I woke up several times during the night last night. Really didn't sleep well at all. Which isn't unusual for me. Sleep and I...we aren't usually the best of friends. But we try hard damn it.
Anyway what made last night unusual...and I blame my mother for this...is that every single time I awoke and would fall back asleep I would fall into the same dream. Which typically only happens when having a nightmare, not a decent dream. And I say decent because...I can't tell if I think it's good or bad. I can certainly say some parts were excellent (Joel McHale with anointing oil...we'll get there don't worry) and some parts were terrible (being lost by myself in Chicago...I think anyway). The weirdest thing was HOW MANY PEOPLE there were in my dream. People I haven't thought about since elementary school. And people I thought about right before bed. So bear with me...this is going to get really random...but so do I.
The dream started off as a trip (class trip maybe?) to what I think was Chicago because I remember telling my friends (who were high school/college/and old work friends) that we had to go find this one restaurant I had been to with my parents when I was like 14. So obviously I was older in the dream. Anyway. We get there...and I'm looking at all these skyscrapers wandering around...and suddenly I'm in an alley alone, lost, and crying (stupid watching SVU before bed). Anyway I hear noises and start screaming "NO I'm not ready" over and over. Which, retrospectively was actually a very honest scream for what was about to take place...but I think I was screaming because I thought I was going to be murdered.
Then my family (dad, mom, sis, bro) are standing with me telling me we're late. For what? I don't know. Mom throws a robe (as in preaching vestment) at me and tells me to put it on. It's weird how similar it is to a ballet costume...even though it is clearly a robe (Black Swan flashback?). I rush to put it on and as I slip my head out of the top...we're in a gorgeous old church. It's reminiscent of the first church my mother worked at in Pennsylvania...and like the one I preached at in India. White. Huge windows. Stained glass. Maroon carpeting (okay the Indian church had no carpets...but it still looked similar). Deep wood pews. Anyway...we take a seat near the top and Mom starts putting on a robe as well. Dad's now in a suit and Caitlyn starts crying. Zach holds her hand.
The next thing I know I'm being led down the stairs by Mom. The stairs are steep and unending and somehow I've managed to put ridiculously high heels on...but I gracefully get down the stairs (I woke up crying because I thought I would fall thus it's important to note I did not). As we reach the altar, Mom walks to one side of it and a short, bald man hands me a bulletin telling me he will now begin my ordination service.
WHAT?
Random shit. It gets so much more bizarre though. The service is...unimportant as I have no part in it. But we get to the laying on of hands...which I in reality I always cry during. It's such a beautiful tradition. Anyway...we're at that point in the service and there must be 45 people or so surrounding me. Through them all walks Joel McHale telling me that since I'm not traditional we're going to use a new method before the actual laying on of hands. And he lifts the robe gently from my back and anoints me with oil...by signing HIS name. I think this part of the dream was just purely for me...thoroughly enjoyable...but highly odd (an oil autograph? I am so odd). Back to more important issues...so the laying on of hands is done...I'm ordained and it's then that I see how many people have come to Chicago (?) to watch me as I begin life as an ordained minister.
And I wake up crying again...only they're happy tears. I'm truly touched by the faces I saw in my dreams. Some are deceased in actuality. Some are very much with me. And some I never expected to support me...but I am touched nonetheless.
So here's why I'm confused...besides the host of The Soup rubbing oil on my back at an altar...is this dream me telling myself how important I really think going back to school is? And beyond that, how much ordination means to me? Even when I was in school I wasn't sure that I wanted to be ordained.
I know that the simple answer is yes...but...there are so many things about the dream that just don't make sense to me. I left school 3 years ago this spring. My class has since graduated and have had wonderful callings into ministry, ordained and those who are not ordained.
In 3 years I...ended a relationship. Worked in a dental office. Moved to Iowa. Worked at a nursing home. And I've finally found my way back to church. That's the thing about a calling...you can run, but you can never hide. Be it God, fate, destiny, Ganga (goddess of the Ganges), or some other higher power...if you're called to do something...eventually you end up doing it. In some form or another, whether you're aware that you're even doing it or not.
I set up...I feel truly proud of my work.
It's not about the degree so much. I don't think it's about the title, either. And trust me...I've ALWAYS wanted the title more than the paper that says I've graduated. Or the education behind the title. I've always been a status person. Until I was forced at 25 to move back in with my parents because I couldn't afford gas for my car let alone food...and my ex boyfriend just kept shoving any money I made up his nose.
3 years seems like no time at all. And a lifetime. I think...that for today my nice thing will be to sit with the confusion and emotions that this dream stirred in me. Including the emotions related to Joel McHale (I mean what woman doesn't want a gorgeous, hilarious, smart man rubbing oil on her back?). And as I do...I'll contemplate what I really want. And when. And I'll stare at a nice thing I did for myself yesterday:
A little color to brighten my...already pink office. I arranged them myself. Gorgeous.
