UDIG posted about one of his dreams which is probably what drove me to dreaming last night.

 I was in a Catholic Church.  Actually, in an office, sitting across a messy gray industrial looking desk, from a monk.  The monk was in a brown frock, with a rope belt.

 It was just before Sunday Service.  His phone rang.  "St. Bernadine," he answered and went on speaking into the phone.

Another phone rang.  I looked down and out of nowhere, one appeared right in front of me.  Since the monk was busy, I picked up the phone and tripped over the name.  I was busy wondering WHY I was in the Catholic Church (since I'm Protestant) and didn't pay close attention to the name the monk said the first time.  "Hello, St. Bern,ernnnn."

On the other end a woman spoke, offended and unsure.  "Hello?  Who is this?"

I said, "Tonya -----"

She broke down, started crying; huge gut wrenching wails.

I looked at the monk who hunched over his phone, completely absorbed.

She told me what troubled her, though in honesty I can't remember every detail.  The gist of it though remains with me.  She is alone, lonely, troubled, hurting, grieving so bad she doesn't think she can stand it.  She was at once me, and a piece of every woman I know.  She is a stranger, but familiar.

I listen, hesitant to say anything because most of the time when someone is grieving and hurting, the something I say seems so hollow; shallow.

She finally gets to the silence, a long uncomfortable silence.  She waits for my response. 

And with all the sincerity in my heart I tell her.... do not be afraid.  You are not alone.  Come here, come fellowship, come to this place, among other believers and worship.  Take strength from it. 

(And I was thinking, because I am here at least, I will try to comfort you.)

She was full of reasons why that wouldn't work.

And long painful silences.

Finally I said what I really thought.  "If you are looking for a sign from God.  Here it is.  First of all, I'm not even Catholic, and yet here I sit on Sunday taking your call.  And the phone, this phone I am speaking on?  It just appeared in front of me.  I know that sounds crazy, but I really think God wanted us to speak."

As I continued, the rightness of it, the overall absolute conviction this was true made me bold.  "Come, commune with those who hold your same beliefs.  There is comfort in fellowship."

My earnest plea fell into the dead silence, the vacuum the mind seems to create when new revelations are stirred.

After several long moments, I said, "If you are done I'm going to say goodbye."

Silence.

And after a little while sitting there at that steel gray desk, the monk long gone, I intuited she was gone.

I walked out into the vestibule, or the foyer, and people were already taking seats in the sanctuary.  I watched through double doors as a man with a remote control was attempting to get the cross, not a crucifix but a silver cross with golden spurs for tips, at just the right angle.

Every time he pressed the button, the cross would jerk and jump, twisting upon the large wooden pole in which it was attached.

It reminded me of horror movies when Satan uses his power to invert the cross.

My eyes went to the congregation, full of all the Catholic people I've known in real life.  I wondered if the woman on the phone was there.  I took a step to go through the doors but stopped.

I wore pajamas.

I couldn't go into a Catholic Church in my pajamas.  It wasn't permitted; offensive.

So I stood there until the doors closed, alone in the foyer.

I thought, how ironic, the very thing I so passionately invited the telephone woman too, is barred to me.

And I grieved.

That's it.