Last night I had a dream. It really could be classified as a nightmare though.
In the dream, there were many different tasks that I really needed to accomplish. The setting morphed and changed often, as did the task.
And it was awful. The setting would change, then I would proceed to help someone clean or talk or whatever normal life thing it was. Then, something awful would happen. Usually to someone else. And I was the only person around to help. You could say I was the one responsible to help them.
But suddenly, I couldn't properly move. It was a horrible feeling. It happened many times last night.
I woke up completely freaked by the dream and at first I couldn't remember much except that feeling of not being able to move. I tried to explain it to my very non-dramatic husband while my three year old climbed and jumped on my head (don't ask, he is so weird), which seriously impaired my ability to adequately explain the feelings involved in the dream.
"It was like every time I needed to do a critical task, I was being.... held down. Like.... water holding me down..." But I knew that wasn't really it. I struggled to pinpoint what had been wrong with me in the dream
It was a familiar feeling in the dream. It seemed to be something I recognized somewhere in my brain. What was it holding me down and keeping me from helping those who needed me?
What was it....
And suddenly I recognized what it was. I looked at my husband, who probably didn't feel my horror because of a well timed jump on my head by aforementioned three year old.
What had kept me back from moving as I ought was just plain exhaustion. I was too tired. Too sick.
It was a nightmare. Yes. But a nightmare sprung from memories.
The past few months I have been sick. Something that has to do with my intestines or digestion, and the symptoms leave me feeling completely wiped out for days. I sleep a lot as my body heals. I have a few days here and there where the pain is tolerable and I get various neglected tasks done around the house. I may just barely get my head "above water", and then the pain and exaustion pull me under again. My husband suffers, taking on his demanding day job, then coming home and doing most of mine. Nothing is below his notice. Dishes, done. Children put in pajamas and tucked into bed?- no problem. Vacuuming, sure. Laundry?- already folded. I could be mistaken but I am really believing I married Superman.
But that kind of single parenting would even get old to Superman. I hate seeing my husband suffer. I hate seeing my three children suffer. Right now-- for example-- it is 12:25 pm and it is a beautiful park type of day and guess what my kids are up to while I rest on my bed with my laptop in my lap? Well, they are playing on my treadmill in the office. I can hear them. Exciting. Summer appropriate.
The darn dream put fissures in my glass bubble I have around me protecting me from negative thoughts.
The bubble constructed from prayer, mostly. Scripture study, probably equally. But also many hours pondering what it means to trust God's will. All the precious confirmations about WHY we go through trials. WHAT I am supposed to learn. That God loves me and knows why I need to go through this. When I am properly surrounded by my bubble, I have peace.
Okay, there weren't just fissures put in my glass bubble. I went to my bedroom, closed the door. Then I went to my bathroom, and closed that door to. Then I fell to the floor and pretty much exploded it from the inside.
What is nice about the Savior though, is the way he is willing to reconstruct my bubble whenever I am ready to put in the work with Him again.
Right now, isn't that time. But I have all the memories of the how the bubble was made. They are hovering at the edge of my insanity today. You could call it hope. Yes, I have hope for my peace bubble. It will come again.
I am just sad for the day.