I stayed up later than usual last night. John was playing the piano, and I had some hand sewing to finish. Perhaps that contributed to my sleepiness when the alarm jarred. Usually I am alert long before the ring.

The dream I was having was vivid. There was a cantankerous old woman with fuzzy hair who lived next door. She was a stickler for boundaries, and pounced on any infraction by my young children. She came swooping over with a rubber toy that had landed in her yard. The kids stiffened for the tirade. 

"Thank you very much for bringing it back! You are so good at keeping your yard in order and I appreciate you helping us do better." She straightened and her eyes stopped squinting. Which made her look prettier. The kids let out an exhale loud enough for her to hear if she had been listening. But she was locked to my words. Which continued with great effusiveness. 

It was not flattery, if I can be so bold as to dissect an imaginary conversation. Flattery is hollow, like those economy chocolate bunnies that are so disappointing to find in your Easter basket. My words were genuine, or at least as much as something that only transpired between my ears when I was unconscious can be. I listened to her, affirmed her, and did not make excuses. 

I suppose because the alarm startled me mid sentence, the feelings and faces had not yet faded, as dreams often do. It was almost as if God was giving me a picture of what can happen when the lines between who we are now and who we aspire to be get blurred.