A few nights ago I woke up from a nightmare. The sheets were soaked with sweat, and I was shivering from the memory of the terrible dream. I dreamt that it was the opening night of “I’ll Be Home For Christmas” (the musical that our church is putting on for its 100th anniversary…I am the (reluctant) director) and things went desperately awry. You know how most dramatic productions usually seem to come together in the final few practices? People have their lines all learned, and the cues are tight. Well, none of the happened for us in my dream.

The curtain opened, and it was a disaster. Most of the actors forgot when they were supposed to exit and enter, some forgot to put on their costumes and just came out wearing raggedy blue jeans. People lost their place and jumped around from scene to scene.

Then, someone sitting in the front row of the audience grabbed our attention and said, “I’ve talked to the entire audience, and we all agree that you should not continue this performace. Please spare us and yourselves and get off the stage.”

So we did.

Then I woke up.

Please pray that this dream is not prophetic.