What could possibly be on the other side of this doorway that would cause such fury? Flames were jumping everywhere. The roaring sound was like a monster. Though, strangely the heat did not reach my side of the line drawn between. I strained to see who it was inside this angry storm, and that’s when shock set in. It was my dad.
Was he really causing this? This isn’t like him. The more I processed, the more I contemplated heading straight inside and demanding to know why he was so angry. Though realizing that I had never demanded anything from my own father before, and seeing a side of him that was also very foreign, I wondered how much worse the situation would become if I did exactly just that…demanded.
I definitely was afraid. I’ve always had a fear of fire. Here I was afraid to take a step, afraid to say anything, and part of me was afraid to continue to stand there straining to catch a glimpse of him amidst the leaping flames licking the walls and ceiling. How easy would it be to just run away? But it was my dad, and my confusion of that very fact compelled me to remain glued where my feet were; only a couple steps back from where they were in the beginning.
Gazing in awe at the strange site, my mouth never spoke, but inwardly I was saying, “I want to go in, but it looks so angry in there with the fire raging everywhere.” Apparently, there was someone else there with me that I didn’t see at first. She wasn’t standing next to me looking into the place where my dad was. She was standing to the right of the entrance facing back at me. She started to speak as if she could read my mind and was responding to my dilemma, or in the least she could read every expression on my face revealing my thoughts. It was my mom.
She looked so…happy…and so…giddy. In fact she looked like she was about to burst. It was like she just knew something, and it was so great that she was about to burst with laughter. I think seeing my mother like that in light of the situation took me even more off guard than seeing my father in such a place of rage. There were only a few phrases that she was able to get out in between giggles.
“It’s OK…(giggle giggle). Go on…(snicker snicker). You can go in…(hehehehe). No really, it’s OK….” Then of course there was that sound; the one where breath barely escapes a tightened throat making that nasally sound.
The way she held her stomach, tightened her legs together, and was slightly bent over while speaking and laughing made it look like she was about to pee her pants. I found her to be so comical, and though it’s in my nature to just crack up at bizarre humor, my confusion held back the impulse. Instead I pondered her words allowing them to filter through several arguments in my head before opening up my heart to receive them.
I felt my facial expression soften, and with raised eyebrows, I asked, “Really?”
“Oh sure,” was her immediate response to my question.
The second word was drawn out and her hands were waving in front of her in such a way that it was intended to convince me. Though, only for a moment, for her hands quickly went back to holding her gut. Letting go of it only for that second caused her to start coughing with what was about to become hysterical laughter. Yet she composed herself enough to continue once again with broken phrases all the while attempting to keep this wild party inside of her at bay.
“No, no, seriously…(hahahaha). It’s really OK…(giggle giggle). “Just go on in….”
Then she broke out into so many “hehehe’s” followed by several snorts, I thought she was going to collapse. But she managed to barely catch her breath and remain on her feet.
There was no question that she was entertaining to watch, and though I was tempted to question her behavior, I couldn’t deviate from the real concern, my dad. I wanted so badly to go to my father, but everything I perceived before me told me it’s too dangerous. I watched her a little bit longer allowing her joyful words to sink in deeper into my soul until finally I listened to my mother.
I shrugged my shoulders, said, “OK,” and took a step. At this point, I guess you could call it a step of faith or a few steps of faith; two to get me back to where I started, and one over the threshold, straight through the doorway, with my right foot planting firmly on the other side.
The flames immediately calmed down with that first step which gave me the added courage to waste no time in bringing the other over as well. As soon as that one hit the ground, the entire place was transformed. My dad was still there, but the atmosphere wasn’t angry at all. There was no frightening roaring sound. There were no smoking embers. Nothing charred; not even a burnt odor could be detected.
I wanted to look back at my mom to see if she was watching and maybe thank her for her strange yet truthful counsel. I mean I was just so amazed at what had just occurred. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t look back. I couldn’t take my eyes off of the place where I was.
The room was warm with a glowing fire in a fireplace, and elegant antique furniture was positioned perfectly around it. The place smelled sweet, though I couldn’t determine the aroma. The light was soft and inviting as the shadows of flickering candles danced gracefully on the walls that were already adorned with tasteful wallpaper and works of art.
There was also a beautifully set dining room table where he was sitting. He was looking over paperwork. Doing some bookwork maybe? But he wasn’t anxiously looking through and scribbling notes like an annoyed man irritated with his burdensome job. He looked pleasant, softly smiling while moving his finger down a page until it reached the place he was looking for, and confidently making a note where his finger touched.
Then he looked up at me and motioned for me to sit in the seat next to his. All this time, I had been slowly walking in the direction of where he was sitting while admiring everything around me which simultaneously spoke the word, “Love”. So, by the time, he finished his business and made eye contact with me, I was already standing at the seat he pointed to. I sat down, and we began to talk.
Then I woke up.
The more I thought about my dream, the more everything made complete sense. But instead of filling up space with my personal thoughts and analysis, I’d prefer to allow you, the reader, to let it speak to your heart exactly the way God wants it to.
Amie Spruiell 2/27/15