Last night, a friend appeared in one of my dreams. In the dream, he told me he was hurting and he asked me to do something for him. It was so vivid and memorable, upon waking I immediately texted him to ask if he was ok.
The dream arrived at the end of a crappy week. Several times this week, awful decisions were made in the White House. From my view, the decisions would disrupt and endanger communities and values I care about. Each felt like a clear, urgent call to head to the cellar.
In my youth, the cellar was a long narrow windowless strip of concrete. In my parents’ rambler, the cellar was tucked further underground than any other section of the home. Each time the tornado siren sounded, my mother would shepherd myself and my other siblings. Without force, she’d keep us there until the storm passed.
At this age, I do not have a physical cellar. But, I do have practices I call on when in trouble. This week, I retreated to quiet, sitting at St. Paul’s Cathedral over lunch. I retreated to movement–walking outdoors and running on a treadmill. I retreated in silliness–designing an Elvis jumpsuit for a race in October. And, I retreated in distraction with Netflix and tequilla.
Each time I came out, another Trump update came in. I’d immediately start spinning out about all the people affected and then I’d go try something else. As I said, it was a crappy week.
You know what I didn’t try? I didn’t try writing. Not until this morning. Had a friend not shown up in a dream and said, “I need you to start writing”—I might not have tried it. Sitting here now, I feel less crazy and more capable than I have in days. And, I finally have something interesting to share in church which begins in 30 minutes.
Some days, I believe in the God of the old and new testaments. One who appeared before Moses, one who parted waters to free an enslaved people, one who calmed storms and fed thousands from scraps of breads and a few fish.
Other days, I believe in a God that unfurled all that is and will ever be from this tiny speck. A God that baked love into gravity and possibility into the very fabric of space.
On the darkest days–when my walls have shaken and all the cute framed ideas of God have fallen and shattered—one idea remains. Presence is working nonstop to reach me. I’ve felt it standing at low tide through the gaze of a sea lion. I’ve bathed in it under starry skies. I’ve been pierced by it as unexpected, kind words usher forth from strangers. Waking or dreaming, I’ve been lured by him more than once. (Being asked to do a thing to help another only to discover you’d be helping yourself—that’s good bait.)
I share all of this to say, take care.
When the sirens sound, find your cellar.
Your cellar may not feel sturdy or sound, but help is on its way.
These sirens will slow and stop. (All things slow and stop in time.)
We will tend to those who have been caught in the storm.
We might even build back something better.
I don’t have the blueprint today, but I trust it will come in our dreams.
