Dream of: 21 June 1994 "Although We Have Sinned"
While my father and other people were with me in the Gallia County Farmhouse, my father became angry at me about something. Since I wanted to escape from him, when no one was looking, I slipped out one of the doors and headed up over the hill beside the House, toward the old tobacco barn. It was a bit nippy outside, and since I was only wearing a sweater, I wondered whether I should go back for a coat. I quickly concluded that the exertion of the climb up the hill would soon warm me, eliminating any need for a coat.
Treading rapidly up the hill, I soon found myself walking along an unfamiliar, wooded, hilly area of the Farm. Another man (whom I slowly recognized as my old high school classmate and friend, Anderson) joined me and began walking with me. Anderson (wearing a heavy brown hunting jacket) was probably in his mid 30s and seemed in good shape. He and I were both carrying rifles.
Our path soon led back down the hill to the banks of Symmes Creek, to a section of the creek which I didn't recall having ever seen before. As we plodded along the slippery bank, I slipped and fell on my butt in a puddle of water on the edge of the creek. I quickly righted myself, alarmed at how close I had come to falling into the deep water of the creek. Stunned by the danger, I didn't object when Anderson relieved me of my rifle. As he walked ahead of me, carrying both rifles, I followed, picking my steps more carefully.
My eyes glued to Anderson, I watched as he reached a spot where the path seemed to disappear. Undaunted, Anderson waded straight into the creek, holding the two rifles horizontally over his head to keep them dry. Amazed by Anderson's actions, I was concerned for him, especially since the creek water was freezing. Suddenly, with a splash, Anderson completely sank beneath the surface of the water. Aghast, I waited for him to surface, trying to imagine how he was going to swim while holding the rifles, especially since he was wearing his heavy clothing. I could detect some turbulence just below the surface of the water where I thought Anderson should be, but I couldn't see Anderson anywhere.
As I edged along the narrow muddy path beside the creek, still looking for Anderson, I slowly realized I was pushing a wheelchair in front of me, and that my brother Chris (14-15 years old and crippled with muscular dystrophy) was sitting in the wheelchair. Suddenly I almost lost control of the wheelchair and almost let it slip into the creek. Only when I saw the frightened look on Chris's face did I realize how scared he was. I pulled the wheelchair around parallel to the creek until the wheels sunk about two centimeters into the mud and wouldn't move. However, even though the wheelchair seemed immobile, both Chris and I were still frightened that the wheelchair might slide into the muddy creek. As we continued scanning the water's surface for some sign of Anderson, slowly realizing he must have drowned, our fears increased, and the seriousness of our situation became more acute. We seemed trapped. I thought eventually someone would come to look for us, but I feared we couldn't hold out that long.
I turned to Chris, who was increasingly distraught, almost ready to cry, if not already crying, and I said, "Let's pray."
I rarely prayed. In fact I had little idea of how to go about it. But I thought now was the time. I spoke aloud to God, calling God "Lord", beseeching God to help us. "Although we have sinned ..." I repeated several times. My prayer was rather formulaic with two reiterated themes. I begged for help, and asked forgiveness for admitted sins. Over and over I repeated the same themes in a mechanistic manner, frightened by my predicament, yet uncertain how to invoke help from God.
As I prayed, I looked toward the high bank on the other side of the creek and noticed two large round wall clocks hanging there. Both clocks were muddy and barely visible. I had a dim memory of someone having once taken a rifle and having tried to shoot one of those clocks. The memory was vague, however, and I couldn't place it well.
Dream Epics Home Page
Copyright 2003 by firstname.lastname@example.org