A few nights ago, I had a strange dream that took me back to First Church of the Nazarene in Walla Walla, Washington. There, as a nine-year old boy, I answered an altar call and committed my life to following Jesus. All I remember is that the evangelist had bushy eyebrows that when pulled together pointed like a hairy arrow straight to hell. It was not, however, a fear of hell that moved me to kneel at the altar. I was wild child that needed Jesus.
Once I even preached at the Walla Walla church. I preached on the Romans seven and compared the carnal life to the whack-a-mole game at the carnival. The fondest memory I have is from August 12, 1978, when I married Teckla. She was a Walla Walla girl and this was her home church. Even as kid, Teckla was beloved, so our wedding filled the church.
Neither of our families had much money, so we had a low-budget wedding. Friends from Myrtle Point picked sword ferns from the woods. Teckla and I picked sunflowers from along the road to College Place. Teckla and her mother, Ella, made the wedding dress. It was all simple but wonderful. And Teckla, of course, was stunningly beautiful. In my vows I promised to love Teckla as Christ loves the church. I promised to give myself up for her as Christ has given himself for His bride.
In my dream I was at the church with a large crowd of people, my father being the only specific person I noticed. I had just said my vows again to Teckla and kissed her. The congregation clapped and then chanted, “Dance, dance, dance!” I took Teckla’s hand and put my other hand in the small of her back. There was no music, but we swayed back and forth and shuffled our feet. My steps were clumsy, and I stepped on her toes a few times. Like a good Nazarene, I had never learned to dance.
Each day Teckla and I live this dream. In the morning, I re-introduce myself to Teckla and tell her that we got married 46 years ago. Sometimes I remind her of her name. I repeat my promise to never leave her, to never stop loving her. We fall in love again.
I don’t put much stock in dreams, but if a bunch old-time Nazarenes and your father are telling you to dance, it is probably God speaking. So, every day I ask Teckla, “May I have this dance?” Memories come and go, but we move to the music of God’s grace as we slow dance through these difficult days.
