Open to Interpretation

Last night I had a bizarre dream. Someone had dropped off three alligators at my house, but they were only to be there for a day or so. For the most part, these were pretty tame alligators. At one point, the alligators were lying on towels along the living room wall, getting ready to go to sleep for the night. Then they started flinging turtles with their noses (not exactly sure when the turtles arrived). After that, they attacked the cat (who is no longer with us, sadly...although the cat held his own during the scrap in my dream)...so maybe the gators weren’t as tame as I’d initially surmised.

I remember going to some sort of a church service or prayer meeting after that – possibly several days later – and everyone was on bunk beds. As I walked in, the leader asked me to pray, which I did.

So...if you’ve any insight into my dreams, then dare to be a Daniel. Also, if you can figure out why a friend of mine once dreamed that I was swing dancing with Nancy Reagan, I’d be much obliged.

Every Girl’s Dream

Domino’s® changed their crust, sauce and cheese. And hopefully, your mind. Although it’s unclear what’s on Steph’s mind, a big part of me hopes the answer will come in the form of another billboard.

Is Eliphaz relevant today?

It’s funny. I never suspected I’d weave Eliphaz, Haiti, Twitter and mud wrestling into a coherent piece of writing. But I think I’ve succeeded.

Earlier in the week, I made a reference to the Old Testament’s Book of Job. What I couldn’t have foreseen was the relevance of that book to events that would unfold later in the week.

Job basically lost everything. In a nutshell, he lost most of his family and possessions in Round One, and he lost most of his health in Round Two.

The bulk of the story takes place in Round Three, and that’s when we meet Job’s buddies. Take Eliphaz, for example. He has a way with words and impeccable timing. Job’s children have just died. Job’s belongings have been pillaged. Job’s wife just mentioned that life isn’t worth living. And as Job is scraping the open sores on his body with a pottery shard, Eliphaz figures it’s as good a time as any to recount a dream he recently had. I wonder what went through Job’s mind as the words, “A spirit glided past my face, and the hair on my body stood on end” flowed from Eliphaz’s lips.

I am borrowing liberally from ideas set forth in Ravi Zacharias’s book, Cries of the Heart, in which the author addresses responses to suffering.

A few days removed from a devastating earthquake in Haiti, I read a theological position paper that I thought was fairly long on platitudes and short on compassion. For example, I had to sift through the entire paper, the author’s request for feedback on the paper and a plug for the author’s Twitter site before I finally reached links telling me how I could join the relief effort. The paper proposed answers to questions I wasn’t asking, questions I frankly hadn’t thought to ask. It fell far short of answering my most pressing question: How can I help?

I later gathered that the author wrote the paper in response to boneheaded comments someone made earlier in the week, and I better understood the reason for the paper. The best response I’ve seen to those comments is both helpful and funny – involves a Twitter exchange and mud wrestling to generate funds for relief efforts!

I’m sorry, Mrs. Reagan.

Last Wednesday, I had two separate conversations regarding people who did not, ahem, say no to crack. In each instance, I reminded the people involved that Nancy Reagan wanted them just to say no. I even had another bizarre dream, this time involving a plumber-like image that I’d just as soon have erased from my memory. Oddly enough, when I awoke and checked the headlines on Thursday morning, I discovered that Joe the Plumber had won the American presidential debate, and Nancy Reagan had fractured her pelvis. Were it not for my conversations earlier in the day, I might have thought I’d had a prophetic dream. It was eerie.

I know this sounds like a fantastic story, but this time it’s true. I hope Mrs. Reagan recovers quickly.

I Dreamed a Dream

As I was napping, I dreamed that I was on a journey. Along the way, I had to pass through an MRI-like tunnel that was part of the path. My feet got stuck as I was passing through the tunnel, because my feet were bigger than the opening to the tunnel. The conveyor belt underneath me kept trying to propel me through the tunnel, but I did not continue to be propelled. Then I woke up, and my arm was asleep.

Smells Like Christmas

My apartment smells like Christmas. My roommate made a weekend trip to the States for a wedding and returned earlier in the week with baking supplies. Our apartment is now an olfactory paradise. Perhaps tonight, when I retreat to Dreamland, sugarplums will dance through my head. Someone told me that our brains try to solve problems in our dreams. If someone can interpret my upcoming dancing sugarplum dream, I would greatly appreciate knowing what problem it’s intended to solve.

While we’re on the subject of food, I should mention that I learned about a new salsa move this evening. It’s called the “pancake”. While I don’t really yet know what it is, I got excited doble (for those of you who don’t hablo español, that’s Spanish for double excited) because the name of the move is in English, and because the name of the move involves food. Our instructor also translated the name of the move into French: crêpe.

Additionally, we learned a move called the matrix. Basically, for an entire eight-count, we pretend we’re Keanu Reeves, dodging bullets in slow-mo.

Happy Thirty-Eleventh!

I have been rebuked, and rightly so. My friend (whose picture I shall not link here) lovingly confronted me, telling me that I was wrong to implicate him as the anonymous commenter (the comment for which I shall not link here).

One of two situations is true:

• Situation A: It was him, but I broke his trust by revealing his identity when he desired to be anonymous.



• Situation B: It was not him, and I falsely accused him.

In either case, I was wrong. I’m sorry, friend. That’s no way for me to treat a pal, especially one who shared his thirty-eleventh birthday with me. Will you please forgive me?

Let’s think back to some happier times. Perhaps these pictures will help.

I wish you could have been there with me when you were thirty-eleven minus four, as I fulfilled a lifelong dream.

Dream Fulfilled

On our way home, we stopped in Egypt to do some sightseeing. We saw the Pyramids and even built our own! Also, we saw the mummified, petrified remains of Ramses II, whom some believe was the Pharaoh who refused to let the Israelites go. The debate continues about whether or not he was the one, but I think it was him. He looked like a hardened man.

(Some of you will laugh/groan sooner than others.)

I have instigated the building of many human pyramids. I cannot explain why I enjoy building pyramids; I just do. I can trace my pyramid-loving ways back to gym class in elementary school. Some of my favorite college memories are of building humungous fifteen or twenty-one person pyramids on the beach at Indiana Dunes State Park during spring retreats with friends.




















The above picture is a fulfillment of a lifelong dream. I got to build a human pyramid in front of the Great Pyramids at Giza. That moment could only have been cooler if there had been seventy-eight of us to build the 12-layer Great Human Pyramid at Giza. Or, better yet, we could have built three huge pyramids and six smaller ones to replicate the nine Great Pyramids at Giza in human form. Of course, that would have taken a small army.