His oath, his covenant, his blood,
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.
(My hope is built on nothing less, by Edward Mote, 1837)
I hadn't been thinking about this old hymn, the new Noah movie, or any number of flood-related metaphors when I had a vivid dream the other night. "Whelming flood," a phrase I remembered from this old song, however, describes it quite well.
Being more realistic than it has a right to be, it was one of those dreams that will stick with me awhile, as my subconscious makes an attempt to give it meaning before it is safely filed away in my memory.
The dream begins with the promise of food and fellowship, and though I am only able to identify one friend around a long wooden table, the others who have gathered have kind faces. It feels like the type of dinner one has at the end of a retreat after laughter and tears accompany the stories told about our journeys through life. And with the emotional energy it takes for prayer and reflection, a hearty meal is a welcomed treat. Though I do not see or smell the food in the room, I am certain it is about to be offered to us. I await it in eager anticipation.
I find a place to sit at the end of a bench seat in this basement room, no doubt in a church, and revel in the idea of all being invited to the table, a concept I have considered often. And there we all are--all different yet all united within this common bond of love we have one for another.
As some talk quietly among themselves, an older woman sitting next to me asks if I am ready for my feet to get wet. She smiles with a knowing look as if I am supposed to know what she is talking about. I have no idea. Because we are in a basement room I suddenly notice a large storm drain a few inches from my feet and wonder if water will somehow back up and flood the floor. Surely we would not be made to endure something so uncomfortable in the midst of this grand occasion.
A woman, standing at the head of the table, about to give the blessing and instructions about proceeding with the meal, calmly tells us we should put our heads down, preferably under the table. I watch the others do this without question. I am beginning to feel more than a little unsettled. I hear a loud rumbling sound coming from outside the window. It is dark and the large window near the ceiling of this room reveals no more than our leader has. As I begin to sense that something other than dinner is about to be served, I can hear the glass breaking as a powerful wave of water rushes at us with an overwhelming force.
My last thought is, "Why hadn't someone told me what to expect?"
Funny thing about dreams is that they often have absolutely nothing to do with our reality. Never mind the elder retreat held in our church hall that I just attended; the dinner around a table with those I do not know well; the group exercise led by a woman who guided us through a process giving us only one piece of information at a time; my status as a newly ordained elder "getting my feet wet" as I am at times overwhelmed by the flood of information I am supposed to make immediate decisions on and not ever knowing what to expect at the next session meeting. Any semblance this dream may have to my real life is purely coincidental.
Support me in the whelming flood;
When all around my soul gives way,
He then is all my hope and stay.
(My hope is built on nothing less, by Edward Mote, 1837)
I hadn't been thinking about this old hymn, the new Noah movie, or any number of flood-related metaphors when I had a vivid dream the other night. "Whelming flood," a phrase I remembered from this old song, however, describes it quite well.
Being more realistic than it has a right to be, it was one of those dreams that will stick with me awhile, as my subconscious makes an attempt to give it meaning before it is safely filed away in my memory.
The dream begins with the promise of food and fellowship, and though I am only able to identify one friend around a long wooden table, the others who have gathered have kind faces. It feels like the type of dinner one has at the end of a retreat after laughter and tears accompany the stories told about our journeys through life. And with the emotional energy it takes for prayer and reflection, a hearty meal is a welcomed treat. Though I do not see or smell the food in the room, I am certain it is about to be offered to us. I await it in eager anticipation.
I find a place to sit at the end of a bench seat in this basement room, no doubt in a church, and revel in the idea of all being invited to the table, a concept I have considered often. And there we all are--all different yet all united within this common bond of love we have one for another.
As some talk quietly among themselves, an older woman sitting next to me asks if I am ready for my feet to get wet. She smiles with a knowing look as if I am supposed to know what she is talking about. I have no idea. Because we are in a basement room I suddenly notice a large storm drain a few inches from my feet and wonder if water will somehow back up and flood the floor. Surely we would not be made to endure something so uncomfortable in the midst of this grand occasion.
A woman, standing at the head of the table, about to give the blessing and instructions about proceeding with the meal, calmly tells us we should put our heads down, preferably under the table. I watch the others do this without question. I am beginning to feel more than a little unsettled. I hear a loud rumbling sound coming from outside the window. It is dark and the large window near the ceiling of this room reveals no more than our leader has. As I begin to sense that something other than dinner is about to be served, I can hear the glass breaking as a powerful wave of water rushes at us with an overwhelming force.
My last thought is, "Why hadn't someone told me what to expect?"
Funny thing about dreams is that they often have absolutely nothing to do with our reality. Never mind the elder retreat held in our church hall that I just attended; the dinner around a table with those I do not know well; the group exercise led by a woman who guided us through a process giving us only one piece of information at a time; my status as a newly ordained elder "getting my feet wet" as I am at times overwhelmed by the flood of information I am supposed to make immediate decisions on and not ever knowing what to expect at the next session meeting. Any semblance this dream may have to my real life is purely coincidental.
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