I jumped from the troubles of my sleep. I landed hard on Sunday morning’s drop zone. My PLF’s sucked; I always landed like a sack of … Had I finally hit the bottom?! Nightmares and daymares chased me from one dimension to the next. Last night was a horror story. Twice daily at twilight they tag-teamed me into their corner and pummeled me. My cuts, scars, and open wounds increased daily but hid from sight. Invisible wounds were killing me.
He woke me. I felt His hand. If I was lost on a Thursday, I was found this Sunday morning forty years later. He woke me and the impact shook our bed violently.
“Did you have another bad dream?” Nurit asked me.
I was guilty, ashamed, and afraid on the inside. I didn’t hide them well, but tried to be tough.
“No,” I told her. “this one is different. I need to find a building of living stones. I need to find one now!”
“But you don’t go to church Pappy!” Her frightened face reflected mine.
We both were awake now. Neither of us understood. I only knew I had to go to a building made of living stones. I showered, dressed, and left on expedition. I found one.
It was a small building filled with big souls. They were singing. My white skin and white monster truck surprised them, but they kept singing. I heard them as I dismounted. I found a seat. They tried not to stare. I tried not to cry. I don’t know if I found Him or He found me, but I was found.
I was thirsty. They shared His water. I was hungry. They shared His food. I ate and I drank.