Interpret THIS...

So, last night I had this dream. I dreamt I was in some kind of travelling theater company or something, and we had this play we were going around doing at different places. Next stop: Mars Hill Bible Church in Grandville, Michigan. Rob Bell's church. Naturally, the dream-me was super pumped up at the thought of being at the real-(dream)-life Mars Hill, and hearing Rob speak in person again. For whatever stupid dreamy reason, we arrived after their two morning services had already finished, and just in time for their last service of the weekend, on Sunday night, and would therefore not be hearing Rob after all - but would instead be the main event ourselves. I wandered around the building amidst the crowd of people, hoping to meet the man himself, when all of a sudden, here comes Rob Bell clad in a leather jacket and Ray-Ban shades, down the aisle toward the back of the room. He brushes right by me as I say, "It's really cool to meet you in pers- oh.. .nevermind then...".

My thirst for celebrity thoroughly quenched, I turn to see my fellow players coming toward me, asking where I've been, and pushing me toward the exit doors. Color me startled when I bump into someone on the way out, only to turn around and see something I never thought I would. My own grandfather, W.H. Rallinson Jr. (in extremely poor health of late), a man who hasn't darkened the doors of a church in decades, is standing there. Turns out he'd been commuting to West Michigan from Minden, Louisiana every weekend for years and years, and hadn't bothered to mention it to any of us. Looks like it took a church like Mars Hill to bring that man back around to God's side. I guess if there's any church that could do it - that's the one. He smiles a big smile, and we share a moment there because it's been a while since we've been together. Too long, we say.

Dumbstruck, I'm in even more trouble now because the curtain is about to go up, and I still don't know if we're doing Twelfth Night, or Twelve Angry Men, or what. End of dream.

Beats me what the heck it means. As I mentioned, my grandfather has been in very poor health lately, and I have not been for a visit in quite some time, what with the new job, new city, and all. There may be a bit of fear on my part that something unfortunate will happen to him before I have a chance to see him again - which is odd, because although I love him dearly, I've never really been sentimental about him. There was a sense when I woke up, not of joy because he was in church again after all this time, but of dread, because maybe his being at church meant that his time had finally come, somehow. Maybe on some level I feel guilty for not having seen him in so long (I missed his birthday again this year), and this is just my mind's way of expressing it. Or maybe, like Sigmund said, "A cigar is just a cigar."