CHRIST
IN WINTER: Reflections on Faith from a Place of Winter for the Years of Winter…
©
I’m
always reluctant to share dreams. People who know more about them than I do are
likely to say, “If you dream about that, it means you’re crazy as a loon.” I don’t
need to know that from dreams; I have people for that. Occasionally, though, a
dream seems right on the mark…
Last
night I dreamed that I had become so lost that I could not find my way home. I
was in that dream town, familiar, the town where I live, but only in my dreams.
It’s a small town, but it has a lot of large church and college buildings. Many
of them are neglected or abandoned. My wife had taken my father to the
hospital, and I was trying to go there, but I had walked in from the country, and
I was a long way from the hospital. I kept seeing familiar sights and sites,
but I kept taking wrong turns. To make matters worse, I tried to call Helen to
come get me, but I couldn’t remember her phone number. [Anyone familiar with my
life can make a LOT out of all that!]
Old
people worry a great deal about losing memory. I suspect that one reason for
that dream at this time is that I had several conversations this week with
other old people about how we can’t remember where we put our glasses or parked
our cars. [BTW, a good reason to have a land-line as well as a cell phone, or at
least two cell phones, is so you can find the phone you’ve lost by calling it.
I know that for a fact.]
Men
rely on wives for memory. Earl Davis used to say, “I have a perfect memory
system. It’s called, ‘Martha, where is that?’”
I love the story about the old man who was trying to tell a friend about
a new restaurant but couldn’t think of its name. “What’s that flower with the
nice smell and thorns?” he said. “A rose? Oh, was the restaurant called The
Rose?” “No. Hey, Rose, what was the name of that restaurant we went to?”
My
wife is especially helpful when I worry about losing memory, because she says,
“I’ve know you since you were twenty, and you’ve always been this way.” At
least, I think that’s helpful.
Of
course, forgetting your glasses or the third thing she told you to get at the
grocery is just a frustration. Forgetting where home is, that’s tragedy.
After
my friend of 60 years, Darrel Guimond, was in a car accident that left him
brain-damaged, he was able to remember one thing. He told Linda, “I know you.
You’re the best thing ever.”
The
good news is that we don’t have to remember everything, because God has a
perfect memory. It’s not perfect just because of total recall, but because it’s
a forgiving memory. As Paul Tillich said, “Forgiveness doesn’t change the
facts, but it does change the meaning of the facts.”
John
Robert McFarland
The
“place of winter” mentioned in the title line is Iron Mountain, in Michigan’s
Upper Peninsula, where people are Yoopers [UPers] and life is defined by winter
even in the summer!
You
don’t have to bookmark or favorite the CIW URL to return here. Just Google
Christ In Winter and it will show up at the top of the page.
I
tweet, occasionally, as yooper1721.
No comments:
Post a Comment