sing" its heart out - a guttural, screaming, primal-I'm going-to-eat-your-face type sound all on one note, if you could call it a note. Then picture a frantic, methodical "tic-tic-tic" drumbeat that sounds like someone is holding down the fast-forward button.
Or a simple way to put it:
This guy was blasting "Angry Teen Music" from his over-sized, knobby-tired truck.

And my dog was petrified.
The light changed and we managed to pull away, and I found Jackson Brown on the radio. "Running on Empty" seemed like a lullaby. She settled into the seat next to me to lick herself and all was well.
Later that week, I heard something else that scared me. It didn't scare my dog, but my guess is if she had heard it and understood it, it probably would have.

I heard that at the Church of the Nativity in the Holy Land, a lot of fighting goes on. Inside. The church is shared by three different Christian orders - Armenian Apostolic, Greek Orthodox and Roman Catholics. Each one has a "section" of this holy church. This is supposed to be the church that marks the spot where Jesus was born, but it is also the spot that marks where division thrives. The religious folks are very territorial about their section of the church. If a Greek Orthodox is sweeping his corner of the church and accidentally runs his broom on the Apostolic side, a fight may break out. Broomsticks have been raised and lowered on the heads of rivals. Sometimes, Palestinian police have to break things up. If someone were to walk in in the middle of the brawl, it would look like robed janitors duking it out with cleaning supplies. Funny, when you think about it that way, but also very, very sad.
And scary.
This type of things scares folks away from God. It makes me cringe to call myself a Christian. Truly embarrasses me. Why would I want to be associated with the Christian religion when they can't even get along inside the very church marking the spot where Jesus was born?  And it is not like an Orthodox is sneaking over to spray graffiti on the Catholic side of the church, or a Apostolic holy man is peeing in the Orthodox corner of the church -- nope, they are cleaning it!
Hey!  Keep your broom on your side, buddy! 
Don't even THINK about dusting on the other side of this line!
Get your OWN Windex Holy Father!
Yes, even when cleaning up, they must stay in our corners. Even on the very spot where God's Son lay down his wee head in the manger.
Sigh.
How this must break God's heart.
To see this debacle. This despicable act. This division.
And how it scares people away--just like a monster truck with screaming zombies blaring out of it's speakers. The clack of broomsticks as they clash in mid-air, the insults, the hatred, the yelling, the anger--all of the fighting that goes on in this sacred church and in other Christian churches and communities--makes others, non-Christians, want to run, drive, jet-away from Christianity as fast as possible. Can you blame them for burning rubber to get away from the noise as soon as the light turns green? Certainly not.
I struggle not to run myself.
I try to focus on the Christians who were the first ones into the Philippines after the typhoon.  The ones who show up as doctors and nurses and caretakers in foreign countries and here at home to care for the sick, homeless, runaways and single moms. I try to smile when I see the new Pope spending time with the poor, humbling himself enough to downgrade his living quarters. I think of the kind Christians I know who have changed my life for the better, been there when I needed them and shared words of encouragement at just the right time. (You know who you are!!)
But sometimes, it isn't enough to get the shouting zombies out of my head.
I need to look at the One who's birth we celebrated yesterday. The King who comes as a tiny baby and can't even find a decent place to lay his head his first night on earth. The child who grew up to challenge the religious leaders of the day. What did he do when he saw religious hypocrisy?
He threw over tables and grew angry.
He exposed hypocrites for what they were.
He pointed at the "high and mighty" and said, "Don't be like that."
He also lived, loved and reached out to the outcasts and the lost.  He soothed wounded hearts and healed broken bodies.
He didn't scare people away. He allured. Children wanted to sit in his lap (and he didn't have to promise them their favorite gift for Christmas.) "Sinners" wanted to eat with him and he obliged wholeheartedly. Bumbling buddies became devoted disciples. Doubters became faithful even unto death.

Let's not let the screaming religious zombies drown out the soothing music of the "reason for the season."


Hope A. Horner, 2013
www.hopehorner.com
Follow on Twitter:  https://twitter.com/HopeNote
Email author on gmail at hopeh1122