Coulda been the heat, coulda been the food (lamb fries?--google it), coulda been the hotel bed...whatever it was, I was having night after night of weird and disturbing dreams, while on our recent rip to OKC.
Although, I cannot remember all the details of the death and dying dream, I can remember the highlights (or the low points, as it were). The jist of it was that it was (somehow) revealed to me that I was going to die--soon; not much time left.
On one hand, I was all, "Yay for me! Going to Heaven. Gonna meet Jesus!" and the other part of me was all, "Noooooooo!!!! I cannot leave my babies! I cannot leave before dd graduates...and marries...and has her own babies!!! I cannot leave my son. There's so much more I want to teach him and see him accomplish."
Panic. Wailing. Peace. Hyperventilating. Pulling it together. Making lists. Falling apart again. Sobbing. You get the idea.
Lather. Rinse Repeat.
It was gut-wrenching to experience and to watch myself experience (you know that weird dream phenomenon that has you both living it and simultaneously, watching yourself)?
So, anyway. All that to say, I was reminded of what Paul said in Philippians 1:21, "To live is Christ and to die is gain."
Sounds so easy the way he says it. So holy. pffft.
You know how Seinfeld snarls the word, "Newman"? That's how I feel about the Apostle Paul. He is simply not one of my favorites. Give me that ridiculous, blowhard St. Peter-guy any day. Love him.
At any rate, I hope when the time comes, I will be a bit more prepared and graceful and submitted and less snotty-nosed, ugly-face crying.
After all, who doesn't want their Papa to be proud of them?