Visitation Dreams
Stories
Object:
Contents
A Story to Live By: "Visitation Dreams"
Sharing Visions: "What Dreams Have Come" by Sandra Kilbride-Becker
Good Stories: "The Fear of the Lord" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "Comforting Dreams" by John Sumwalt
Dear StoryShare Friends,
Jo and I just returned from vacation. It was a relaxing time visiting with family and friends while staying at our farmhouse in southwest Wisconsin not far from Wisconsin Dells. We celebrated Jo's parents' 67th wedding anniversary at their home in Viola on Saturday. Jo's dad, Lester, is 91and in declining health, so each opportunity to be with him is precious. We enjoyed seeing George Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion at the American Players Theatre in Spring Green with our daughter and fiancô on her 24th birthday. There is nothing like theater under the stars with people you love on a perfect summer evening. We also toured the Villa Louis at Prairie du Chien and happened to be there when they were doing a re-enactment of a battle with the British during the War of 1812. The British took the fort again, although, as history records, we eventually won the war. The highlight of our week, though, was the completion of our kitchen and bathroom floor refinishing project. Yes, sanding a hardwood floor is grueling work (my muscles still ache), but the end result made it well worth the effort. After 88 years of hard use by several farm families, there were many indelible marks that no amount of elbow grease could remove, but polyurethane covers a multitude of sins and lets the love shine through.
We hope you are having a good summer and have had some opportunities to relax with those you love.
This week's StoryShare is a journey with the "Sandman" into dreamland. In the third chapter of first Kings we read of Solomon's amazing conversation with God in a dream. Does God ever speak to you in your dreams? Renita Weems writes about dreams in her book Listening For God: A Minister's Journey Through Silence and Doubt: "Some dreams are forgotten the moment we awake. But the ones we remember, whether laughing or trembling, are the ones worth examining. Sometimes in our dreams are kernels of truth, pinches of revelation, whispers of God's voice." (p. 98)
A Story to Live By
Visitation Dreams
Renita Weems tells about a recurring dream that comes to her about once a year. Weems calls it "my visitation dream." "The first one occurred when I was about seventeen.... I remember turning over in my bed in the middle of the night and noticing the outline of two people sitting on the twin bed on the other side of the room.... All I recall is that both were sitting on a bed thumbing through a book. The sound of pages turning filled the bedroom. The two people spoke to each other in whispers that were barely audible over the turning pages. After about two, three, maybe four minutes, they got up and left the room. Just like that. They came and they went without so much as looking at me, but communicated with me the whole time. I remember running down the stairs and waking my stepmother, who was the most God-fearing and spiritual woman I knew at the time.... She heard me out ... and without appearing the least bit surprised or flabbergasted by the dream, assured me that the people in my dream were probably angels coming to tell me something."
(from Listening for God: A Minister's Journey through Silence and Doubt, New York: Simon & Schuster, 1999, pg. 99)
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Sharing Visions
What Dreams Have Come
by Sandra Kilbride-Becker
At Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night; and God said, "Ask what I should give you."
1 Kings 3:5
Mike was a 15-year-old kid who seemed very healthy and was into sports and all of the things that normal boys do. He had just gotten his first summer job when it was time for our yearly vacation, and he did not want to go with Mom and Dad. We let him stay home with his 19-year-old brother and his 18-year-old sister, with the provision that they each see their grandmother every day. She lived less than a mile away. We called every night to see if everything was OK.
One bright June morning, just after we arrived in the next town where we were scheduled to stay, we received a call from our older son saying Mike had fallen and they never got to the hospital. Needless to say, we drove home the 350 miles wondering all the way just what had happened. We wanted to get home as quickly as possible, and yet the closer we got the more we dreaded it. We just did not believe anything could have happened to our son. Nothing has ever hurt more. The pain was like a stone on my chest. When we got home there were a lot of people and the police had been through the house. It was one big nightmare, because no one knew what had happened to this child. That night, when I went to bed, I prayed that I could not handle this load on my own, and a feeling of peace came over me. God said that he would help us through this time. A few days later, we learned that Mike died of a birth defect that had not been detected during his life.
Not long after this, God talked to me in a dream. Mike had been dead a short while and I was having trouble adjusting. Mike came to me in a dream one morning and said not to cry anymore. He said he was in heaven with God, everything was nice, and no one hurt anymore. He said he was lonesome and he asked God if he could come back and get his dog and his slingshot. A week later the dog died, and we never did find his slingshot.
Sandra Kilbride-Becker is a member of Trinity United Methodist Church in Montello, Wisconsin.
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Good Stories
The Fear of the Lord
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Come, O children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord. Which of you desires life, and covets many days to enjoy good? Keep your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deceit. Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.
Psalm 34:11-14
Do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery; but be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts ...
Ephesians 5:18-19
There was no warning. One moment, busy afternoon rush hour crowds were bustling in and out of the subway terminal. Men and women of various ages, carrying briefcases, shopping bags, backpacks, and young children, brushed determinedly past one another on their way to and from countless locations. A group of tourists with floral print shirts and cameras craned their necks to take in the vaulted ceilings and marble pillars of the old 96th Street terminal as they descended into its artificially lit atmosphere. Two teachers herded twenty children on a late spring field trip up to the street on the adjoining staircase. Three youths dressed like gang members surreptitiously drew out spray paint cans, and two stood watch while the third emblazoned the wall behind one of the pillars with gang symbols and slogans. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, chose not to acknowledge the vandalism. It was the end of the day. Almost everyone just wanted to get home.
The next moment, the ground began to tremble, as if the switch on a giant vibrating machine had been thrown. Surprise registered on every face, and people struggled to keep their footing. Many failed. In another moment, the trembling became violent shaking. Crumbling concrete began to fall. Sharp, jutting segments of tiled floor rose up, exposing earth, and worse, gaping chasms beneath. Water pipes and electrical circuitry were torn free, creating showers of water and intermittent sparks. Artificial lights went out, avalanches of dirt and masonry fell, and soon all natural light from the former entrances and exits of the terminal was blocked out.
While it seemed an interminable amount of time to those who endured it, the quaking actually lasted less than one minute. When it ceased abruptly, so did the screams of the crowds. People who could move began to free themselves from debris in the total darkness. Voices called out names in terrified uncertainty; some were answered, some were not. Then the sounds of weeping and moaning could be heard. Someone flicked on a cigarette lighter, but was urged to put it out immediately; there was no way of knowing if gas pipes had been ruptured nearby.
A voice called out for a flashlight, if anyone had one, and two or three came on. Those who were uninjured began to move among the immobile. Handkerchiefs, scarves, and torn clothing became bandages and tourniquets. In a few moments, emergency generators kicked in and cast an eerie, but welcomed, yellow/orange light over the devastation. People used to being in charge began to direct those who wandered aimlessly. Everyone trapped within the cavern created by the quake was accounted for, freed from the rubble if possible, and gathered together in the most open, secure section of ground. Volunteers cared for the injured and covered the dead. Names were exchanged. The injured and stricken were comforted.
It was a small elderly woman with a soft halo of white hair who discovered the boys behind the pillar. One, half buried in rubble, was unconscious. Another, clearly in shock, with blood streaming down his face from a scalp wound, sat rocking next to his unconscious friend. The third, clearly terrified, had withdrawn from the two and drank repeatedly from a pint-sized bottle of liquor. As yet, the alcohol had not dulled the fear in his eyes.
"Let's move your friend out into the open, away from this loose rubble," the old woman said softly to the uninjured boy. "Then we can get some men to free your other friend."
"Mind your own business, Grandma," the boy said angrily, and continued to drink from the bottle. The old woman sought help for the injured youths, then made rounds of the others who were hurt and frightened. As time passed, with nothing to occupy time but thinking of their plight, fear and tension grew.
"What are we going to do to get out of here?" someone finally demanded loudly. "We can't just sit here, trapped."
"Don't touch anything!" cried another. "You'll cause an avalanche!"
"What about aftershocks?" said another. "If more concrete falls, we could all be crushed!"
"Have faith," the small, white-haired woman implored. "Pray for help to come soon. God will take care of us."
"Like he took care of them?" shouted an angry voice, indicating the covered bodies of the dead. "No thanks!"
"This space is too small for all of us," cried a claustrophobe. "Stop arguing! We'll run out of air!"
Authoritarian voices demanded calm and quiet, but fear was much stronger than reason. Several people appeared to be near total panic. The gang youth with the liquor bottle began to laugh uncontrollably amid the shouting and crying, adding to the chaos, until it seemed there was no hope of restoring order and calm.
Suddenly the ground began to tremble beneath them again. Low rumbling rose into another terrifying roar as the movement increased to a shaking. The angry, frightened, and hysterical voices were muted in terror, but mercifully the shaking subsided without becoming a full-blown quake. The aftershock. And after its shock began to wear off again, amid the coughing and brushing off of dirt and dust, a soft, quavering voice could be heard singing a familiar hymn. Searching eyes identified the elderly woman, kneeling between the unconscious gang youth and his unresponsive friend with the head wound, holding the hand of one and soothing the brow of the other as she sang. No one spoke; every ear was intent on the song.
Be not dismayed whate'er betide, God will take care of you;
Beneath his wings of love abide, God will take care of you.
Through days of toil when heart doth fail, God will take care of you;
When dangers fierce your path assail, God will take care of you.
No matter what may be the test, God will take care of you;
Lean weary one upon his breast, God will take care of you.
The uninjured youth stared at the half-empty liquor bottle in his hand for a few moments, then tossed it at one of the piles of rubble. Gradually the words became louder and clearer, until everyone who was able either hummed or joined in the refrain:
God will take care of you, through every day, o'er all the way;
He will take care of you, God will take care of you.
Hours later, rescue crews worked feverishly to free the trapped and injured from the earthquake's devastation. Amid pain-filled moans and anguished cries on the street level, the peaceful sound of singing greeted them as they began the careful excavation of the old 96th Street subway terminal. And as the crews lifted those survivors to safety, the puzzle of their serenity was answered when a small elderly woman with a halo of white hair paused as she reached the surface, deeply inhaled the fresh night air, and said, "Thank you, Lord, for sending your Holy Spirit to comfort us in the hour of our need."
Then the rescue workers smiled at one another as the woman was helped to an ambulance, humming the tune of the familiar hymn as she went.
_____________
Civilla D. Martin, "God Will Take Care of You," The United Methodist Hymnal (Nashville: The United Methodist Publishing House, 1989), #130.
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Scrap Pile
Comforting Dreams
by John Sumwalt
Like Renita Weems, I have two or three recurring dreams that come every so often on my night journeys. In one of the dreams I find myself returning to a church I once served as an associate pastor. It is my first Sunday and I feel overwhelmed by the size of the building and the congregation. In another dream I am in the first house where Jo and I lived after we were married. I am discovering rooms I didn't know were there. I don't know the meaning of these dreams, but I always have the nagging feeling that God is trying to tell me something.
After my father died in September of 1998, I had several vivid dreams that felt very much like his real presence. These came after weeks of aching for my dad and praying to know he was all right. In one dream I saw him standing by the silo on the farm in his bib overalls. He looked at me with love and I was filled with peace and joy. In another dream I found myself sitting beside him at a family gathering. It was enormously comforting. Once he came to me looking radiant, as I remember him when he was in his late thirties, young and strong and full of life. Each time I woke I felt my prayers had been answered. Dad is doing well.
Our daughter Kati also had a striking dream just after Dad's death in which her grandfather told her he felt badly about something he had done to my mother. He wanted Mom to know how sorry he was and how much he loved her. I suggested to Kati that she consider telling her grandmother about the dream, that it was possible Dad might trying to communicate through her.
When I e-mailed my sister, Ruth Smith, about the wonderful comfort I had received from my dreams of Dad, she wrote back, lamenting that she had experienced no sign of his presence. The very next day she wrote to tell me of a dream in which the phone rang during a family gathering at her house. "My husband Bruce answered it and I heard him sound very surprised. He handed the phone to you and you called for me. So I came downstairs, you handed me the phone, and it was Dad calling me! He sounded so happy and was cracking jokes. He told me to keep making progress (or something to that effect) and something about my daughter Jessi winning something. And then I kiddingly said to him, 'Hope you didn't call collect.' He laughed and laughed, and I laughed with him. Then I woke up, and I had the biggest smile on my face, and I was soooo happy!"
Gretchen Kane, a member of our congregation, tells of "a very strong, comforting dream" she had of her father a few months after his death. She said, "I had watched him shrivel up the ten days I was with him in his home before he died. In the dream he walked to me with open arms and hugged me hard. I could feel that he was strong, rested, and happy. It really made me feel better knowing he was whole again."
I had another dream of my father while on vacation last week. We were staying at the farm that we purchased from him and my mother just six years ago. In the dream I am walking into a worship service. I see my late uncle Delmar sitting on a chair with a baby on his lap. My Dad comes up behind him and touches him on the shoulder. I am thrilled to see him and feel warmed through and through by his presence. Then I see my late uncle James Allen sitting just a few seats in front of Dad and Delmar. Again my heart is warmed, and I realize as I am dreaming how much I miss seeing these men who were so dear to me in life, and ever more dear as the years go by since their passing.
Does God ever speak to you in dreams? Is the storied "Sandman" another one of God's angels, giving guidance through archetypes and other symbols? Do you have recurring dreams that seem to have meaning? Have you experienced the comforting presence of a loved one in your dreams? Write to us directly at
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New Book Released
We are happy to report that the second volume in the vision series, Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences , is now available from CSS Publishing Company. You can see what the book looks like by going to the home page of the CSS website http://www.csspub.com. Then click on the cover of the book to get more information.
Special Pricing for StoryShare Subscribers
Sharing Visions retails for $19.95. CSS has graciously agreed to make the book available to StoryShare subscribers for just $11.97 (plus shipping & handling). To take advantage of this special pricing, you must use the special code SS40SV. Simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.
Practical Ministry Tool
I found the first volume of Vision Stories to be a great tool for ministry. I give a copy to each family after a funeral, and to each couple after a wedding. I give copies to people who come in for counseling and are searching for God's presence, seeking comfort or assurance. And I have given the book to many people who have visions and have wondered if they dared to tell anyone. I also make the books available to the congregation at my cost.
I am willing to come to your community to do a book signing, tell vision stories, or do a vision seminar if you will take a free will offering to cover travel expenses.
Collecting Personal Stories of "Holy Moments"
We are collecting personal stories for a third volume in the vision series, to be released in 2004. The working title is Holy Moments: Life-Changing Visions and Other Signs of God's Presence. If you have any stories to share of your personal experience of the holy, please send them to jsumwalt@naspa.net
Praise For Sharing Visions
Bishop Richard Wilke, creator of the Disciple Bible Study series, writes: "I am rejoicing as I read the testimonies in Sharing Visions . What an inspiration! I recall my father, an unemotional man, telling me that his mother (who had died some years before) appeared to him in a dream and gave him counsel on a difficult decision he was wrestling with."
To learn more about John and Jo Sumwalt, visit their church website: http://www.waumc.org Click on "staff" for bios and photos.
StoryShare, August 10, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
A Story to Live By: "Visitation Dreams"
Sharing Visions: "What Dreams Have Come" by Sandra Kilbride-Becker
Good Stories: "The Fear of the Lord" by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Scrap Pile: "Comforting Dreams" by John Sumwalt
Dear StoryShare Friends,
Jo and I just returned from vacation. It was a relaxing time visiting with family and friends while staying at our farmhouse in southwest Wisconsin not far from Wisconsin Dells. We celebrated Jo's parents' 67th wedding anniversary at their home in Viola on Saturday. Jo's dad, Lester, is 91and in declining health, so each opportunity to be with him is precious. We enjoyed seeing George Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion at the American Players Theatre in Spring Green with our daughter and fiancô on her 24th birthday. There is nothing like theater under the stars with people you love on a perfect summer evening. We also toured the Villa Louis at Prairie du Chien and happened to be there when they were doing a re-enactment of a battle with the British during the War of 1812. The British took the fort again, although, as history records, we eventually won the war. The highlight of our week, though, was the completion of our kitchen and bathroom floor refinishing project. Yes, sanding a hardwood floor is grueling work (my muscles still ache), but the end result made it well worth the effort. After 88 years of hard use by several farm families, there were many indelible marks that no amount of elbow grease could remove, but polyurethane covers a multitude of sins and lets the love shine through.
We hope you are having a good summer and have had some opportunities to relax with those you love.
This week's StoryShare is a journey with the "Sandman" into dreamland. In the third chapter of first Kings we read of Solomon's amazing conversation with God in a dream. Does God ever speak to you in your dreams? Renita Weems writes about dreams in her book Listening For God: A Minister's Journey Through Silence and Doubt: "Some dreams are forgotten the moment we awake. But the ones we remember, whether laughing or trembling, are the ones worth examining. Sometimes in our dreams are kernels of truth, pinches of revelation, whispers of God's voice." (p. 98)
A Story to Live By
Visitation Dreams
Renita Weems tells about a recurring dream that comes to her about once a year. Weems calls it "my visitation dream." "The first one occurred when I was about seventeen.... I remember turning over in my bed in the middle of the night and noticing the outline of two people sitting on the twin bed on the other side of the room.... All I recall is that both were sitting on a bed thumbing through a book. The sound of pages turning filled the bedroom. The two people spoke to each other in whispers that were barely audible over the turning pages. After about two, three, maybe four minutes, they got up and left the room. Just like that. They came and they went without so much as looking at me, but communicated with me the whole time. I remember running down the stairs and waking my stepmother, who was the most God-fearing and spiritual woman I knew at the time.... She heard me out ... and without appearing the least bit surprised or flabbergasted by the dream, assured me that the people in my dream were probably angels coming to tell me something."
(from Listening for God: A Minister's Journey through Silence and Doubt, New York: Simon & Schuster, 1999, pg. 99)
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Sharing Visions
What Dreams Have Come
by Sandra Kilbride-Becker
At Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night; and God said, "Ask what I should give you."
1 Kings 3:5
Mike was a 15-year-old kid who seemed very healthy and was into sports and all of the things that normal boys do. He had just gotten his first summer job when it was time for our yearly vacation, and he did not want to go with Mom and Dad. We let him stay home with his 19-year-old brother and his 18-year-old sister, with the provision that they each see their grandmother every day. She lived less than a mile away. We called every night to see if everything was OK.
One bright June morning, just after we arrived in the next town where we were scheduled to stay, we received a call from our older son saying Mike had fallen and they never got to the hospital. Needless to say, we drove home the 350 miles wondering all the way just what had happened. We wanted to get home as quickly as possible, and yet the closer we got the more we dreaded it. We just did not believe anything could have happened to our son. Nothing has ever hurt more. The pain was like a stone on my chest. When we got home there were a lot of people and the police had been through the house. It was one big nightmare, because no one knew what had happened to this child. That night, when I went to bed, I prayed that I could not handle this load on my own, and a feeling of peace came over me. God said that he would help us through this time. A few days later, we learned that Mike died of a birth defect that had not been detected during his life.
Not long after this, God talked to me in a dream. Mike had been dead a short while and I was having trouble adjusting. Mike came to me in a dream one morning and said not to cry anymore. He said he was in heaven with God, everything was nice, and no one hurt anymore. He said he was lonesome and he asked God if he could come back and get his dog and his slingshot. A week later the dog died, and we never did find his slingshot.
Sandra Kilbride-Becker is a member of Trinity United Methodist Church in Montello, Wisconsin.
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Good Stories
The Fear of the Lord
by Jo Perry-Sumwalt
Come, O children, listen to me; I will teach you the fear of the Lord. Which of you desires life, and covets many days to enjoy good? Keep your tongue from evil, and your lips from speaking deceit. Depart from evil, and do good; seek peace, and pursue it.
Psalm 34:11-14
Do not get drunk with wine, for that is debauchery; but be filled with the Spirit, as you sing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs among yourselves, singing and making melody to the Lord in your hearts ...
Ephesians 5:18-19
There was no warning. One moment, busy afternoon rush hour crowds were bustling in and out of the subway terminal. Men and women of various ages, carrying briefcases, shopping bags, backpacks, and young children, brushed determinedly past one another on their way to and from countless locations. A group of tourists with floral print shirts and cameras craned their necks to take in the vaulted ceilings and marble pillars of the old 96th Street terminal as they descended into its artificially lit atmosphere. Two teachers herded twenty children on a late spring field trip up to the street on the adjoining staircase. Three youths dressed like gang members surreptitiously drew out spray paint cans, and two stood watch while the third emblazoned the wall behind one of the pillars with gang symbols and slogans. No one seemed to notice, or if they did, chose not to acknowledge the vandalism. It was the end of the day. Almost everyone just wanted to get home.
The next moment, the ground began to tremble, as if the switch on a giant vibrating machine had been thrown. Surprise registered on every face, and people struggled to keep their footing. Many failed. In another moment, the trembling became violent shaking. Crumbling concrete began to fall. Sharp, jutting segments of tiled floor rose up, exposing earth, and worse, gaping chasms beneath. Water pipes and electrical circuitry were torn free, creating showers of water and intermittent sparks. Artificial lights went out, avalanches of dirt and masonry fell, and soon all natural light from the former entrances and exits of the terminal was blocked out.
While it seemed an interminable amount of time to those who endured it, the quaking actually lasted less than one minute. When it ceased abruptly, so did the screams of the crowds. People who could move began to free themselves from debris in the total darkness. Voices called out names in terrified uncertainty; some were answered, some were not. Then the sounds of weeping and moaning could be heard. Someone flicked on a cigarette lighter, but was urged to put it out immediately; there was no way of knowing if gas pipes had been ruptured nearby.
A voice called out for a flashlight, if anyone had one, and two or three came on. Those who were uninjured began to move among the immobile. Handkerchiefs, scarves, and torn clothing became bandages and tourniquets. In a few moments, emergency generators kicked in and cast an eerie, but welcomed, yellow/orange light over the devastation. People used to being in charge began to direct those who wandered aimlessly. Everyone trapped within the cavern created by the quake was accounted for, freed from the rubble if possible, and gathered together in the most open, secure section of ground. Volunteers cared for the injured and covered the dead. Names were exchanged. The injured and stricken were comforted.
It was a small elderly woman with a soft halo of white hair who discovered the boys behind the pillar. One, half buried in rubble, was unconscious. Another, clearly in shock, with blood streaming down his face from a scalp wound, sat rocking next to his unconscious friend. The third, clearly terrified, had withdrawn from the two and drank repeatedly from a pint-sized bottle of liquor. As yet, the alcohol had not dulled the fear in his eyes.
"Let's move your friend out into the open, away from this loose rubble," the old woman said softly to the uninjured boy. "Then we can get some men to free your other friend."
"Mind your own business, Grandma," the boy said angrily, and continued to drink from the bottle. The old woman sought help for the injured youths, then made rounds of the others who were hurt and frightened. As time passed, with nothing to occupy time but thinking of their plight, fear and tension grew.
"What are we going to do to get out of here?" someone finally demanded loudly. "We can't just sit here, trapped."
"Don't touch anything!" cried another. "You'll cause an avalanche!"
"What about aftershocks?" said another. "If more concrete falls, we could all be crushed!"
"Have faith," the small, white-haired woman implored. "Pray for help to come soon. God will take care of us."
"Like he took care of them?" shouted an angry voice, indicating the covered bodies of the dead. "No thanks!"
"This space is too small for all of us," cried a claustrophobe. "Stop arguing! We'll run out of air!"
Authoritarian voices demanded calm and quiet, but fear was much stronger than reason. Several people appeared to be near total panic. The gang youth with the liquor bottle began to laugh uncontrollably amid the shouting and crying, adding to the chaos, until it seemed there was no hope of restoring order and calm.
Suddenly the ground began to tremble beneath them again. Low rumbling rose into another terrifying roar as the movement increased to a shaking. The angry, frightened, and hysterical voices were muted in terror, but mercifully the shaking subsided without becoming a full-blown quake. The aftershock. And after its shock began to wear off again, amid the coughing and brushing off of dirt and dust, a soft, quavering voice could be heard singing a familiar hymn. Searching eyes identified the elderly woman, kneeling between the unconscious gang youth and his unresponsive friend with the head wound, holding the hand of one and soothing the brow of the other as she sang. No one spoke; every ear was intent on the song.
Be not dismayed whate'er betide, God will take care of you;
Beneath his wings of love abide, God will take care of you.
Through days of toil when heart doth fail, God will take care of you;
When dangers fierce your path assail, God will take care of you.
No matter what may be the test, God will take care of you;
Lean weary one upon his breast, God will take care of you.
The uninjured youth stared at the half-empty liquor bottle in his hand for a few moments, then tossed it at one of the piles of rubble. Gradually the words became louder and clearer, until everyone who was able either hummed or joined in the refrain:
God will take care of you, through every day, o'er all the way;
He will take care of you, God will take care of you.
Hours later, rescue crews worked feverishly to free the trapped and injured from the earthquake's devastation. Amid pain-filled moans and anguished cries on the street level, the peaceful sound of singing greeted them as they began the careful excavation of the old 96th Street subway terminal. And as the crews lifted those survivors to safety, the puzzle of their serenity was answered when a small elderly woman with a halo of white hair paused as she reached the surface, deeply inhaled the fresh night air, and said, "Thank you, Lord, for sending your Holy Spirit to comfort us in the hour of our need."
Then the rescue workers smiled at one another as the woman was helped to an ambulance, humming the tune of the familiar hymn as she went.
_____________
Civilla D. Martin, "God Will Take Care of You," The United Methodist Hymnal (Nashville: The United Methodist Publishing House, 1989), #130.
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Scrap Pile
Comforting Dreams
by John Sumwalt
Like Renita Weems, I have two or three recurring dreams that come every so often on my night journeys. In one of the dreams I find myself returning to a church I once served as an associate pastor. It is my first Sunday and I feel overwhelmed by the size of the building and the congregation. In another dream I am in the first house where Jo and I lived after we were married. I am discovering rooms I didn't know were there. I don't know the meaning of these dreams, but I always have the nagging feeling that God is trying to tell me something.
After my father died in September of 1998, I had several vivid dreams that felt very much like his real presence. These came after weeks of aching for my dad and praying to know he was all right. In one dream I saw him standing by the silo on the farm in his bib overalls. He looked at me with love and I was filled with peace and joy. In another dream I found myself sitting beside him at a family gathering. It was enormously comforting. Once he came to me looking radiant, as I remember him when he was in his late thirties, young and strong and full of life. Each time I woke I felt my prayers had been answered. Dad is doing well.
Our daughter Kati also had a striking dream just after Dad's death in which her grandfather told her he felt badly about something he had done to my mother. He wanted Mom to know how sorry he was and how much he loved her. I suggested to Kati that she consider telling her grandmother about the dream, that it was possible Dad might trying to communicate through her.
When I e-mailed my sister, Ruth Smith, about the wonderful comfort I had received from my dreams of Dad, she wrote back, lamenting that she had experienced no sign of his presence. The very next day she wrote to tell me of a dream in which the phone rang during a family gathering at her house. "My husband Bruce answered it and I heard him sound very surprised. He handed the phone to you and you called for me. So I came downstairs, you handed me the phone, and it was Dad calling me! He sounded so happy and was cracking jokes. He told me to keep making progress (or something to that effect) and something about my daughter Jessi winning something. And then I kiddingly said to him, 'Hope you didn't call collect.' He laughed and laughed, and I laughed with him. Then I woke up, and I had the biggest smile on my face, and I was soooo happy!"
Gretchen Kane, a member of our congregation, tells of "a very strong, comforting dream" she had of her father a few months after his death. She said, "I had watched him shrivel up the ten days I was with him in his home before he died. In the dream he walked to me with open arms and hugged me hard. I could feel that he was strong, rested, and happy. It really made me feel better knowing he was whole again."
I had another dream of my father while on vacation last week. We were staying at the farm that we purchased from him and my mother just six years ago. In the dream I am walking into a worship service. I see my late uncle Delmar sitting on a chair with a baby on his lap. My Dad comes up behind him and touches him on the shoulder. I am thrilled to see him and feel warmed through and through by his presence. Then I see my late uncle James Allen sitting just a few seats in front of Dad and Delmar. Again my heart is warmed, and I realize as I am dreaming how much I miss seeing these men who were so dear to me in life, and ever more dear as the years go by since their passing.
Does God ever speak to you in dreams? Is the storied "Sandman" another one of God's angels, giving guidance through archetypes and other symbols? Do you have recurring dreams that seem to have meaning? Have you experienced the comforting presence of a loved one in your dreams? Write to us directly at
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New Book Released
We are happy to report that the second volume in the vision series, Sharing Visions: Divine Revelations, Angels, and Holy Coincidences , is now available from CSS Publishing Company. You can see what the book looks like by going to the home page of the CSS website http://www.csspub.com. Then click on the cover of the book to get more information.
Special Pricing for StoryShare Subscribers
Sharing Visions retails for $19.95. CSS has graciously agreed to make the book available to StoryShare subscribers for just $11.97 (plus shipping & handling). To take advantage of this special pricing, you must use the special code SS40SV. Simply e-mail your order to orders@csspub.com or phone 1-800-241-4056. If you live outside the U.S., phone 419-227-1818.
Practical Ministry Tool
I found the first volume of Vision Stories to be a great tool for ministry. I give a copy to each family after a funeral, and to each couple after a wedding. I give copies to people who come in for counseling and are searching for God's presence, seeking comfort or assurance. And I have given the book to many people who have visions and have wondered if they dared to tell anyone. I also make the books available to the congregation at my cost.
I am willing to come to your community to do a book signing, tell vision stories, or do a vision seminar if you will take a free will offering to cover travel expenses.
Collecting Personal Stories of "Holy Moments"
We are collecting personal stories for a third volume in the vision series, to be released in 2004. The working title is Holy Moments: Life-Changing Visions and Other Signs of God's Presence. If you have any stories to share of your personal experience of the holy, please send them to jsumwalt@naspa.net
Praise For Sharing Visions
Bishop Richard Wilke, creator of the Disciple Bible Study series, writes: "I am rejoicing as I read the testimonies in Sharing Visions . What an inspiration! I recall my father, an unemotional man, telling me that his mother (who had died some years before) appeared to him in a dream and gave him counsel on a difficult decision he was wrestling with."
To learn more about John and Jo Sumwalt, visit their church website: http://www.waumc.org Click on "staff" for bios and photos.
StoryShare, August 10, 2003, issue.
Copyright 2003 by CSS Publishing Company, Inc., Lima, Ohio.
All rights reserved. Subscribers to the StoryShare service may print and use this material as it was intended in sermons, in worship and classroom settings, in brief devotions, in radio spots, and as newsletter fillers. No additional permission is required from the publisher for such use by subscribers only. Inquiries should be addressed to permissions@csspub.com or to Permissions, CSS Publishing Company, Inc., P.O. Box 4503, Lima, Ohio 45802-4503.
