Mauna Loa

One doesn't normally hear from God. Not saying that I've been doing so, but two days before going to surgery I had something odd happen. A dream:

I’m traveling down a path, somewhat of a gravel road. This path winds around one of the Hawaiian Islands, the center of which looms a huge volcano. In my dream, I labeled it as Mauna Loa.

Coming around one bend, the path divided into two. One continued to wind around the edge of the island, while the other took off at a steep angle on my right toward the volcano. Perhaps a shortcut through the center of the island. I didn’t have a destination in mind, really. I was just traveling down the path.

Also, in this section of the path, it wasn’t gravel anymore. It was more of a checkerboard of tiles, black and white, maybe 12” square. Still surrounded by lush greenery and bordered by the beautiful ocean, however, the path was in disrepair and many of the tiles were broken or overgrown.

Suddenly the volcano erupted. Plumes of steam and smoke filled the air overhead while the ground shook. Rocks began to fall, and by the time the dust settled all paths were covered in tons of rock and debris. Either fork before me was completely impassable, and I didn’t know what to do. Here I was, stuck, cut off from everyone else, and glancing back I noticed even the path behind me was piled over with rock.

Somehow I realized a rescue effort was underway. My friends, family, and other people were banding together to clear a path for me. They were making their way from the path behind me, and would be here soon.

I began to wonder what I would do. I couldn’t go forward anymore, only back from where I came. Somehow it seemed significant that I would be making no further progress, and going back wouldn’t benefit anyone. And within my dream a vision occurred to me: perhaps I couldn’t make any progress anymore, but everywhere I went I could carry my Bible. As well, in this mini-vision I was constantly praying for everything and every one around me, carrying this Bible around.

I woke as the rescuers were clearing the last hurdle behind me, shouting for me to come. Glancing back up the path, I could see the broken, frayed tiles (up to the piles of rock over my two forks) were suddenly in full repair, gleaming and shining as if brand new.

Perhaps not a message from God, but perhaps it was. The timing was perfect, and the message seemed very appropriate in my specific situation. I'm not a dream interpreter, but this dream was very encouraging. Those around me were instrumental in sparing me from an unexpected and devestating fate...and not just physically. In essence, the hope of surviving arose by the earnest prayers of many, many people. Overwhelming!

The next day, about a hundred people prayed with Pastor Steve after our church service-right onstage. I could almost smell the island. Standing there grasping hands with Mike Gross (whose son was also diagnosed with cancer), we all prayed with a passion I haven't been exposed to in...quite awhile. Rick Murray touched a chord-a grown man rarely cries like that. Lots of tears that afternoon.

I sometimes wonder how God sees us when we pray like that. There's a passion unlike anything else I can imagine. Like right out of a movie, larger than life.

Regrettably, it had to end. Julie and I went home to pack, and I spent an hour writing notes to my family. Looking around, savoring my home and the precious memories, it finally came time for us to leave. We had to be at UWMC before 7am Monday, so we were driving up the night before and staying with Julie's aunt Peggy and uncle Steve, who live nearby.

The trip was uneventful, but I enjoyed the time with my wife and mother. Peggy and Steve gave us their own bedroom and had a nice BBQ steak dinner for us shortly after we arrived. They're such a cool couple, and we were blessed.

Up and showered by 6am, the morning went without a hitch. After checking in, they wasted no time in getting me to a prep room. My wife and I shared some tears before the anesthesia hit, and the world went black.