The other morning I had a dream about an old friend; a friend I haven’t seen in many years, since college. With so many years between us, I wonder that I still call him friend, but he is. Maybe he is like what Anne of Green Gables called a “bosom friend.”

In my dream we talked of the things we used to talk about, life and love and God and how to build an outhouse. We talked about the past and the future, about sin and redemption and summer storms that break before you expect them to. We talked about Jesus and Abraham Lincoln and the Great State of Texas. After we had talked about rivers and forests and other wonders we’ve seen we talked about ourselves.

I pointed out the grey hairs at his temples and the white hairs in my part. We talked about work and family and loss and blessings.

When I woke up I was happy to have spent the morning with an old friend.

I used to have dreams of meaning more often. This was a dream of meaning. I don’t know yet what it means- that he has experienced blessings or needs prayer, one is not exclusive of the other. That he is thinking of me, maybe, but I have been thinking of him this week. It’s not for me to know the meaning really, just to enjoy the time and remember him to the Father.