Because every week at bible class the last question they ask of us is to answer when and where we've felt the presence of the holy spirit in our lives. And every week I feel like I'm Morales, from the musical "A Chorus Line" because my answer is always, "Nothing... I haven't felt it yet."
"And I dug right down to the bottom of my soul
To see how an ice cream felt.
Yes, I dug right down to the bottom of my soul
And I tried to melt."
Meanwhile everyone else is saying I've felt it here and I've felt it there and what shouldn't feel like a test is starting to feel like the test I'm failing. And I hate failing more than I hate not having any answer at all...
And so I prayed last night, casting up some of my concerns, making sure I said more prayers for other people than I said for myself just in case God keeps track of little things like that and I asked for help. A little warmth. A little guidance.
Maybe not everyone considers dreams the same way I do, like answers you can only get when you're sleeping and your brain isn't trying to find a way around a problem just because it's a problem that needs to be solved. Dreams are like a slow unwinding of information, conversations you'd have if you never had to worry about saying the wrong thing. Honest questions, honest answers...
And I woke up this morning feeling as if I'd been given the very best gift last night. I asked for help, warmth and guidance... And in my dream, I got my Grandma Angie. A pure and honest combination of all three.
And this feeling I have every time I think of her - which really is every day of my existence - this emptiness that aches deep down to my soul, felt full to the brim with her love. Safe... Like the child I was so long ago, a little girl who slept the weekend nights curled up next to her in bed and didn't need a night light so long as Grandma was right there.
Maybe this is what the holy spirit is... Maybe it's just love in whatever form it chooses to take.
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