i had a dream last night. i don't think i really liked it. it kind of scared me. but i think i like that. don't get me wrong. i hate being scared. but sometimes,
i like being
unsure.
doubt is a beautiful thing sometimes.
and i don't know
why.
•
i was a missionary. in south america. with 2 other young men. one was british. the other was american. like me. i didn't really know them. we were sent together for some reason. i don't remember their names.
then we were kidnapped.
by guerillas. 4 of them. and they took us into the jungle. we slept in a little hut. they would chain us to a metal bed frame buried into the ground every night. i fell in love with the british man. i don't even know why. but i did. maybe it was because we made such a good team. we preached to our captors together.
and they didn't understand a word we said.
but we made friends with them somehow. they didn't really mistreat us. they laughed with us. they tried to talk with us. we shared everything with them. and they even let me read the bible to them every night before we would go to sleep. before they would chain us up.
one of them was named paolo.
things were that way for 7 months. we were 'happy hostages.' woke up. chopped wood. made breakfast. preached. laughed. cleaned dishes. did laundry. read the bible. went to bed chained up. for 7 months the 3 of us did that.
then one day, they took us and lined us up.
and they shot the boys. both of them.
they shot the british man i loved.
and then they turned away.
i wept over the bodies. and screamed after the guerillas. "why paolo? why?" i shouted. and he turned to me. said something to the others. and walked back towards me. then he took his gun and showed it to me. he showed me how to shoot it and load it. then he laid it at my feet. and opened my hands as i was still crying, and filled them with bullets. then he took a ring off of the british man's finger, and put that in my hands too. then he touched my hair and said something. i knew it meant 'God bless you.' and he walked away.
my dream jumps ahead 2 years.
i'm on a sidewalk. sitting next to the british man's little brother. he looks just like him. i am crying. the ring is on my finger. i am not a missionary anymore. my head hurts.
the young man is shaking.
but he prays with me. for paolo. for me. for him. for his mother. he prays. long. hard. and sure. his voice is good.
my head stops hurting.
he takes a ring off of his finger and puts it on mine. on the same finger as his older brother's.
he asks me to go back to south america with him.
i say yes.
•
i was a missionary. in south america. with 2 other young men. one was british. the other was american. like me. i didn't really know them. we were sent together for some reason. i don't remember their names.
then we were kidnapped.
by guerillas. 4 of them. and they took us into the jungle. we slept in a little hut. they would chain us to a metal bed frame buried into the ground every night. i fell in love with the british man. i don't even know why. but i did. maybe it was because we made such a good team. we preached to our captors together.
and they didn't understand a word we said.
but we made friends with them somehow. they didn't really mistreat us. they laughed with us. they tried to talk with us. we shared everything with them. and they even let me read the bible to them every night before we would go to sleep. before they would chain us up.
one of them was named paolo.
things were that way for 7 months. we were 'happy hostages.' woke up. chopped wood. made breakfast. preached. laughed. cleaned dishes. did laundry. read the bible. went to bed chained up. for 7 months the 3 of us did that.
then one day, they took us and lined us up.
and they shot the boys. both of them.
they shot the british man i loved.
and then they turned away.
i wept over the bodies. and screamed after the guerillas. "why paolo? why?" i shouted. and he turned to me. said something to the others. and walked back towards me. then he took his gun and showed it to me. he showed me how to shoot it and load it. then he laid it at my feet. and opened my hands as i was still crying, and filled them with bullets. then he took a ring off of the british man's finger, and put that in my hands too. then he touched my hair and said something. i knew it meant 'God bless you.' and he walked away.
my dream jumps ahead 2 years.
i'm on a sidewalk. sitting next to the british man's little brother. he looks just like him. i am crying. the ring is on my finger. i am not a missionary anymore. my head hurts.
the young man is shaking.
but he prays with me. for paolo. for me. for him. for his mother. he prays. long. hard. and sure. his voice is good.
my head stops hurting.
he takes a ring off of his finger and puts it on mine. on the same finger as his older brother's.
he asks me to go back to south america with him.
i say yes.
•
i wake up.
i have no idea what any of that means.
but i think it's nice.
scary.
and nice.
because i like when i have to guess what God is trying to tell
me.
love, bell.
i have no idea what any of that means.
but i think it's nice.
scary.
and nice.
because i like when i have to guess what God is trying to tell
me.
love, bell.
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