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I had the
Strangest Dream
By Bob Robinson
Dec. 24, 2003
As we move into the New Year, with all the challenges facing us, I
wanted to revisit a column I wrote 12 years ago, published in my book,
“God Don’t Make Junk; the Ramblings of an Old Man,” and have often used
as a speech to various groups, including some of my communications
classes at Edison…
“Last night I had the strangest dream...
“I never dreamed before...
“I dreamed the world had all agreed...”
The Chad Mitchell Trio, in the late 1960s, finished the verse rather
appropriately for the time... it seems, for any time.
“To put an end to war.”
We had just received a letter from Alan Metzcar wishing all of his
friends and relatives a Merry Christmas from Iraq. But I saw that he
was here, sharing - in person - these special days with loved ones. I
saw that Travis Jones was home also, as were the dozens of other Darke
County natives who have been serving us so faithfully throughout the
world.
All were home.
There was only one lone soldier, on a hilltop. It was barren and
scarred from centuries of fighting. He stood tired, but tall, amidst
rubble and smoke. For a fleeting instant, in the distance behind him, I
saw three crosses. They were quickly enveloped by plumes of black smoke.
As I came closer, he looked at me.
“All is secure, sir,” he said.
Then he handed me a key and pointed to the door he was guarding. I
opened it.
There was a glow of light from the entry. It splashed upon the face of
the guard. I could see his pain and injury, but also his pride in the
knowledge of a job well done. He smiled as he motioned me on.
I stepped inside and closed the door behind me.
Below was an immense valley. It was green with foliage, penetrated by
streams and waterfalls. The sun showered it with light, but was not
harsh. Its rays were warm, comforting. There was a path leading off to
the right. I followed it.
It was a difficult path. I could see it had not been used very often. I
almost lost my way many times... once, a deer ran out in front of me
and through some undergrowth. Another time it was a raccoon. A
squirrel. Each time I was in danger of taking the wrong turn. Each time
a creature of the forest kept me on the path.
Eventually the path became clearer. More traveled.
As I rounded a turn, I saw a man on one knee in front of a headstone.
He was placing flowers in front of it. Concerned for his privacy, I
stopped at a distance and waited. Soon, he stood up, smiled at me, then
walked off in another direction.
I knew him. His craggy face was etched with nearly two centuries of
sorrow. His beard was white, but I remembered him from my history
books. I went to the headstone and looked down upon it. Behind the
arrangement of flowers, the epitaph said...
“Slavery died Jan. 1, 1863. May it rest in peace.”
I remember thinking “if only it were true.”
I continued down the path and almost bumped into another man. I had
never met him but I remembered that he’d had a dream. He smiled and
nodded, then disappeared into the foliage.
The headstone he was leaving was more recent. It said...
“Prejudice died Aug. 28, 1963. May it rest in peace.”
I remember thinking “if only it were true.”
I started to continue my journey, only to discover the path was gone. I
was in a cemetery. There were headstones such as I’d never seen
before...
“Terrorism died July 13...”
“Persecution died Feb. 22...”
“War died April 18...”
“Man’s inhumanity against man died...”
Hundreds of headstones. All with similar messages.
I remember thinking “if only it were true.”
“It could be true, sir,” the voice said. “It is what we fight for.”
Standing behind me was the soldier who had given me the key.
“We were given that key more than 2,000 years ago,” he said. “It is
what I sacrifice for. Pres. Lincoln. Rev. King. My buddies. Me.
“This valley and all its beauty can still be ours, sir. But it takes
all of us. We can’t do it alone. That was His message to us... don’t
let His sacrifice, or mine, be in vain.”
Suddenly we were back on the hill. I could hear explosions in the
distance. See the pain on the soldier’s face.
“Sleep well tonight, sir,” he said, finally. “Be at peace with your
loved ones. I have tonight’s watch.”
The book, “God Don’t Make Junk; from Ramblings of an Old Man,” is
available in digital format for a donation of $10 to help at risk
children, K-2, learn the reading and writing skills they need to
succeed in school. Mail checks or money orders to County News Online,
PO Box 1113, Greenville, Ohio 45331. Include your email address for
delivery of the file.
We at County News Online and the Senior Scribes Scholarship Fund would
like to wish everyone a happy, blessed and healthy New Year. And once
again, we express our never ending thanks to those who keep us safe!
God Bless!
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