by Cynthia Helton

Sometimes you speak so subtlety, God. You calm my fears in ways I recognize slowly; dimly. In my dream las tonight, I was on a raft floating out in the water. All of a sudden it became very cloudy, and I couldn’t see the shore. At last, the moon peeked through the clouds with just enough light to show me where to head.

Over my right shoulder from out of nowhere, I saw this huge, ugly fish approaching. I started yelling and yelling to my daughter, who was suddenly there, too. “Make it to the shore,” I yelled. It was one of those dreams where you’re trying to scream, but nothing audible comes out. Over and over I cried out to her. I was afraid for her; not me!

Then, over my right shoulder, a man on a raft of his own floated up to me. He seemed familiar somehow. Someone who knew us. He had dark hair, but I didn’t know who he was. Very calmly, without yelling, he told me, “Look over there.” When I did, I saw my daughter as a teenager, maybe 16 or 17, in a two-piece red bathing suit, straddling a surfboard and making her way towards the shore. Her hair was up in a curly ponytail on top of her head. She never heard me yell at all. She was just doing her thing! As far as dreams go, this isn’t particularly earth-shattering. It was very upsetting to me at first, but, unlike a “nightmare,” I was able to follow it through to its happy ending.

As I reflected on the dream this morning, God, You gave me such a lovely hug. You know how ill my daughter is. How the strong medication she’s on - that she depends on more and more - is so dangerous. You know I’m at the end of my rope with worry - and often out of patience with her, and for her. Yet, at the same time, how much I love my daughter. In my reading this morning, I came across this line:

“They once worshipped their raft; now they love the shore where it has taken them.”

Raft! Was it my raft I was desperately paddling trying to reach her, to be sure she’d make it? Does raft refer to her medications she must have? What about the raft the man was on? He wasn’t paddling at all! He was just floating beside me!

Then, I recalled the utter relief I felt when she’d made it to shore. She was safe; and with that understanding, I was safe, too! I didn’t need to worry about her anymore. She didn’t even NEED me to make it to safety. And, I was so relieved because it was too hard for me. I wasn’t loud enough to help her. She did it all on her own, with the help and encouragement of her friends. Who were those friends who gave her comfort? Who was that man who gave me comfort? It was You, wasn’t it, God? It was You all along. It IS You, all along.

Dream Works was written by Cynthia Helton and originally published in House of Comfort, a Retreat House Spirituality Center publication. Cynthia is passionate about receiving life’s energy by engaging the world through her senses. Throughout her life, she has been committed to bringing that energy forward and manifesting it through her love of nature, travel, poetry, art, writing and cooking.

In May of 2014, she joined the Community of Aiden and Hilda. Being a part of a dispersed ecumenical community with members in many parts of the world was an important step for her. It helped to fulfill her dedication to “community” by being with people who follow their own personal Way of Life. She deepened her commitment by making her Voyager vows in 2017.

For many years, she served as editor of their newsletter, The Wild Goose, and is currently available as a tutor for Igniting the Flame, a course study that introduces Celtic spirituality with the aim of exploring and refining one’s Christianity. Now retired, Cynthia feels her life is truly blessed. She lives with her husband of 33 years in Waxahachie, Texas. Together, they have five children, six grandchildren, and one great-grandson. Send Cynthia a note!