Dreaming over Overpasses
Do you know what a spaghetti bowl is?
Not this kind
but this kind.
Well I have to drive on one nearly every day. I guess I don’t have to, I could take a long windy way around, but I choose to because I like to be efficient and I’m usually running just shy of on-time (that’s how I say late, today). Anyway, there is this little part of me, every time I drive on an overpass, that just freaks out a little, and is really afraid that someday I’m going to go too fast or slip on some oil or just not pay attention and careen over the edge and get smushed and die. I have a rather vivid imagination, which I’m starting to appreciate as a communicable attribute of God.
So last night, I had a dream that I was on this overpass and yep, I didn’t turn enough and I flew off the edge. And I screamed and I prayed, prayed I don’t even know what, but somehow my car landed, wheels down, still moving (sort of like on Speed, when Sandra Bullock jumps an empty section of highway in a city bus) on a street. And my car was messed up, but I was, in the grand scheme, fine.
I woke up seeing that God had answered my wordless, screaming prayer. But what significance does an answered prayer hold if it was in a dream? Lots. Because the same is true of waking life. My worst fears could come true, and God would still be big, and in control.
My worst fears will sometimes come true, and He’ll be there, showing me that sin has lost it’s power, death has lost it’s sting.
I like when God talks to me in dreams.