Posted by: pendrops | October 20, 2007

bad dream good


“What would I have to do to get you to stay home with me and not get on that plane,” I asked Jason the other morning.

He looked at me with groggy, uncertain eyes, having just turned on his nightstand light and turned off his alarm.

“I had a dream last night,” I went on. “Your plane blew up. I’ve been awake since 4:00.”

After sharing an extended hug, Jason assured me that he would be fine. That people fly every day. That we have a better chance of getting blown up in our apartment than he does on a plane to Oregon.

“But you are making a stop in Los Angeles. Lots of crazies there,” I argued to which he shrugged and said again that he would be fine.

Despite reassurances, I was weepy all morning and told him I’d make pizza every night for a week, give him a 30-minute foot massage, and buy him an iPhone if he’d stay. Two hours later, I was craning my neck to see him over the security line, waving him goodbye. I also called him once more to tell him I loved him, which I said through choking tears.

The rest of the day, I couldn’t get past my preoccupation, my sadness, my utter fright. What if this dream was some sort of premonition? God uses dreams after all. All throughout the Bible you’ve got half-crazy people having half-crazy dreams that end up in reality. Joseph, Solomon and Pilate’s wife come to mind. But would God be so obvious, giving me a dream this way?

Before I knew it, I found myself lingering on what life would be like without Jason. Without missing a beat, I started in with the regrets. Words said…and unsaid. Trivialities turned into vitalities…and vice versa. Hugs shared…and others hoarded. Love done…and not done.

As morbid and heart-wrenching as it all was, around dinner time, after an entire day of ruminating, fretting and failure to trust, I called my bad dream good. Good because it opened my eyes to the ways I’ve taken my husband for granted, the ways I’ve hurried past his arms, the ways I make his needs, his hopes, his wounds less than my own.

“We’re finally here, babe,” he said much later that night, the bustling of a just-landed airplane in the background. “How was your day?”

“Oh, it was, well, it was…good. It’s cooling off. Looks like it’s gonna rain, too. And I got you a surprise,” I said, not telling him how I’d chosen fear over trust, worry over worship, most of the day. Instead we chatted about plane food, what I had for dinner and the time difference.

And I was thankful as I flipped my phone closed. Thankful he arrived safely. Thankful for my most treasured friend. Thankful for bad dreams turned to good awakenings.



  1. You and Sarah, ya’ll oughta start a club for wives worrying about their husband’s flights

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