Rebekah
was standing on the sandy shore, fishing pole in hand, casting her
line into the rolling brown waves. I watched smiling thinking of all
she had been through over the past two years. I vaguely wondered why
we were in Africa but I didn't care, all that matter was Rebekah
standing there enjoying herself. Her brown hair, twisted in an
incomprehensible knot involving a yellow wood pencil that was topped with a cute tuft of hair was slightly damp from the humidity. Her
short white shorts left most of her legs bare to the tanning effect
of the sun which she was obviously enjoying. T-shirt sleeves rolled up and eyes forward my sister
focused on her bobber. I had another vague thought, my sister didn't
like fishing. That didn't matter either, here we were. Suddenly, a long snout with razor sharp teeth bared
rose from the sand and with a sideways snap the teeth sunk into my
sister's bare white leg. As crimson blood spurted down across the
skin and crocodile's jaws. I heard screaming and realized I was hearing
my own screams. I leaned forward, drawing up a leg and moving forward
in a sprint. I would get to her. I would save her. As I moved I felt as though stuck in slow motion. I struggled with all my might to move faster as I watched the crocodile slither backward
taking the one person who I couldn't live without. My sister had always
been there for me. From my great heart break to my winning speeches
my sister always was standing there as a help voice of support or healing voice of encouragement. Here in her moment of
deepest need I felt the hot sand between my toes unable to lift my
feet fast enough. I had reached back to my rear pocket where my four
and a half inch steel combat folding knife was, but my hand found
nothing but a pocket. Frantic and without recourse I leapt out for her outstretched hands. The crocodile's retreat into the waves had pulled
her down to the sand and her long delicate fingers crawled at the
sand trying to find a hold. My outstretched leap landed my hands only
an inch or two from hers. There was a deadened silence as our eyes
locked. I could see pain, terror, and despair in her eyes. All in a
sudden she was gone; whipped out into the rolling brown waves in a
foam of froth and bloody bubbles. My sister was gone. I felt a pain
in my chest as my throbbing heart screamed at the loss. As I rolled
over the ceiling of my bedroom came into focus and the cold morning
air brought me back to consciousness. Such a vivid dream. Too vivd. I
had to call my sister and even though I only got her voice mail (this
happens often) it felt good to leave her a warning not to go near
sandy beaches and brown rolling water.
This
dream instilled a brand new appreciation for her life. I don't know
where that dream came from. It was the most clear and vivd dream I
can remember. The sun still seems to baking my skin and I can almost
brush the sand off from between my toes. More importantly the terror
of having lost someone so precious as my sister still has my heart
unsettled. Maybe thats why I write now. My morning devotion taken
from the book of James reads too true. “Every
good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of
the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows.”
James 1:17
Every breath we take is a good gift. It is something we cannot take
for granted. As a scientific median a human who lives to be 80 takes
an average of 700 million breaths in their life time. That is far too
few to be willing to squander. Now I doubt me or my sister will loose
our lives to a crocodile, but such a dream is a clear and vivd
reminder of the life God has given us and our responsibility to live
it to the fullest.
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