PLENTY OF TIME FOR SLEEPING

Pt. 1

I dreamed a dream last night

In my dream it seemed I was some sort of heavenly conductor, (or perhaps ‘dispatcher’ is a better word).

But it seemed to me that I stood behind a counter, or in a booth, and as I conducted my affairs, I looked over towards a corner of the room. And I noticed what appeared to be an eighty something year old man with white receding hair, and a five day old beard, and wearing a bedraggled pair of jeans, and a dirty t-shirt. And he was lying on the floor asleep.

And it occurred to me. This was none other than my father. I had seen him in these clothes before, (though perhaps not quite as threadbare), and the situation, in general, was familiar. For you see, ‘til he left us about a decade ago, I used to visit him often. And nine times out of ten, I found him in his living room by the lake, and “taking in a siesta” in his favorite easy chair.

And as I walked in, I would always exclaim,

“Wake up daddy! They’ll be plenty of time for sleeping!”

(And by this, I meant the “long sleep” which has been promised to all of earth’s creatures).

Well, with this bit of recurring guidance, he would stir a bit, open his groggy eyes, smile, and say something like,

“Now, why did you want to wake me out of the best sleep I ever had!”

Of course, I knew what I was hearing was less of a complaint, and more of a tease, and I could not help but laugh out loud.

Pt. 2

Speaking of the bedraggled clothing my father was wearing, as he lay in the corner of the heavenly depot…

A couple years ago, my sister forwarded a photo of my dad to me; one which I hadn’t seen before.

The picture depicts my dad at the age of 65 or 70; 15 to 20 years before our Lord called him home to Glory. When I asked her, Linda informed me that the photograph was snapped in Robbinsville, NC; along a river where my parents had purchased a cabin. It seems my dad was in the process of building a dock, though no structure, whatsoever, can be seen.

In the picture, Daddy is wearing the most bedraggled clothes I have ever seen him wear. His jeans are replete with holes, and stains, and his upper body is clothed in a dirty t-shirt. In spite of the condition of his clothing, my father appears to be staring directly into the camera lens, wearing a smile which might easily compete with the sun, and with one hand raised in greeting, (or farewell).

Interestingly enough, as recently as I came into possession of this unique picture, it has become my all-time favorite of my dad.

And I think I like it so much because it so well characterizes the journey we know as life and death.

I think the river represents the threshold between this life and the next. That both literal and proverbial river we call Jordan.

My father’s torn and dirty clothing speaks to the trials, troubles and turmoil of life, and the manner in which it inflicts pain and suffering on all of us.

Whereas, the exuberant smile, and raised hand is all about the conclusion of such momentary symptoms, the joy which awaits the redeemed, and that one final opportunity to bid a fond “fare thee well,” but not goodbye.

And if I could select one scripture to accompany the photo, I think I might affix the following caption:

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present life are not worthy to be compared to the glory which shall be revealed in us.” (Romans 8:18)



Afterward

And now, my dream continued…

And not unlike the recurring scenario which I have previously described for you, (but now replacing his personal title with his given name) I shouted,

“Henry, wake up! You’re next!”

And with this, my father stirred a bit from his slumber, opened his eyes, and looked expectedly towards me.

And now, I resumed my instructions.

“Get up from there. You see that door?” (And I pointed towards a closed door on the other side of the depot). It’s your time. And that’s your door.”

And with this, my father stood up, nodded, and made his way to the designated door. I watched him as he ambled over to the non-descript, white door, turned a final time, offered me that big ole toothy grin, grasped the handle, walked through the door, and closed it behind him.

by William McDonald, PhD. Copyright pending

If you would like to copy, share or save, please include the credit line, above