Dad's Dream

My dad had an upsetting dream while recovering from open heart surgery. By some stroke of a heavenly pen, poor Dad was required to go through the recovery process for multiple patients. His own arduous road to wellness would be multiplied by two, maybe three times. Every therapy session and each needle puncture would be doubled or tripled.

I'm sure he awoke in a cold sweat.

Thirty plus years later, while reflecting on Dad's nightmare, I believe this was his mind's way of playing out what was just too much for him. He undoubtedly felt unable to handle his own recovery, let alone anyone else's. Perhaps his subconscious was contemplating the idea of further surgeries and interventions down the line, the thought of which terrified his overtaxed mind. 

At times I feel something akin to what Dad's dream indicated he was going through. At the beginning of a grueling week or the outset of a major challenge, the mountain ahead appears insurmountable. The forward-thinking part of me overtakes the "keep your mind where your feet are" wisdom I've gained over the years. I want to tackle the whole thing and be done with it, instead of nibbling one bite at a time; I choke on the idea of gobbling up the whole problem, and rebel at the idea of taking even the smallest step to begin. A cycle of fear and panic grips my troubled heart, and if I don’t let God talk me down off the ledge, paralysis can overwhelm action.

Dad eschewed his dream and got on with the taxing business of recovery. He showed up at cardiac rehab and followed doctors’ orders. He let himself be weak until he gained a bit of strength, and endured the inevitable setbacks.

In short, he had good days and bad days.

What he didn’t have to do was recover for anyone besides himself.

That part of the dream was fallacious, and he knew it.

I’m sure he had moments when it all seemed like too much. When hiding at home seemed preferable to trying to make his uncooperative, post-stroke fingers button a shirt so he could go out and fight another day.

That’s right. Future recoveries did await him, as a post-operative stroke further limited his capabilities. But he continued putting one foot in front of the other, living out the truth of Matthew 6:34: “Therefore, do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about its own things. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

He didn’t have to fight all his battles at once, and neither do I.

What a relief.

                                                                       Dad and I, circa 2004. I miss him.