I had a dream about Dad the other night. I have had several dreams since he died in which he is part of the dream but does not speak. This dream was different, however. He was the main character in the dream, and not only was he present but for the first time, he spoke.
We (the family) were all in some sort of meeting room - perhaps a Sunday School room or small fellowship hall of some sort. Dad was younger - his hair was thick and black and styled as it was when he was a teenager and young college student. He was trim, healthy, and he looked rested and well. His demeanor was calm and, though not reserved, not the gregarious and outgoing presence that he often had in public situations. He was fully at ease in the situation, fully relaxed, and fully present. This was the first time any of us had seen Dad since his passing in October. He visited with various family members in quiet tones as Mom and I observed from across the room. Mom said, "Kerry, I need to give your dad some Tylenol or Advil, or something for his elbow. Can you see how it is swelling?" I said, "Mom, look at him. There is nothing wrong with him - he is not in pain, he is not swollen, there aren't even any wrinkles on his skin. He has no need of any medicine anymore."
As dreams go, I found myself in another room listening to Dad visit with some of the family members and it occurred to me that I could ask him some questions that had been rolling around in my mind since his departure. So, I came back into the large room and said, "Dad - who was the first person you saw when you got to Heaven? Was it Aunt Naomi?" (His baby sister who died when he only 6 years old). He said, "No. I have not seen her yet. I was greeted by two men..." and he named the names of some high school classmates who I had never heard of before. I asked him if he was surprised that they were the first to greet him and he said that yes, he was, but that he was very happy to see them.
A few minutes later, I worked up my courage to ask him the most burning question in my mind: "Dad, was it scary? The journey, that is...was it hard?" One of the the things Dad had repeatedly said during his last year of life was, "I am not scared to die; I am only scared of the process of dying." I wanted - yes, needed - to know how that process was for him and if he had felt safe through it. So, "Dad, was it scary?"
He looked up at me, with his kind eyes - that look that always penetrated into my soul - the one that said, "I understand not only what you are saying, but how you must feel." And he said, "That's not the important part now."
That was all. He didn't say anything else, just that one sentence. In the next dream scene, the family was standing at a large window watching a train pull away. I heard myself whisper, "Bye, Dad...see you soon." And then I woke up.
I don't know how you think about death, and what will come for each of us in that moment. But, I often wonder what it will feel like to make the final journey home. Over the last year and a half I have had the privilege of walking with my dad as he adjusted to his own impending final journey. I don't know everything he thought about; I don't know if he lay awake at night imagining what it would be like. What I do know is this: he was confident in his faith and in his end destination. During his last visit with his doctor he asked, "Are we getting to the end, Dr.?" "Getting there...getting closer..." the doctor replied. "I'm not scared of dying...I know where I'm going." "That's good! It's that hope that we cling to," the doctor said. "Listen," dad said. "If I cannot believe it now, then everything I have ever proclaimed to be true in the last 50 years is a lie. I am not afraid of dying; I am only scared of the process...mostly because I don't want to see my family hurting. My gain will be their loss, and I hate to see their pain."
The days after my dream have been a time of reflection for me. I have pondered Dad's words: "That's not the important part now." I don't know if our loved ones in Heaven can see our lives here. Part of me thinks that they must have limited awareness or else the writer of Hebrews wouldn't refer to them as our "cloud of witnesses" who are watching us run the earthly race. If Dad has been able to observe us over the last three months, perhaps he has wanted us to know this: that whether the journey was scary or not is not important, because the end result is worth any discomfort in getting to that result. Maybe Dad wants me to know that his perspective has changed; maybe he wants to help my perspective to change.
Dad loved to preach about heaven. He loved to talk about spending time with Jesus in the place He is preparing for us. He would quote passages like, "I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us," (Romans 8:18), and "For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all" (2 Corinthians 4:17).
And how he would sing about heaven! "When we all get to heaven, what a day of rejoicing that will be...when we all see Jesus, we'll sing and shout the victory!" The smile on his face as he sang was proof that he deeply believed heaven was worth the wait.
As I have reflected on my dream, and Dad's admonition to me, I have been reminded of the song he often sang,
It will be worth it all, when we see Jesus;
Life's trials will seem so small, when we see Christ.
One glimpse of His dear face,
All sorrow will erase;
So bravely run the race, 'til we see Christ!
In my dream, Dad was telling me, "Don't focus on the journey. It's not the important part. The destination is your prize. It is worth any of the pain you may experience in order to get there. It will be worth it all when you arrive in heaven, when you see Jesus." Dad seemed to know that I needed that assurance. He seemed to know that my mind and heart have been swirling since he left, wishing I knew how his journey finished. He seemed to know that my faith needed a boost.
Maybe, just maybe...my dream was more than a dream...maybe it was Dad being Dad...reminding me once again that this life is only preparation for heaven. And what I struggle with now is nothing compared to the glory that is to come. Maybe Dad is running along beside me, saying, "bravely run the race...I promise you it will be worth it!"
Wherefore, seeing we also are compassed about with so great a cloud of witnesses, let us lay aside every weight, and the sin which doth so easily beset us, and let us run with patience the race that is set before us, looking unto Jesus - the author and finisher of our faith; who for the joy that was set before Him, endured the cross, despising the shame, and is set down at the right hand of the throne of God." Hebrews 12:1-2
