Crazy Dreams

Here we go again.

And to understand that, you might want to take a look at this.

My daughter, Jamie, recently had surgery in Boston on her left hip, to complement the surgery she had on her right hip last December.  And for some reason unknown to people who really ought to know, she's having a harder time of it this go-round.  More pain. More consistent pain. Pain in weird places.

Which means more medication.  Which means more medication-induced brain-noodling.  Which may explain the crazy dream she had one night, where  she and I were on a reality show called The Real Housewives of Boston Children's Hospital.  Apparently, we were in a competition with the mother and daughter in the next room.

Exactly what this competition entailed, we're not sure, because she woke up before it got to the good part.  I can imagine, though, that there were probably a bunch of cat fights, quite a few augmented body parts, a number of meltdowns in the bathroom and steady evaluations of the attractiveness of her attending health care professionals.  

Perhaps most disturbing is the thought that this was all brought about by the hours and hours of reality TV we've watched together during the healing process.  Last December it was Toddlers and Tiaras. This time I'm certain that we've seen every episode ever produced of The Real Housewives of Every City in the USA.

That this would all show up in Jamie's subconscious could possibly give us the creeps.

Or we could just focus on the fact that it was a source of laughter in tough times.

And we could also focus on the fact that sometimes, God gives you a crazy dream in the heart of the nasty parts of life...just to help you through.  Or maybe to help somebody else through their own tough times.

You see, right in the middle of the worst if it--during the days of bedpans and bad food and wanting to hurl each and every physical therapist into the Charles River--Jamie announced that, once she recovered, she wanted to come back and volunteer at the hospital.  "I don't care what I'd be doing," she said.  "I'd scrub floors with a toothbrush if they needed me to."  Absolute proof  that this was a crazy dream from GOD, folks, because as I recall, she never scrubbed anything with a toothbrush but her teeth when she was living at home.

It makes no sense, going back to your place of hurting to help someone else heal.

But I guess that's the crazy part.

And anyway, God is not obligated to make sense; He just has this unnerving habit of crooking his Finger and making it practically impossible not to follow Him, whether it makes sense or not.  

So...what about you?

When "this too shall pass" in your own life, what will you do with your pain in weird places?  

What would happen if you sent out a request for a wide-awake, outrageous, nonsensical vision of your own?

There's only one way to find out:  Ask Him for one.  

Then pay attention. 

And then, dream on...like crazy.

Jill's Latest Book - Born To Be Wild