Note: Computers actin' funny. Can't upload pic. Imagine an ark!
It was the middle of the night and Val awoke with a shudder.
What was wrong?
“I just had a terrible nightmare. Really scary. I remember a man standing in the corner of the room.”
Who was the man?
“I don’t remember.”
Well, was it Drew Carey? Jeff Probst?
“I don’t know. I remember trying to scream and being unable to. I was terrified.”
That’s too bad, I said. But if you’re going to continue to disturb me, I’m going to have to ask you to grab your pillow and head out to the couch. I need my sleep.
She wakes up every morning and is smacked in the face with the cold reality that she’s still married to me. What nightmare could be worse than that?
Just one, I guess.
She could wake up and tell me God spoke to her. Of course, that’s not her nightmare.
It’s mine.
It’s happening right now to some beleaguered spouse over in Holland. Her husband, Johan Huibers, a wealthy Dutch shipbuilder, said God told him to build an ark.
Those of you who attended Sunday school will recall this is not without precedent.
It happened with Noah, an ancient Hebrew shipbuilder.
Although Noah must have endured an enormous amount of pre-rain ridicule from the equivalent of snarky bloggers of the day, it all worked out well -- at least for those on board the boat.
Dreaming God tells you to do something would have a way of swamping an otherwise tranquil life like, uh, like, hmmm . . .
Can anyone think of a really good flood analogy?
Because if you believe in God, you really ought to do what the divine dream says you should do because, well, He’s God.
Once that’s established, you can kiss bowling nights goodbye. You work full-time on fulfilling the dream.
Biblical experts have praised Huibers’s Ark -- and that’s going to take some getting used to -- for its accuracy.
He spent months poring over some of the most arcane parts of the often arcane King James Bible to divine the exact measurements of the one detailed in the Book of Genesis; 30 cubits wide, 50 cubits high and 300 cubits long.
I’m unfamiliar with cubits and in my mind confuse the obscure measurement with croutons so right there my construction would be in trouble.
He’s planning on taking the ark up the Thames River in time for the opening ceremonies of the 2012 Summer Olympics in London. He didn’t say whether that was part of the dream or not.
But it makes sense. If you were going to start the human race over, you’d naturally want to start with really fit people whose physical attributes have been boosted by difficult-to-detect performance enhancing drugs.
Me, I had a nightmare where I was banging on the doors of Huibers’s ark as the waters rose above my nose.
I consider it a warning.
So now I’m going to do all I can to ingratiate myself with Huibers and see if he’ll grant me a crack at veto power over who or what else is destined for salvation.
Noah letting strains of offensive and obnoxious creatures -- snakes, stink bugs, Cub fans -- seems, in hindsight, like a manifest mistake.
I’d be a bit more picky.
And next time Val has an unsettling nightmare, she’d better keep it to herself.
I need my sleep. I’m going to be busy making lists just in case I have a say with Huibers.
And, fear not, readers of this blog get first dibs on bunks!
At least those of you who do not snore.
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