Lay Your Burden Down

Saturday night

I was standing in my next-door neighbors' garage, which was larger than it is in reality; it was furnished with comfortable chairs, and the walls were painted white. From the inside, it looked like a very nice family room. I had brought an aquaintance of mine, another man, to meet Jack (the co-owner of the house), thinking that they might strike up a conversation about restoring old cars, or scooters, which is Jack's hobby. Jack seemed glum, and stared straight ahead, not looking at anyone in particular. He said nothing. His wife, Hilda, stood behind his chair, showing concern, but eventually decided to leave the room so the three guys could talk. As soon as she did so, Jack's personality changed. He turned to the guy I'd brought with me and said, "Hey -- Give me some action on the [basketball] game tonight!" It turned out that Jack and that man not only knew each other, but that they both had a history of gambling problems, and were in recovery together -- something that until now had been a closely-held secret. It was news to me. Jack was depressed by the fact that he couldn't bet on the games anymore, and said "I've been seeing somebody about it." (They'd talk about his mood and the gambling.) I felt a great deal of sympathy for him. I said, "The most depressed I've ever been in my life was in 2006. I never really thought about killing myself, but after losing my job, troubles trying to start a business and then taking a big pay cut while temping, it was a very difficult year for me. We were lucky to keep the house." Jack turned to me and said, "Well, how do you think we got our house?" The implication was that the former owner of their house lost his job, and was desperate to sell, so Jack and Hilda were able to buy their house at a price that was well under market value.

Later that day, Jack, Hilda, my wife and I were making a trip on foot to Jack and Hilda's storage unit. Each of us was carrying something, but Jack was straining with the heaviest item of all. It was long and cumbersome, like a table or shelving unit, and he seemed to be dragging it behind him while holding part of it over his right shoulder. Once we got there, we grabbed some things to carry back, but Jack had done enough already; he walked back empty-handed. We didn't mind. He was still upset, and went on ahead of us. I was carrying some of Jack's clothes, including a stack of sport shirts, which were folded neatly. I caught up to Jack and said, "Hey -- I just had a dream about you!" He said, "Well, tell Hilda. [Don't tell me.] I hate myself." I hung back a little bit and let him walk by himself toward home.

Back at Jack and Hilda's, I opened the door to their bedroom and walked in, with the intention of putting Jack's clothes in a dresser. Looking to my left, I saw the outline of Jack's feet under the covers; he'd gone to bed. I didn't want to disturb him, so I walked back out into the living room, still holding the folded clothes. Hilda was there, sitting in a chair. She looked at me and said, "I just found out who my judges are."

*****

I was haunted by this dream for most of the day yesterday. It wasn't necesasarily a bad dream, but I had the feeling that it was filled with deep meanings -- not that I know what those meanings are...

Nothing in this dream is true except that Jack and Hilda are our neighbors, they do have a garage, Jack does like to repair old scooters, and 2006 was the most difficult year of my life, for the reasons I mentioned. (I even coined a word to describe it: destressure = depression + stress + pressure.)

My experience in Nashville hasn't been a very happy one, but things are much better now than they were two years ago. I've got a job, and with it, a measure of financial stability that I didn't have then. My focus now is on our retirement in 2027, in good health and with a comfortable amount of savings. That renewed focus and shared purpose brings with it its own happiness.

Anyway, the best thing that has happened to me in Nashville is the outrageous good fortune of happening to buy the house next to Jack and Hilda's. They are a a decade older than we are (or a little less) and have been so very friendly, inviting us into their home for Easter or Thanksgiving, treating us like members of their extended family. Hilda and my wife love to share tips about gardening and cooking, and Jack is all too happy to help me figure out why my lawn mower won't work. In fact, Jack surprised me by mowing my front yard this past week. (After some of Jack's tinkering, my mower works great now.)

We were all out working in our respective yards yesterday, and I told Hilda about this dream. I asked her if Jack ever bets on sports games; he doesn't. Then I asked her if she knows who her judges are. She said she'll have to think about it and get back to me. At first I thought [in the dream] that she meant that she was going to pull an Aunt Bea and take certain flowers she'd grown or pickles she'd canned to the county fair for judging, but maybe she meant something altogether more serious than that. Are her family or friends her judges? Was she referring to her eventual Day of Judgement?

My dad bets on sports games frequently. That probably found its way into this dream. My wife and I were at a picnic on Saturday, and someone whom I've only met on one other occasion asked me who I thought would make it into the men's college tournament final basketball game. I had to admit that I wasn't following it, and therefore, had no idea. So basketballs were floating around in my head, too.

I can't shake the feeling that the burden Jack was carrying to the storage unit had a direct parallel to the image of Christ's procession toward Calvary. I suppose that we all have our own crosses to bear. I bore mine in 2006.