30 Nights with God

by Deborah C. Cruce

I started at the abrupt change in subject, but accepted it was her way of changing the topic. I learned that Annie was an expert at changing the subject, pretending the world and she were just fine. Which left only Dorothy to round out our band of inmates. She struck me as the craziest of us all, yet there were glimpses of wisdom beyond her years. She was young, only twenty or so, brunette, fairly attractive, and wore a pair of red sequined shoes everywhere—even to bed. She believed she was Dorothy from The Wizard of Oz.

  I found myself feeling less outcast and more a sense of belonging in this group. These people knew pain, knew grief, knew the desire to check out of reality, and I felt a kinship to them all. Finally I admitted–-it might be possible—I was one of them.

  Dream 8

  It continues to amaze me how I dream all night and yet feel rested in the morning.

  “What is this?” I asked stupidly because I knew what it was.

  “A tandem bike.”

  “Okay. Why do you have it?” I watched God run a cloth over the bright red fenders and red seats.

  “We’re going for a ride.”

  “I haven’t ridden a bike in years.” I backed away. God knows how old I am. And God knows something else. Something we hadn’t talked about directly. Something I wasn’t ready to face.

  He rang the bell on the handlebars. The clear tone seemed to echo for miles. “It will be fun.”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  “Elizabeth.”

  He used that godly tone with me, not forceful but insistent.

  It’s very hard to tell the Creator of the Universe no. Even if you both know you have a good reason. So it was talk about the unspoken or go for a ride. “Only if I get to drive.”

  He cocked a graying eyebrow at me. “How’s that been working for you?”

  I crossed my arms like a three year old about to have a tantrum.

  “Okay, then,” he said. “We’ll try it your way.”

  Now I am suspicious because he gave in to me. Do I have trust issues or what? God kicked the stand up and held the bike steady while I got positioned, then he got on the back seat. “Ready?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  Off we went. Well … sort of. We stayed upright but the bike kind of shook. The path ahead split off into three directions. “Which way?” I hollered back, scared to take my eyes off the path.

  “You’re driving! You’re in charge.”

  That’s right, I thought to myself, squaring my shoulders and firmly gripping the handlebars. I chose the path to the right, not just because that’s the way the bike was leaning. The scenery was nice, but the path appeared pretty rough. There were other bicyclists like me pedaling along. Some bikes had two, three or even five seats. The back one was always empty though. Strange.

  We all seemed to be struggling to avoid the potholes and boulders in the path. “Someone should fix this,” I said aloud.

  Yet, I kept pedaling, and I realized that God was greeting people as we passed them. By name, of course! He knew all these people.

  We passed a couple with a baby who had a flat tire. We passed an elderly couple whose basket had broken off and spilled their groceries on the path. And I realized that God weighs a ton.

  I pulled over to the grass and got off. Luckily God held the bike up as I crashed to the ground panting, my arms shaking from the strain of directing the bike and keeping it on the path. “I’m exhausted. That is hard work.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Then why did you suggest it?” He handed me a bottle of water and sat down beside me.

  “I was planning to drive, Elizabeth. I was going to give you a ride.”

  I chugged the water, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. He was trying to teach me a lesson and I was being obtuse, hard-headed, childish, but then I continued anyway. “I’d still be exhausted.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  “Okay. Let’s ride back and this time you drive.”

  He brightened immediately and jumped up. He turned the bike around and climbed on. This time I climbed on behind him.

  “Ready?” he asked, grinning at me.

  “Let’s see what you got.”

  We pushed off and I awoke in my bed. “No fair,” I shouted at the ceiling.

  Day Nine

  November 14

  I am exhausted and curious as to why. I had the revelation just the day before that even though I was up every night with God, I awoke rested. Today that is simply not true. What changed? What was different about last night’s dream?

  “Elizabeth? Where are you today?”

  I yawned again and covered my mouth. “Sorry, I’m really tired today.”

  “Rough night?” Annie asked, reaching out a slim black hand to pat my arm.

  “You could say that.”

  “Anything you want to share?” Doc Aimee asked.

  I shook my head and looked down.

  “We’re a long way from Kansas. It’s safe here,” Dorothy inserted softly.

  I knew she meant well. “Thanks, Dorothy. I’m just not there yet.”

  “You don’t trust us,” Stephen said.

  “I don’t trust me either, so don’t take it personally.”

  “What does that mean? You don’t trust you?” Doc Aimee asked quietly.

  All eyes were on me and I squirmed in my chair. “I don’t trust me to make good choices, to distinguish between fantasy and reality.”

  “Sometime our fantasies are based in reality—we are just too close to see that,” said Dorothy.

  Everyone looked at Dorothy, who smiled innocently and serenely, oblivious to the truth she had spoken.

  Aimee nodded, “That is quite true, Dorothy.” She checked her watch and closed her notebook. “Let’s break for lunch, and this afternoon we will have individual appointments. Richard at 1:00. Dorothy at 2:00. Stephen at 3:00. Elizabeth at 4:00, and Annie at 6:00 after dinner. Okay?”

  “I’m getting my hair done at 2:00 today to go see the wizard tonight. Can I switch with Richard?”

  “The wizard will have to take your hair just like it is.”

  “Okay.” She picked up her basket with the stuffed Toto inside and skipped out.

  I watched her leave, seemingly unperturbed with her mixture of fantasy and reality. Was she right though? Was my fantasy of God visiting me in my dreams somehow based in the reality I found myself in? I believed God existed, but so does Satan. I believed God could fix the situation that had caused my suicide attempt. In fact I remembered He was mixed up in the middle of that somehow. It was still blurry, that night. I wondered if I would ever remember.

  ***

  I continued to write in my journal until Cindy-Lou-Who came to take me to see Doc. I was still puzzling over my tiredness. It reminded me of how I felt before I came here. How I’d felt every day for the past eight months.

  God was present in all the dreams. I was present. We were in different locations that He usually chose. If I wanted to be somewhere different he accommodated me. He talked or listened or fed me as needed, or comforted and encouraged.

  Last night had been different though. I sensed a lesson.

  “Why don’t we talk about your trust issues since that came up in group today?” Doc Aimee asked as she settled into the chair across from me.

  I had to shift my focus to her, mentally changing gears. “Okay.”

  “Who don’t you trust?”

  “Everybody.”

  “That’s pretty broad. Your mom and dad?”

  I nodded. “I trust them.”

  “Yet, you didn’t listen when they said you needed help.”

  “I did listen. I even agreed with them, but I didn’t think anything could help.” I squeezed the throw pillow in my arms.

  “All right. Your sister?”

  “No.
”

  “Why not?”

  I shrugged. “I love her though.”

  “Your friends, Theresa—”

  “No.” I shook my head. “They have kids, grandkids, and others.”

  “Father Andrew?” She looked up from her writing.

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “He puts God first, not me.”

  “Is that your criteria for trust? If someone will put you and your needs first?”

  I stopped and thought. I hadn’t considered that particular line of reasoning, but it applied to mom, dad, Theresa, and my sister. Father Andrew too.

  “Yes, that seems right.”

  “Are you trustworthy?” she asked.

  “Under normal circumstances, yes.”

  “Under normal circumstances there are people whom you would put before your own needs?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think that is healthy?”

  “I think there needs to be checks and balances like anything else. If someone else’s need is greater than mine, then their need should be met. Any relationship requires give and take depending on whose need is greater.”

  She nodded in agreement. “Who decides?”

  Again I paused, looking inward. “I guess I do.”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “Somewhat.”

  “Mabel?”

  “Some.”

  “The group.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Yourself?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Why?”

  “The boundaries are fuzzy about what is the best thing right now for me. Two weeks ago I would have told you a bottle of rum was best, and I bought it and drank it. Today I can see that a bottle of rum isn’t going to stop the pain. If I left today though, I would probably slip back into that mindset within a few days.”

  I watched her scribble lots of notes.

  She looked up and met my gaze. “God?”

  Startled, I stammered. “Wwh..at?”

  “Do you trust God?”

  “Absolutely not!” I jumped up, my vehemence surprising her and myself. “He could have stopped it. He could have intervened. He could have saved them, and He did nothing.”

  I was yelling, but not out of control, still I left her office, slamming the door behind me.

  Dream 9

  We were back on the bicycle path. There were people everywhere. People I had no desire to be around or interact with. I was in ill humor—to say the least—and God looked troubled.

  We didn’t speak and eventually I sat on the bench beside the bike. He joined me but remained silent.

  I was angry and wanted to yell. But still this was God, even if it was only my dream. “You could have saved them.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet, you didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “Why should I trust you? Why should I trust the God who let my husband and daughter die? Why should I trust You on the front of that bike?”

  “What’s your definition of trust? The one you and Aimee talked about today?”

  “Someone who puts me first.”

  “…should your need be greater … right?”

  “Yes.”

  “I have done that, Elizabeth. I put you first. I put you before my Son.”

  “Jesus,” I whispered. “You’re going to use Jesus on me. You know I love Him. You know I am ashamed to let Him see how far I have fallen into sin. He died for my sins, you didn’t!”

  “But I sent Him. I sent Him to die for your sins.”

  “He was innocent. I deserve the punishment. Is that what this is? Is this punishment?”

  “No!” He exclaimed. “The debt was paid in full.” He continued softly yet firmly, “I put you first.”

  I sat crying, shaking my head, my whole body shaking. Grief poured out of everywhere. He held me then for a long time, until I calmed. He gave me a cloth hanky. God carried a handkerchief. I wiped my face, blew my nose and offered it back. He grimaced and made it disappear.

  “You could have saved them.”

  “Yes.”

  “Yet, you didn’t.”

  “No.”

  “And you won’t tell me why?”

  “No.”

  “Why? Help me understand.”

  “My dearest child, no. I do not have to explain and you do not have to understand. Accept that I put you first. I put Sean first. I put Hannah first. I put Aimee first. I put Mabel first. I put Stephen, Annie, Dorothy and Richard first. I put Theresa first. I put Cindy-Lou-Who first.

  “By your own definition—I am trustworthy. Tonight will either be our last visit or tomorrow night we will go on a ride. It’s up to you.”

  When I awoke in the morning, there was a spring green bicycle helmet with daisies painted all over it next to my journal and Bible.

  Day Ten

  November 15

  I asked for a private meeting with Aimee and to be excused from the afternoon session with group. I carried the bike helmet all over and asked everyone if it belonged to them. Mabel said it was delivered to me yesterday from a bike company in California. Of course all boxes are opened to ensure client safety. She said she put it in my room.

  I know who sent it.

  Acceptance was hard. I wasn’t any closer when I got to Aimee’s office.

  I paced the small office while Doc Aimee waited patiently. “If I accept that God put me first by sending Jesus to die for my sins, does that mean I accept Sean and Hannah’s deaths?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think they are separate, because together it is too much for me … today.”

  “Then what can you handle today?”

  I sat down and picked up the bike helmet. Running my hands over the smooth surface. It was shiny new, but if I fell it would get scratched and dented, while it protected my head. We hadn’t ridden with them the night I drove, but then we hadn’t been going anywhere fast.

  “You’ve been thinking about your definition of trust. Someone putting you first?”

  “Yes. So either my definition is wrong or trusting Mom and Dad is wrong. And if my definition is right, then it extends to God too.”

  “I see your dilemma. What does the bike helmet have to do with all this?”

  “Nothing.” I shrugged. “I just like the daisies.”

  “Who sent it to you?”

  “I don’t know,” I said looking at the helmet as I traced a daisy with one finger. Then I looked up and into Aimee’s eyes. “Maybe God?”

  She nodded and made a few notes, quietly accepting my answer. No raised eyebrow or funny face.

  “You don’t think that’s odd that I would speculate the King of Kings sent me a riding helmet?”

  She smiled then, getting up from her chair. She circled her desk and picked up a black gym bag. She plunked it on her desk, unzipped it and retrieved a scratched-up, faded pink helmet with music notes. “He might have sent mine.”

  My mouth fell open–-closed—then opened again. I wanted to ask a thousand questions. Did she dream of God? Was she crazy? Was it in the water here? What happened to her? “How long have you been riding?”

  “About six years now. It’s great exercise. I find it clears my head, my heart, and my soul. And though I come back tired, I am also refreshed.”

  “Do you,” I swallowed hard, “do you ride with anyone?”

  She smiled again as she zipped up the bag and placed it back under her desk. It was a secretive smile—a quiet happy smile. “No. I don’t ride with anyone.”

  Dream 10

  I was on the bicycle path alone. I saw the tandem bike up ahead, parked by the bench where we had sat last night. I had lain awake awhile, considering my actions. Should I give up these nightly
fantasies of God or go for a ride? Did I trust God or not? I wanted to get better—I mean I must—I had called for help when I took the pills—though that night was still a blur. I was taking my prescribed meds, going to group, talking with Aimee. It seemed as if the next step should be to give up these nightly dreams of visiting with God. Wasn’t that keeping me this side of loony?

  Yet, I wanted to go for a ride. I wanted Him to drive. I wanted Him to see how hard my life was–picking directions, pedaling to keep up, or get ahead, or just survive the day. I wanted to see if He could do it better. Physically and mentally, I was following the prescribed treatment. What about my spirit, my soul? Who better to heal those than God?

  So here I was in riding clothes with my new helmet. Ready to go. Yet where was God?

  Then I walked over to the bikes.

  Bikes, plural.

  There were three bikes actually.

  One was the tandem we had ridden the other night.

  One was a single-seat bike.

  And one was a tandem but there was no seat in back. Odd. Very odd.

  I knew in my heart and head this was another test. A lesson.

  Was I riding alone?

  Was I riding and pretending he was there?

  Was I riding with God?

  I went to the tandem bike, put the kick stand up and got on the back seat. “Are you coming?” I asked.

  The bike bell chimed and there He was—smiling—dressed much like me but with a sky blue helmet with people all over it. Of course.

  “Glad you could make it,” I said.

  “Glad you invited me, Elizabeth. Hang on.”

  And off we went. At first I was uncomfortable. I craned my neck to see where we were going and what was up ahead. “Where are we going?”

  He looked back and laughed. “Pedal.”

  So I pedaled. I focused on Him and when He pedaled, I pedaled, and when He coasted, I coasted. When He took his hands off the handle bars and waved them in the air, I screamed.

  He just laughed again and put his hands back on the handle bars. We took the road to the right as I had done and I thought – Yeah, let’s see how he does, but he was fine. I was fine. The bumps were there. The people were there. He negotiated like a pro rider. He greeted people and I saw their faces light up and then gaze wistfully after us.