Good morning church family,
“Why is it,” Jeremy wondered to himself; stepping into the shower, “that I only seem to remember the frightening dreams?”
Jeremy had, moments earlier, woken with a start just minutes before his alarm was set to go off. He’d laid still in his bed, listening for sounds of trouble in the dark house; not yet sure what was real and what was imagined. But all had seemed well. The only thing he’d heard was the rumbling of the furnace firing to life in the basement and the whisper of his wife’s breathing as she lay beside him in bed. With covers drawn under his chin, Jeremy relived the dream that had just finished playing out in his subconscious. In the dream’s opening scene, he’d walked up to the front door of his house and found it ajar. His steps arrested by the unexpected sight; he was suddenly filled with dread. Stepping cautiously inside the house, Jeremy found the refrigerator, which for some reason was located just inside the door, wide open with its contents strewn about the living room. There were other signs of burglary and mayhem within his field of vision. Sensing that the vandal was still in the house, Jeremy halfheartedly shouted “Hey! Anyone here?” Immediately, a man wearing overalls and a straw hat strode casually into the room, moving debris aside with his foot. He carried an old Springfield rifle in his hand and looked like something out of a Depression-era migrant camp. “What’d you think was going to happen?” the vandal said to Jeremy before spitting tobacco juice on the carpet. “Didn’t you know I’d shim your back door and wait till you weren’t watching to have my way with your house?”
And that was it – the whole dream. The little nightmare only ran some thirty seconds but Jeremy was having a hard time getting it out of his head as he took his shower. Lathering up under the steamy hot water, Jeremy tried reflecting on the story, but given the disquieting nature of the thing, he opted to dwell on baseball instead.
The problem was, Jeremy would have very nearly the exact same dream about a week later. Working late at the office, he’d rushed home to find the kids all in bed, a plate of dinner in the microwave, and his wife in the shower. He’d covered the dinner and put it in the fridge; opting for a beer and a bag of chips instead. Coming out of the bathroom and finding Jeremy snacking and watching something with squealing tires and shooting guns, his wife had frowned and asked him to come to bed. “Let me decompress for a minute or two,” Jeremy had said, one eye on the blinking screen and the other peering inside the chip bag.
Next thing he knew, Jeremy was launching himself out of a fitful sleep and rising to a sitting position on the couch. His heart was racing and his hands were reflexively drawn into fists. The sound of the beer bottle falling over on the coffee table jogged his memory and set him back to reality. As he turned off the television and looked up at the clock on the wall, the image of the nefarious Okie in overalls holding the Springfield, flashed across his mind. The same short dream and the same eerie question: “What’d you think was going to happen?” played over and over again in his mind.
But weeks went by; allowing time’s crashing surf to smooth away the memory of the rerun nightmare. The nagging thought that the dream might perhaps have been more of a vision, omen, or warning had faded into the recesses; deadened in the pile-up of days. But then came the night in the hotel.
Jeremy had traveled to Las Vegas to attend a junket for company salesmen. The pretext for the trip was to gain familiarity with new product, become acquainted with the service personnel, and have an in-person Q&A session. But the whole thing was really a holiday; an expense account blowout for the company’s highest earners. The junket ended on Friday morning but Jeremy had booked his return flight for Saturday. “What’s the rush in getting back?” he’d reasoned to himself. “I owe it to myself to enjoy an extra night in Vegas.”
Jeremy wasn’t the best version of himself that Friday night. He wasn’t exactly unfaithful to his wife or anything and he was largely safe against charges someone might make that he’d violated the laws written in that leather-bound Bible he’d left back on his desk at work. But he wouldn’t have wanted his wife, kids, parents, pastor, or men’s group friends to have seen all that he’d done and said that night. In truth, he’d drank too much, flirted with the devil, and imagined himself Mr. Hyde most of the night. Tired and tipsy, he’d fallen asleep in his hotel while watching some trashy, titillating thing.
Waking up to a bright, blearing sun streaming into his room and the sound of housekeeping knocking on the door, Jeremy jumped out of bed and fumbled for his phone. “9:32” was the readout on the home screen. His flight was supposed to leave just after 11am. As he stood there, trying to get his bearings, he suddenly jumped. There in the corner stood the dusty old man with the Springfield smiling wryly at him and spitting tobacco. The awful dream came flooding back to him. Jeremy’s heart raced as, out from under the straw hat, came the awful words again: “Didn’t you know I’d shim your back door and wait till you weren’t watching to have my way with your house?”
Later that day, as he stared at himself in the tiny mirror in the airplane bathroom, Jeremy became settled in the conviction that the dream was from Heaven and that the prophecy was most assuredly an unfavorable one. As he tried to wash his face and freshen up from the night before, his head and heart began to sober to the sad state of things. He was in desperate need of change.
Arriving home a little after six that evening, Jeremy felt sheepish as he approached the front door. He wished he’d kept in better touch while he was away. He wished he hadn’t stayed the extra day in Las Vegas. He wished he hadn’t gone at all.
Walking in the front door, he looked around. Looking through the living room and into the dining room, he could see his wife clearing the table and carrying dishes to the sink. On the couch against the far wall, his eldest daughter was huddled under a blanket, the hood of her sweatshirt pulled over her head. Her face illuminated by the blue light of her tablet, Jeremy briefly caught her indifferent eye. His two boys were arguing and fighting about something as they stormed, heavy-footed up the stairs. “Hey, everyone,” Jeremy said; feigning a shout, “I’m home.”
The boys continued their climb unabated, his daughter turned further into the couch cushions, and with her back turned while facing the sink, his wife offered an unenthusiastic “Hey, honey.”
Standing there, the only one to greet him was the dusty, old vandal with the rifle. Spitting tobacco juice, the old man nodded derisively at the debris caused by Jeremy’s selfish neglect. “What did you think was going to happen?”
“Lord,” Jeremy whispered as he looked around, “help me. Help me secure my home.”
We’re looking forward to gathering together later this afternoon to worship the Lord and to commit ourselves again to Christ’s lordship in our lives and to be blessed by the loving reassurances of our Heavenly Father. Never forsake His invitations to grace and peace! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!
