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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required *** In the Dream Foretold *** A Devotion Series Poem I am getting over paralysis from nerves twisted along my spine. The agonies are passing, but not gone, so I am standing, leaning over the kitchen sink; with great effort I lean, wrapped in old towels while Jim works to dye the gray out of my hair. He does not lie, this husband of mine. He says he does not mind my gray, but I do. So, he has read the instructions, mixed the sollutions, set alarms for timing the stages of the process, put on gloves, and has worked the chocolate-brown dye into my wet hair. I must sit, then, for 20 minutes, waiting for the color to set in. I say, “My physical therapy sessions go faster than this.” Jim says,”Shall I tell you a story while you wait?” To that, I agree, having no idea of what’s coming. But then, he began in a light-hearted tone, “There once was a little boy named Jim…” (I think, “Goodness! What’s coming? He doesn’t invent things about himself.”) “One night, he had a dream. In it a Rolls Royce pulled up in front of the house. It parked and a door opened. Out came the most beautiful girl in the world.” I started to cry, sitting, waiting there by the sink, in my wheelchair, with my dyed, wet hair making me feel colder as each moment passed. He paused, possibly waiting for my reaction, but I could not speak, for I knew my voice would tell of the tears my eyes were holding for this beloved man filling my heart, and whom I knew was incapable of lying; who had told me about this same dream soon after we’d met, 41 years before — and who was describing with the very same words, with the same images, in the same delighted tone the story of the dream from his childhood, which had become Our Dream — His childhood dream he had claimed for me — to be about me…about us — God’s pre-destined match of love foretold to a little boy in a dream tailored unforgettably to bear its charged attraction indelibly; to be recalled for decades on into the future. Childhood’s dream for the boy, Jim, which he concludes by saying, “I tried all the time to have the dream again, wishing for it to go on…” The boy’s dream, being retold to me as it had been, often enough that I, too, saw it in my mind’s eye. Now, by the sink, 4 decades after first hearing it, and now bringing tears hot to my eyes for this… This was the way the man had — telling of the boy’s dream — to tell me that he saw me as that most beautiful girl who’d captured his heart upon sight in that childhood’s dream — the girl he’d hoped to find and against whom, during the many years of his youth’s journey, all his prospective lovers had been measured — including me… Now, as Jim brushes my hair, chocolate dark again, and my tears have gone, fallen away in the trust of a reality of knowing our hearts’ very sought and found love for each other reigns, able to keep dreams alive. ——————————————————————————————————————————- (c) sally young eslinger 6/8/23 prose poem Thanks be to God…
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