More like a nightmare
On the 36th year of Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I found me telling myself several times that it was unnecessary to check the mailbox. The day is a holiday in the USA and I was just a freshman in high school when President Reagan signed the declaration day. Not sure that very many people remember the man that “had a dream.” But finding a purpose for the day itself has been somewhat of a struggle lately.
Asking whether I have a dream is much to large of a concept when the days drag by in silence and the hum of washing machine or dryer. It finally mattered to me that this little creature lets her motor purr next to me. It seemed to relieve my anxiety for the day. Since the dog was doing nothing but add to my frustration. She has decided to find mud on these below zero days and track it through the house. Really? How is she finding mud when it is solid ice out there.
This past week my “lost” mind could not be found. Another book, another netflix television series, another How-do-you-do-that on youtube and I still feel like January has a very firm grip on my creativity.
I found a new hat pattern to try. My crochet project that is commissioned keeps calling me back. I just don’t want to do something that I have to do.
Where are you ambition?
Did you fly south with the geese last fall?
In the UK today is national “Blue” day. I would have to agree. But mine was probably last Thursday. My attempt to send Autumn out to live with the other cats put me in a literal tail spin of guild and downcast spirit. How could I do such a thing and have no empathy, compassion or whatever that feeling is for the poor little being.
Last night in the night, well, I had my own dream.
And it was not anything like MLK Jr’s dream. It was more like a nightmare.
Do you remember back in Sunday School when your teacher read to you the story of Ballaak and the talking donkey? Well, in my dream the dog and the cats and the horse could all talk. And they were telling God what kind of treatment that I had given them. The guild and shame seemed to pile on until I felt like I was standing in the dung heap.
Nut much for a dream.
I am not a prophet on my way to anywhere special. Neither am I some called messenger of God with sermons, stories, or special words that would bring someone to reconciliation. In this case, I feel more like Jonah on the way to Tarshish. My hopes that the cat would simply blend into the world that all the other cats live in was highly mistaken. I am not sure Autumn will forgive me any time too soon.
Yet the above picture seems to prove me wrong. She took less than an hour to find her place by me while I crocheted.
So todays lesson is all for me.
Proverbs 12:10 says the righteous regard the life of their animals with compassion, but the wicked are always cruel. While my actions were probably not cruel, it felt like it to me. I never though of myself as a wicked person. But my nightmare sure held some proverbial footage, and I am sure glad there is no replay on that one.