The Nightmare

I fill my life with the inconsequential: the shopping specials at the grocery stores, the satisfaction of success when I discover the brand of pacifier that my baby likes, the tv show I'm looking forward to seeing this week. All of these things that are temporary and don't really matter at all.

Then I am startled awake by a nightmare of a devastating flood, stay in the hazy dream world and think of car accidents, avalanches, disasters where the strength of my will and love makes no difference to my ability to save my children from a horrifying death. I become scared to the core of my being at my own frailty, at my helplessness and lack of control.

I begin to pray, "Lord! Please don't let it be! Please protect me from this terror and agony, let me lead a boring life, don't call me to overcome a greatness too big for me to comprehend!" I'm desperate. Pleading. Not me. Not my family! Let us die peacefully in our sleep after a long and useful life. Boring useful. Not hardship useful. Please.

I know my prayer is weak and I hate myself for it. I know that around the world there are people who endure worse than my nightmares and fearful imaginings. I am ashamed. But I still pray for ease.

I get up and go to the bathroom, trying to cover my fear with activity. Eat a brownie leftover from last night's dessert. Check my children as they sleep, breath normal and bodies motionless except for the rise and fall of their small diaphragms. All is peaceful, sweet, boring & suburban.

The more I wake the farther the terror of my dream recedes. I remember God's promises (I will not give you more than you can handle); admonishments (Fear Not); encouragement (for I am with you always); nature (God is good). I am still praying for boredom, but the desperation is lessening.

Now is the analyzing. Do these dreams come as a preparation of my psyche for the worst? Leftover hormones? Tests of faith? Why do I so vividly imagine the worst or the worst for my life?

I don't know. I wish I did. Oh, how I wish I understood! But I don't.

Practicality sets in. The kids will be up in one hour. If I settle myself to sleep now it will make this afternoon much easier because I won't be drowsy and tired. Yes, I should sleep.

I lay back down. Listen to my husband's breathing. Close my eyes. Drift off, firmly directing my mind toward happier, inconsequential thoughts. Like Care Bears and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a to-do list for work.