A call to service?

Some dreams are of no apparent significance, or may even seem utter nonsense. Others, upon further consideration, prove unconsciously revelatory, teaching me about my hidden attitudes and feelings. And then there are those that, initially, seem to ring out with an undeniable truth, but really end up preparing me for something entirely unexpected.

This morning, after hitting the snooze button (a once-per-morning ritual for me), I dreamt I was sitting on a sofa with my oldest sister-in-law, whom I also consider a dear friend, waiting for my wife to be ready for us to go somewhere. (For the life of me I don't know where we were; I didn't recognize the house.) With tears in my eyes, I lamented to her: "I know in my mind that the greatest joy we can ever know is to give fully of ourselves. But this knowledge doesn't seem to translate into action in my life." At this point, the second sounding of the radio broke through my slumber, so this was a fresh thought as I awoke.

The sense I had was of service to the poor, the sick, the homeless, etc., rather than of giving myself in love to my wife, which, while I think I'm doing fairly well at, is nonetheless an area in which most of us could still use some improvement.

This dream resonated with several things that I know to be true or have recently experienced. First, true giving of ourselves is, in fact, a gift to us. This has never failed to prove true in my life. Second, as I was mowing the back yard last night I kept thinking, almost as a mantra: of those to whom much is given, much is required. I was struck by how blessed I have been, in so many ways, and how little it seems I give in return. Third, I am still moved by the heart-stirring story I read yesterday of Our Lady of Perpetual Help Home, just outside Turner Field in Atlanta.

Once in the past, such a dream portended an opportunity for service that I might not have recognized without it. Fifteen years ago, a vivid dream of my late grandfather left me with a strong sense of our society's abandonment of the aged. It was the second thing within the week that had called my attention to this issue; I don't really remember what the first was. But that Sunday, there was a notice in our parish bulletin soliciting volunteers to provide geriatric respite care. (Respite caregivers assist family members who are caring for someone who requires constant supervision, by giving them a break of a few hours to run errands or just go relax for a while.) I volunteered, was trained, and ended up serving in place of another caregiver while she recovered from an accident. It "just happened" that my availability coincided with her injury; the change in my work schedule that necessitated the end of my service also "happened" to coincide with her getting clearance to resume her caregiving activity. Still, it was a real joy to care for and get to know my charge, a quite lucid but physically declining 94-year-old man who was being cared for by his rather spry 74-year-old son.

Now I've read this article, and had these thoughts and this dream. It could be that the latter were simply unconscious reactions to the former. Still, I think I'd better be attentive over the next few days for a fresh opportunity to serve.