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Wednesday, December 28, 2005
So he got up, took and the child and his mother during the night and left for Egypt, where he stayed until the death of Herod.
This is something I've been taught, by my culture and by the schools in which I've been a subject: those experiences that can't be duplicated or confirmed by others - that involve things unseen and untouched - are less valid, less meaningful, less real. I have been trained to push them aside and get on with life. Especially when they happen at night.
Dreams meant more to Joseph. He did not have this training, and he didn't ignore the angel's voice. Because of his open mind he saved his family's life. Jesus was not killed by Herod's soldiers.
I want to think I would have followed the angel's instructions too. But I don't know. I wake up groggy from sleep and call it discomfort. I do my best to shake off what still clings to me of the night, showering it away down the drain, pushing my mind to become clear and alert. Perhaps I am closing off one of the best channels God has for communicating with me.
Perhaps I need to sit still and wait quietly awhile in the morning, letting the fog of sleep rise easily, at its own pace, watching and listening for what's in there.
Father, protect me from myself and my own sense of what is right. Let me be open to however you want to communicate with me.