I have always been one who dreams a little oddly. Hollywood and the movie industry has nothing on me. My dreams are vivid, in full-color, loaded with sounds and special effects, and they should probably be viewed by the Motion Picture Association of America in order to be slapped with a rating.

Hubs, on the complete opposite hand, doesn’t dream. He always swears that he goes to bed in order to sleep and rest, and not to be entertained by the psychedelic weirdness I envision almost nightly. He tells me that my dreams would absolutely wear him out, if he had to endure them in the first person.

Two nights ago, I woke up in the pre-dawn hours after having yet another movie-like, theater-quality experience. I was only missing the bag of butter with a few pieces of popcorn floating in it.

I dreamed that I had been standing in line at the post office for hours. I was restless in the line, I was agitated, I was frustrated. I had two letters to mail, and the line hadn’t moved all day, but I continued to stand there. And then, suddenly, Hubs was there beside me. He hadn’t endured the long wait with me at all; he had just shown up miraculously. He asked me how long I’d been waiting, and I said, “All day. I just need to mail these two letters, but I can’t get up to the counter to give them to the postal clerk, because this line won’t move.” Hubs craned his neck, and then he said, “Mama, there’s a drop-box right there, just two people up in line, for folks to just walk up and drop things into, if they just need to mail something, and you don’t actually need to see the clerk.” I remember feeling so relieved in my dream, and I said, “Excuse me” to a couple of people, as I walked in front of them, and started to deposit my letters into the out-going mailbox. At this point, one lady in line looked at me and shouted out, “You’re putting those into the wrong mailbox! If you put them into this mailbox, then the proceeds from the stamps go to help our American troops!” Always one to cheer for our soldiers, I immediately dropped the envelopes into the correct mailbox, and I left the post office, wondering why I’d bothered to stand in line all day, when I hadn’t needed to, and relieved that Hubs had shown up and told me about the very accessible mailboxes. Clearly, Hubs is a great guy.

As I left the post office and walked out onto the sidewalk, Hubs and I came across three full-sized sofas in this dream, which Hubs informed me he’d purchased, and we needed to take them home. (Don’t ask me why we needed three new sofas, and don’t ask me where I intended to put them! My decorating scheme doesn’t call for any extra sofas at the moment.) I agreed to help him, and I amazingly enough picked up the ends of two sofas at one time. I had the end of one sofa under my right arm, squeezed against my right side, and the end of the other sofa under my left arm, also squeezed against my side, and I started walking. (I must’ve missed the dream entirely where I spent a full year in the gym with Jillian Michaels hounding me, sweating and developing my biceps and training for this manual sofa-hauling event.) At any rate, I walked and I walked, lugging these two sofas behind me, and then I noticed that Hubs was gone. G-O-N-E, gone. He was nowhere in sight, but then his mother was there with me, and she was lugging the third sofa along the sidewalks. The day was hot, we were both sweating buckets, and the sidewalk was full of bumps, so that the ends of the sofas (which were simply dragging on the ground) kept catching, so that we kept dropping them. But my mother-in-law and I were persistent in our endeavor, and we kept plodding along, hauling these sofas.

Eventually, Hubs showed up with a big pick-up truck, which he pulled over to the side of the street near us. I asked him where he’d been all this time, and why he had made his mother haul his sofa for him. I was very upset in my dream that he’d left us, while his mother had been working so hard.

Hubs said, “I went to get a truck to put the sofas into, so that we could just drive them home. We didn’t need to carry them.”

Hubs and his mother loaded the sofa that she had been hauling into the back of the truck, but I insisted that I was fine, and that I’d just continue to drag the other two sofas home.

And then I woke up.

When I told the dream to Hubs, he listened intently, and then he said, “You know what’s so amazing about that dream? Even though it’s YOUR dream, I was still the one who did all the problem solving. And you were the one who kept walking along, carrying your burdens, when there was a really good place to put the heavy weights you were lugging around.”

I think a fellow named Jesus might have said something quite similar to that once. Or twice. Or a hundred and forty-seven times. And maybe it’s high time I listened to Him about leaving my burdens behind.

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