Dreaming of Pastor Dave’s Gig
Happy Thanksgiving everyone! I had a strange dream last night that I wanted to get down.
Jim Thompson and I were hanging out in the old Rockland bowling alley. It was totally different on the inside, though. It had been redone as a family fun center. It was bright white inside. There was a cafe that featured live music. There were lots of video games. There were only two bowling lanes, and they weren’t open.
In my dream it was 6:30pm. It was still light outside, so it must’ve been late summer. Jim and I were sitting at a table, enjoying some kind of spritzer drink. Pastor Dave and Josey came through the door. Pastor Dave was carrying a guitar case and one of those singer/songwriter amps. I didn’t know he was going to be there. I got up, and walked over to him, and said “Are you playing a gig here tonight? I didn’t realize that!” He said, rather shortly, “No.” He then went up on stage, set his gear down, and started setting up. His reaction wasn’t typical Pastor Dave. I could tell something was bothering him. I didn’t want to bother him more by talking to him while he was setting up, so I went and sat back down.
When he was done setting his gear up, he came and sat down with Jim and me. He wasn’t playing the gig; he was acting as a roadie for a visiting folk musician. He was renting his gear to that person. I said something to the effect of “It’s nice to see you. I didn’t have any plans for tonight, so Jim and I came here to see the music.” Pastor Dave replied, “The ladies and I prayed for you tonight.” That’s when it hit me: I was supposed to be at a church prayer service at 6pm!
“I’m sorry, Pastor Dave! I forgot all about it! Honest, I did. You just heard me say I didn’t have any plans… I wouldn’t lie to you. I just forgot all about it.”
“It wasn’t very well attended,” Pastor Dave said. “It was just me and a couple of the older women.” I felt really bad. As a deacon, it’s my responsibility to be at services, to be ready to serve, and to be faithful. I felt like a heel. Pastor Dave got up, and went to the stage. I followed him.
When I got on stage, I could see off in the stage right wings a big envelope. It was one of those kind of plastic-y Priority Mail envelopes. I noticed it was my writing on the envelope. It was addressed to Steve Waterman’s mom! Apparently, the church had collected a bunch of cards for her when she was in the hospital. She had been moved to a long-term care center, and the hospital had returned it to sender. They had thoughtfully included the name and address of the facility where she was now. I fumed a little bit that the Post Office wouldn’t just deliver it to the now corrected address. But you know the Post Office: they want their postage times two! I looked at the date on the envelope. It was March! The envelope was about six months old!
The owner of the club noticed that I was looking at the envelope. He said to me “For some reason, the Post Office returned that here. Since you’re a musician, I figured you’d be playing in here sooner or later, and I’d just give it to you when you played a gig here. I kept forgetting to give it to you.”
Then I woke up.
