Flying Dreams and Hannah Moments

I miss the flying dreams of my youth. When I was young I had great flying dreams. If I could climb on something a few feet off the ground, I could push off it, stretch my arms out and be soaring. If I saw something interesting, I had to evaluate if there was something I could use to take off from again before setting down to have a look. It was exhilarating! When I went to bed I always hoped I would have a flying dream.

As I got older the flying dreams became more difficult. I had to be able to jump up high enough to pull myself into a cannonball shape, arms tucked tightly around my knees. If I could do that before I began to fall, I would be encased in a clear bubble and I could stay aloft. I would be able to hover in that protection until it dissolved and then gravity would take over. I would fall to the ground softly most of the time. Sometimes I would crash land, falling into places that were scary and always far from home.

I don't have flying dreams any more. Why is that? Is it because I am old and fat? Is it because I have lost the ability to believe in dreams or in flying? Or is it hope that eludes me.

Today I am unbelievably sad and I want to fly away. I feel the heaviness of life in a fallen world. I am overwhelmed by the smallest things. I woke up feeling this way and had a dental appointment to get my teeth cleaned. Bad combination. There are several areas in my mouth that the doctor is watching. "You'll eventually need a new crown or just lose the tooth, but it's not an issue we need to deal with now." The idea that I have decay occurring under a crown creeps me out. Not enough that I said let's make an appointment and deal with it right now! Still, it feels like a betrayal. They hygienist must have sensed my emotions and said, "Rosemarie, you have great oral health. It's not that you don't take care of them, it's that God gave you bad teeth." If you'll pardon the pun that hit a nerve with me. I couldn't leave the office quickly enough so I could be alone and cry.

I read an excellent post here on Healing for the Holidays. Good as it is, it has stirred up a hornet's nest of emotion for me. I hate being emotional. In my last post I admitted to feeling strongly both ways about Christmas. I love it, it reminds me of my salvation. I hate it, it makes me sad. Part of my sadness stems from missing so many I love and have loved, which is always intensified during holidays. I wanted a normal family growing up, I want a normal family now. Kellemen's article encourages believers like me who stuff their emotions to give their sorrows words. I don't want to. I want to tuck myself into a tight cannonball and float away.

For me before the words can come the tears have to come. I need a Hannah moment before God.

Spiritual Aphasia aka Senseless Theology

I was recently asked why I read theology and follow theological debates. "It's all just words and opinions." Words. Words on a paper, words on a blog. Words that travel invisibly through our airwaves and our minds. What would our inner monologue consist of without words? Harsh words, gentle words, untrue words, and solid you-can-die-behind them words. They have secret lives in the depths of our souls. They overflow in torrents of grief and joy. They seep out of our character flaws, wearing down the weak convictions that hold them back until they contaminate all those around us. All of us are stained within and without by the raw sewage of unkind words. Our souls are in jeopardy for want of The Word. Jesus Christ. The Gospel. The Good News. Words matter. Doctrine matters. Theology Matters. What you win them with is what you win them to. I study theology because I was lost too long in a world that scrambles truth with its own ideas and preferences. I was fed a diet of tosse

Super Church a song for the Emergent-sy

In the early 70s I was in a youth choir at my church. Our youth pastor was a musician and his way of connecting with us as a group was through the choir and music. Somehow there was an affiliation between him and The Continental Singers, New Hope and Jeremiah People. He was worked with Moishe Rosen of Jews for Jesus too, I think. Are any of these names familiar to you? Though I remember the church fondly I was a profoundly lost and troubled young woman during my years there. That and time have muddled the memories quite a bit. Today I was digging through some old paperwork and one of the books to the musical we did. It's Getting Late For the Great Planet Earth, a folk rock oratorio by Cam Floria. Yes, that's right. Cam Floria put Hal Lindsey to music. There's a lot to laugh about and some to groan about but as I was looking through the songs and remembering, I found this little ditty and I only wish I could sing it for you. Just remember that this is circa 1972 and even th

What if.....

...what if I just need a place to let some words spill out? What if they spill out in bouquets of bright colors and pleasing scents but their frames are made of snakes and lies? Will you the reader be able to tell? Will it matter? When words smell like lilacs and honeysuckle do you care what lies beneath them? Perfumed syllables cover the stench of hope's decay. A violet or two will fool most surface dwellers, allowing them to pass by quickly and unaware. Is that what words are supposed to do? What if my aesthetics with words are similar to Morticia Addams' with flowers? What happens when luscious blooms are discarded? When the ragged silhouette of thorns is all that remains will you still see the beauty? Perhaps we'll find out.

rambling rosemarie

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