Sharing Saturday: And Jesus Spoke With A British Accent

A few weeks ago, I dreamt that I was putting merchandise away in the children’s department of my workplace. I have worked at my current place of employment for 13+ years. I haven’t worked in the children’s department since 2006. Yet for some reason, my subconscious decided to place me there, putting away books and toys. As soon as I got to work, my supervisor told me that, since there weren’t any shipments to process, I would be putting merchandise away in the children’s department. Score one for dreamland. I don’t always remember my dreams, but here are more examples of some odd ones.

I had a dream that Gerard Butler gave me $25,000 dollars. I don’t remember why, but I do recall that it was one of those, “Hey you, Here’s some money” type of deals. When I woke up without $25,000 dollars I was very disappointed. (Also? Random.)

In one of my dreams, I was a passenger in a taxi that, I later found out, was driven by Jesus. (Jesus take the wheel!) Since we were in London, Jesus had a British accent. Not a posh British accent, like the Queen, but rather, a Coronation Street British accent. (A.K.A. The cool kind) In the dream, British Jesus told me that as long as I stuck with him, I’d have everything I need. It was oddly comforting.

In my most recent odd dream, I was in a van with Ben Affleck. (Pause for effect.) We were drinking coffee and eating doughnuts, sort of like partners in a buddy-cop movie. (The vibe was distinctly platonic. Even my subconscious honours the fact that Ben Affleck is both married and not my type.) All of the sudden, a deranged psychopath, jumped out of nowhere, and started screaming that he was going to kill us. Since I was in the driver’s seat, I rolled down the window and said, nonchalantly, “Really? You need to go somewhere else. I don’t have time for your foolishness.” Ben mentioned something about having to go home to his wife and kids, and we were both treating a potential killer as though he were a minor inconvenience instead of a threat. I even taunted him as I put the window back up. (In real life I’d be less likely to say, “I’m putting the window up, you can’t get me!” and sticking my tongue out. That’s rude.)  I wasn’t scared at all. Probably because I knew I was under the protection of British Jesus.

Then there was the time my dream alter-ego smashed a person in the face and told her off for stealing my bench. In my defense, I paid for the bench, so it was technically my bench. The lady was a jerk for trying to steal it to begin with. Also, she cursed at me. Not cool.

In another dream, I stood up to one of my childhood bullies. (The message: Petty mean-girl intimidation tactics are not effective when dealing with a 32 year-old woman who, a) knows her worth, and b) isn’t above throwing a right hook.)

When I was 11 or 12, I used to have nightmares all the time. (They always involved demons, and those demons were always trying to kill me)  It got to the point where, not only was I sleeping on a cot in the parlour of my parent’s bedroom, I was also afraid of going to sleep. (Hello, Insomnia.)

Eventually, I stopped having the nightmares and returned to my own room. (Erie=1. Nightmare demons=0) Thank God for that because I really like to sleep.

I have a friend who is interested in dream interpretation. (She’s the same friend who is attending Bible College, in the U.S.) She told me that most dreams are meant to be discarded, but there are some that relevant to where a person is in their life. In the Bible, God often spoke to people through dreams. (These types of dreams got Joseph and his snazzy coat in big trouble with his brothers and saved Daniel’s life.) I guess, based on my dreams, God is telling me that I’m going to be given a lot of money. I am going to the UK again. I’m indifferent towards psychopaths and bullies. Jesus is always in the driver’s seat. I’m possessive over what is mine, and I can occasionally tell what is going to happen in the future.

Sounds legit.

Peace,

Erie

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