Sunday Morning

So I woke up Sunday morning to discover my Dad ruffling through papers and books, asking me if I'd read the morning's paper. As I had just woke up, obviously I hadn't. I reach for the Toronto Star, and discover a headline, something that I don't remember, but it basically meant the time of trouble was starting now, and we needed to be gone by Monday (tomorrow).

Dad said he was going to make a court case regarding his writings. I wondered what they could possibly charge him on his writings about, then realized that any conservative Adventist could easily be charged with hate literature against Catholics. Basically, instead of running, he was purposely going to get himself martyred.

For whatever reason, I was completely disturbed by this whole thing. What about my future? What about doing something great for God? What about my career? Was I even ready?

I woke up for an hour or so, then returned to sleep. I then found myself at the computer in the records office at academy. I was looking up on the internet about this developing story. When I was finished, I asked the records office workers what they made of the story, and they said "Oh, it happened in Iran. This is nothing; we still have time." I replied that I read this morning that it happened in Canada, to which they answered "where?" I said "the Star," and they answered "they're usually a good paper. How could they make a mistake like that?"

I left the office and walked down the hall. Outside I saw a car drive by a giant Twix bar on the ground; and another chocolate bar was on top of it, both on their sides and still wrapped.

I met the band director, who asked me about the Oboe he had lent me, asking when I intended to bring it back. I replied there are two options. One was for me to hold on to it until he finds someone who needed it. He interjected "I can tell you already it will be number one." I said the second option was for me to get it right now and bring it back.

He asked if the alcohol pump was still in the case. I said I didn't remember any alcohol pump, but that I had taken it for repairs, and the repair guy said there was an alcohol crack in the instrument (implying that air/water couldn't get through, just alcohol), and that he had repaired it. The director seemed pleased.

Then I woke up. Sadly, this dream doesn't seem to have the same realism or logic as the last dream; but it seemed so much more real--especially because I was going to wake up on Sunday morning, and the dream had me waking up Sunday morning.


"In that day, he which shall be upon the housetop, and his stuff in the house, let him not come down to take it away: and he that is in the field, let him likewise not return back." (Jesus)