It's Puzzling
By Deb Moken 

I’ve been an orphan for nearly a month now.  Finally started sleeping through the night last week.  To say Dad or his memory haunted my dreams would not be accurate.  No, it wasn’t that, not that I’m an expert on the subject of hauntings and the haunted -  necromancy is not a thing I care to participate in - but to say my Dad dominated every non-waking hour for over 2 weeks would be fairly accurate.  

 Dreams don’t usually accompany my sleep, at least not that I am consciously aware of.  This was an unforeseen, inescapable, mysterious turn of events.  Nothing frightening or sad.  Nothing that could qualify as a memory or a regret… just innumerable particles of what, I knew instinctively, were connected to my dad. Somehow. Someway.

 I’m throwing this into print because:

a) it helps clarify the cacophony running amuck behind my eyes and between my ears, and

b) I’m curious to know if anyone else has had a similar experience.

 The dreams felt like being under a waterfall of puzzle pieces, too many to comprehend, let alone number.  Countless pieces each unique in shape and size.  I’d wake up several times a night feeling perplexed and overwhelmed; and in the morning, exhausted.

 I needed wisdom.  Thankfully, there’s an open invitation for just such a request.

 “Help me Lord.  I’m not ‘getting’ it.  What are these incessant dreams trying to communicate?”

 And just like that - the understanding began to penetrate.

 If an idea (i.e. dream) is, in fact, God breathed, and a human takes action to see it realized, does it not seem logical that the dream might possibly remain when the human departs?

 Those fragmented particles weren’t mine, but Dad’s dream(s).  I suspect the fragmentation represent the fractured incapability his mind struggled with the past 15 years or so. But maybe not.  Perhaps all Heavenly inspired enterprises fall back on the Earth like glitter or confetti at a ticker-tape parade.

   Regardless, what I came to realize is that, although he is no longer here, a person’s dream might, quite possibly remain.  

 Seems plausible.

 When Elisha asked his mentor, Elijah, to bequeath him God’s prophetic mantle, Elijah knew he didn’t have the authority to do so, but told Elisha if he should happen to witness Elijah’s exit from this life that would confirm the prophetic ministry had been entrusted to him.   

 I don’t know what Dad’s dream(s) entailed.  I do know he set out to build a farm that would sustain his family, and do so honestly and within his means, not use others as stepping stones to ascend a mountain of public approval or recognition.  

 When that information finished downloading into my heart and mind, I asked the Lord to relay a message to Dad.  

 “Jesus, please tell Dad that his life mattered.  That his dream will, in some form, carry on.  I cannot say what it will look like when those who pick up the pieces begin to reassemble them, but knowing his family, we will attempt to do so in a way that honors and adds to his legacy while attempting to build our own.”

 That night, and every night since, I’ve slept in peace.  I believe the message was relayed.