Monday, March 2, 2015

I’ve never been someone who believed in fairy tales.  Sure the stories about Snow White and Cinderella are great, but they aren’t based on reality.  But I do believe in super heroes.  Not the ones who wear capes and masks.  I’m talking about the regular, everyday people who change the world simply by who they are.

My super hero was my grandfather, Papa.  Papa had this amazing gift of inviting me to live into my belovedness.  When I was with him, whether we were swinging at the park, feeding ducks, or just driving around, I knew that I was the most important person in his world.  He marveled at everything I did or said as if I was the first little girl he had ever met.  It was a love so deep and powerful that I couldn’t imagine life without it.

When Papa died, a piece of me died.  For years I had terrifying dreams that Papa was still alive.  In the dreams no one believed me when I kept yelling “He’s dead!  He’s dead!”  Afterwards I would wake up furious and confused.  Why was Papa tormenting me in this way?

A few years back when I told a mentor about these dreams I was shocked by his response.  He asked me, “What if your Papa misses you?  What if, this is how Papa can visit you?”  This “aha” moment was like the initial blindness you get from a sudden overly bright light.  Eventually my sight was restored and I began to understand that death isn’t the end of a relationship.  It’s the end of a person’s life, but the relationship continues.

Papa visits my dreams every month.

For I am convinced that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor rulers, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Romans 8:38-39

— Rev. Sarah