I've been called a lot of things throughout my life, and most of them I have deserved. The one thing I'm uncomfortable being called, however, is psychic.
As a young woman, I can remember having coffee with my dad at the Caribou next to my family's jewelry store. We'd be munching on muffins and sipping coffee, chatting about our day, discussing our friends and acquaintances just to end the conversation to have whomever we'd been speaking about walk through the door.
"How weird is that? We were just talking about him," my dad would say, in disbelief.
"I know," I'd counter. "But, so typical of us."
Since I've been a little girl, it was clear my dad had an intuitive connection. As I grew older, it became evident I inherited it. While neither of us has honed it, or can control it, we often speak, dream, and think in advance.
My dreams, specifically, are a nuisance. I dream about rainbows, and the next day it rains unexpectedly while it's sunny outside. I slumber and see wildlife, and the next day a bear crosses the road in front of me. I dream of someone wearing a George W. Bush mask, and the next morning, W. is quoted on "The Today Show." I have a dream my ears hurt, and the next day, Silas gets an ear infection. I saw detailed aspects of the house in which I currently live in my dreams. I drive roads before I've driven them, and walk staircases before I've known they exist. It's things like that, and they never end.
I also talk to a lot of dead people in my dreams. I don't think this is all too unusual, as I'm usually speaking to people I've had a close connection with. Two days after my friend Tammie passed away, and while in the midst of contemplating what to say in her eulogy, I dreamt she showed up at my front door. I opened the door, and looked at her, confused.
"Tammie ... I don't understand. You're dead," I said.
"Aw, sweetie, I'm right here. I'm Tammie 2.0!" she exclaimed, joyfully, swirling around to show me how great she looked. I chalked that one up to some sort of reassurance she'd made it to Heaven and was enjoying her new, spiritual body.
My Grampa Bob and I have taken walks throughout nonexistent cities. We've met for dinner in my dreams. He's been dead for nearly 8 years.
The night my Baube died, I went to sleep just to find her waiting for me, sitting in a chair.
"How will Silas remember you? He's so young. He can't forget you. How do I get him to not forget you?" I asked her, in a panic.
Calmly, she looked at me, grabbed my hand, and said, "You tell stories. Tell him lots and lots of stories. And, he'll remember."
But, what am I, if I'm not psychic, or a medium of some sort? I don't know. I just know I'm not comfortable with either one of those terms. I believe my "super power" comes from God. I don't want to abuse it, and I won't try use it on command. (I couldn't, if I tried. In less wise days, I have tried.) I will only condone its appearance when it shows up unwarranted, and I will always attempt to first try to understand from a Godly perspective why I might have been shown something.
Was God preparing me for some sort of change to come by giving me a glimpse?
Did God want me to extend myself to the person I dreamed about?
Was God trying to comfort me in some way?
Was God trying to tell me something?
Was God so great, he was letting me have closure in a part of my life I'd have not otherwise gotten it?
I try to be all ears, and I try to be open-minded. It's a strange juxtaposition, this trying to be in God's good graces and trying not to be a fortune teller. I'm Johnny Cash, walkin' the line between what I consider holy and unholy, this gift or this curse.
Until next time, sweet dreams.
