Random, I Know, But Possibly Worth Reading...

So, I confess. I have never smoked anything in my entire life, well, that is, except for those bubblegum cigarettes that we used to buy for a quarter at the corner store when I was a kid, but since those were never lit, I believe they don't count. In fact, I have been too exposed to cancerous lung pictures to ever even be tempted. No desire, none. Zilch. Zero... That is, unless I'm dreaming.

I am a frequent smoker in my dreams. Now, I have already surmised why, or what it all means, but if you care to share your own two bits, I'll let you, be completely entertained by your interpretation, and then just stick with what I already know, I smoke in my dreams when I want an immediate release.

Another interesting thing, apparently I have a favorite brand. It is always the same taste, the same smell, and when I come near someone in real life who is actually smoking one of my dream cigarettes, I find the smell completely satisfying. All other brands turn my stomach. I have yet to get up the guts to ask one of these smokers what brand they are currently using, mainly because I have the distinct impression that the conversation would be doomed to awkwardness.

In my dreams, since I was in high school, I have never smoked anything other than that brand, until last night.

Apparently my dream cupboards in my dream house were all out of my dream brand, and in my frantic state to locate some, I checked behind the cinnamon in my spice cabinet. To my utter dreaming delight, I found something even better... a stash of cigars.

For the remainder of the night (my dreams are always long and extensive and complicated) I continued to smoke these cigars, and NOT in the way I have seen on TV that you are supposed to smoke these things. I smoked them like a Looney Toones Cartoon, deep and fast, and leaving a cigar-shaped tube of ash in it's wake.

Which leaves me to wonder, why the change, and why the urgency to inhale?

I have come up with a few ideas.

First, at some point at Book Club last night, unbeknownst to me, I had some creepy voo-doo spell cast upon me. If I had, I believe that either Amy or Kristina would be the most obvious culprits.

Second, Mike has switched his nightly, my-wife-doesn't-know-but-I-must-have fix, and I am just dreaming vicariously.

Third, I am more disturbed than I otherwise suspected.

Or, fourth, more likely, this move has been A LOT, vacation cannot come soon enough, and my poor little brain is craving some emotional release.

Which leads me to my next thought, what I have been thinking about all morning long.

My Father in Heaven.

The word fallback keeps creeping into my thoughts.

Is my faith my fallback?

Have I gotten into the habit of relying on my family and friends, seeking their companionship, their reassurance, their confidence in me first. Is Heavenly Father who I turn to only when everyone else is busy? Only when everyone else is not enough?

For my own sake, I know that this is not entirely true, but it has been, to some extent. So what do I do now? Well, switching to dream cigars cannot be a lasting solution. So I do what I've always done.

I start over.

I put Him first. When I am sad, I get on my knees before I call my sister. When I am lonely, I read His words before I log on to this computer and read my favorite blogs. When my thoughts are too much for me, I send them His way before I post them on facebook. When my walls are closing in, I go outside and find Him in His creations before I head off to a friends house. When I am craving love, I look for Him in the faces of those I serve, especially my children, before I fill up Mike's inbox with texts.

I believe that we don't realize that we do this. That we are daily missing out on the deeper relationship that He is waiting to give. Just because we have accidentally made Him our fallback.