Let me confess… I am an ardent believer in Christ Jesus and I also believe that He speaks to us, in many many ways, one of which is dreams.
Yes, I am Joseph…and I have on my technicolored coat as I bang out this story.
I had a dream, and I do not know what to make of it.
Perhaps it comes from my new commitment to attend church, or it hails from the various FB posts about women empowerment and the self-declared lack of need for a spouse by others. I do not know, but what I can confirm is this. Man and woman were made for companionship, that is why God bothered to induce deep sleep in Adam and remove a rib from his side in order to create a PERFECT companion for him. So if your “ I do not need a man in my life” theory keeps your Brazilian in check…kudos to you, lets talk in another ten years.
The degree of perfectness as a companion however is a story for another day…
Back to my dream.
I was seated on a largely uncomfortable pew, minding my own business and furiously jotting down notes as the pastors boomed away on the need to focus on Christ. Then came the time to give offering and the baskets were dutifully passed around, each person retrieving notes from their wallets or handbags and placing them in the basket. I felt disturbed by this, is it a crime to offer coins? No one here gives “mangotore”? As I was fixated on the lack of the proverbial silver coins in the basket, my neighbour nudged me in the ribs and handed me the coinless basket. I had not yet retrieved my paper currency from my purse, so I held on to the basket and reached for my bag.
And there they were.
The basket did not have coins, neither did it have notes.
It held pieces of paper. Paper that had been scribbled on by what appeared to be runny ink. I thought I was seeing wrong, so I picked one up.
“ Dear Lord, send me a husband”
“ Dear Lord, where is my husband?”
“ Dear Lord, will I die alone?”
“ Where is my rib?”
Over and over and over, all the notes read the same thing. The scribbles appeared to be swimming, swimming in a salty liquid. As if an ocean but not quit, the words were swimming in tears.
I was bolted out of my sleep by my second crying.
I will seek interpretation later.
*Mangotore means coins in Kikuyu