A couple weeks ago, I dreamed that one of the girls from my youth group had suddenly become my sister. She's a very sweet girl, with almost unimaginable energy and potential, but she's almost chimeric in the way her attitudes and behaviors mimic her surroundings. So at church on Sunday mornings and evenings, on youth group fellowship and mission trips, and in many of the other places where I work with her, she is a tremendous, life-giving participant in youth ministry. But she tends to get in a fair bit of trouble at home and at school, when the social expectations and pressures are different than those we have at church.

In any case, she had become my sister, apparently through a highly unlikely union between two of our parents, and I found myself at a loss to integrate this new relationship of ours into our history together. I was excited about being able to have more of a presence in her life during these crazy high school years, but I was also worried that this would damage my ability to be fair when the whole youth group was together.

It was only as I was awakening from this dream, in that strange in-between period where you know this isn't real but are somehow still powerless to fully escape into lucidity, that it occurred to me how foolish my concerns had been. Of course she's my sister. We're all sisters and brothers---isn't that what this whole 'Body of Christ' imagery that we toss around so lightly is really all about? Do I not have a responsibility to love and empower her in every way possible, whether or not we share a home and a family? And do not the traditional obligations of kinship offer us at least a glimpse of what it means to be bound to one another and to God through our Brother and Lord, Jesus?

Soon after eye-opening nighttime encounter with myself, I dreamed that my father and I (why it should be only us, I do not know . . .) were at my maternal grandmother's house in Tennessee. I awakened on a Sunday morning, knowing that I needed to begin getting ready for church, but couldn't, for the life of me, figure out what time it was. My watch told me one time, the clock on the wall another. I checked the television station with all the previews (Ch. 11 at Mamaw's house) and ran to ask my dad, but every possible source of clarity only left me more in doubt. I had the very real sense that some impending doom was coming for us (upon reflection, it was almost like we were hiding out up on the hill on the old family farm) and that discovering what time it really was was the only way I could escape. New people kept appearing in the house, some familiar, many not, but no one seemed to share my grave concern over this rift in time. In fact, many of these figures seemed to find the predicament rather amusing.

I woke up as my search was intensifying further (I tried to measure the angle of the sun from the bay window in the living room and even snuck outside to ask the dog if he knew what was going on---great logic, eh?) and immediately checked the time---twice.

I'll leave the interpretation on that one (time management anxiety, Sabbath fears, excess stress, etc.) to you. After Saturday night's thrashing at FSU, however, I had a much more direct and painful dream. Andrew and I were playing catch with a football on the side of an old, two-lane highway, perhaps at some sort of shelter or gas station, when Burt Reynolds came up to us and suggested a game. You may remember that Burt, a member of Florida State's 1954 football team, was interviewed during the game on Saturday night while in town shooting a remake of his 1974 film The Longest Yard. Burt's game was that we would each take a football, begin on opposite sides of a maze (that seemed to sort of apparate out of nowhere, the way things do in dreams and in primetime games against Florida State), and race to see who could make it out the other side first. Somehow, though, we were really on the same team, and our victory depended on helping one another through the labrynth as quickly and painlessly as possible. My mind didn't linger on the game long enough to see how we did, but given the success of our football team Saturday night one might be able to posit some guesses. In order to have any success against an underrated and angry FSU team, we needed every part of our game to be clicking and working together. Instead, our highly-touted offensive line crumbled under the Seminoles' defensive front, our award-winning kicker missed a crucial field goal early in the game, our playcalling was slow and ineffectual, and our previously stellar defense simply gave up.

All is by no means lost, though. Early in the 1984 season, we dropped a game 55-0 to Clemson, and Coach Welsh's immediate response was to remind his players and fans that they must not let that game count as more than one loss. They didn't, and went on to finish 8-2-2, including a win in our first ever Peach Bowl appearance, 27-24 over Purdue. This season, we have a young, talented team that is still on the rise. We're still ranked in the Top 15 in each of the three major polls (including the first BCS standings, which were released yesterday), and we've got a nice break in the schedule the next couple weeks to help rebuild confidence. April and I will be in Durham at the Duke game on Saturday, rooting hard for the Cavs and hoping to win out until the huge Charlottesville showdown with Miami on November 13.

So it's been an entire month since I've really updated the blog, and more has happened in that time than I could even begin to share now. As a result, what follows is not an attempt at thoroughly catching anyone up, but is instead a litany of joy for all the marvelous people and places which have touched my life this fall:

--During the weekend of October 1-3, I had the privilege of leading worship for the Society of Saint Andrew's College & Young Adult Harvest of Hope event at Camp Brethren Woods in Keezletown, VA. As always, spending some time putting together services which combined traditional Navaho prayers, Yugoslavian Creation legends, Scottish hymns, and Negro spirituals with the HoH traditions of the string bracelet and the bread and water, was a fun and rewarding experience, and meeting, working alongside, and woshiping with the volunteers from all around the Conference was a great blessing. Nikki Sawyer Kiger (WF Class of '03) did a tremendous job leading the entire retreat, and Andrew provided the amazing music leadership which made up for my lack of eloquence or coherence during worship.

--The following weekend, April and I led the youth from Hinton Avenue on a Visioning Retreat at Westview on the James. This provided us a great chance to get outside the city for a couple days and reflect honestly and insightfully on all that God is doing in and through our UMYF. I am always surprised and convicted by the wisdom of our youth, and this weekend was no exception. I was grateful to learn that our new Sunday School class (an exploration of faith as embodied in the arts of film, music, canvas and more, which has thus far taken a look at Big Fish and Hell House) is a hit and that much of what we are doing, in terms of weekly activities, field trips, and mission opportunities, is reflecting the values of worship, fellowship, and stewardship which are at the core of what people come to the youth group searching for. The youth also had great ideas about ways to raise funds and invite new people to our community during the coming months. And, of course, we were able to spend some much-needed time playing and worshiping outside!

--I returned from this retreat to spend a wild Sunday driving to Sutherland (Dinwiddie Co.) to speak to the United Methodist Men's group at Ocran Church, returning to Charlottesville for Laity Sunday at Hinton Avenue, serving as district youth photographer at our District Conference at Aldersgate, and attending the church administrative board's planning dinner at the Ponderosa, before beginning a significantly shortened fall break here in Charlottesville.

--Andrew and I were able to find time last Monday to have lunch at the historic Michie Tavern near Monticello, where we ran into a lady who seems to know me quite well even though I still can't place her for the life of me, feasted on some of the best stewed tomatoes and black-eyed peas the world's ever seen, and shared great conversation. Afterward we headed up Carter's Mountain to bask in the warmth of a beautiful day while picking apples and procuring apple butter for the parents. It was a truly wonderful day spent with a great friend.

--Having no class on Monday and Tuesday also allowed me to finally make it to a couple AHS field hockey games. Meredith Bradshaw, a ninth-grade student who's an active and vital part of our youth group, plays for the JV team and has been inviting me to games all semester (in fact, she actually copied her entire schedule by hand for me, and I've had it stapled to the back of my calendar since August). This was really great because I was able to witness their first victory of the season and spend several hours talking with Meredith and her mother about school and sports and church and so much more!

--This semester I'm taking my very first course in UVA's School of Nursing. The class is NUIP 315 (HIV/AIDS: A Personal and Social Perspective), and although it affords little by way of nursing knowledge and is not at all reflective of what most nursing courses are like, it does have a very strong service component built into the syllabus, which requires us to give time and energy to supporting people in Charlottesville and beyond who are living with HIV or AIDS. For me, this has meant teaming up with Abigail, a really cool first-year nursing student from Chicago (who shares my passions for community organizing and local culture), to consult with folks from the AIDS Services Group in Charlottesville and then to solicit donations from as many businesses as possible in the city. In the midst of this, I've learned much about activism and social responsibility . . . and about myself.

--One of the great surprises of my fall semester has been my weekly lunch date with Ashlee Jenks. At our Residential Community retreat at Richmond Hill in August, Alex gave each of us assignments for the first month of school, and mine was to invite Ashlee to coffee or lunch once a week, just to catch up and support one another. These times turned out to be so enjoyable that we've kept meeting each Thursday or Friday for lunch at some of the great, unique Charlottesville eateries (we've been to the Italian Villa, Tip Top, and The Nook....any suggestions?). Ashlee's from Johnson City, Tennessee, which is only a few miles from where I grew up in Erwin, so we've had a blast sharing anecdotes and antidotes from back home. She's also a remarkably talented and compassionate lady, and our Community is greatly blessed by her presence and gifts!

--Last week, as I was depositing my paycheck at the bank, I ran into Coach Gillen. He said hello as we were both filling out our papers at the desk. I responded, "Hi, Coach," and assumed that would be the end of it. But it wasn't. After a moment or two, seeing that I had clearly recognized him, he said, "November's coming up pretty soon, isn't it?" I was thrilled, because this meant he was willing to talk to me, and we proceeded to chat for about fifteen minutes about the team's trip to Canada over fall break (he glady reported that they won all the games, that no one got hurt, and that the experience helped strengthen team chemistry, which had been the three primary goals of the trip), about the upcoming season, and even about the football team's success. After a couple disappointing late-season collapses and a complete lack of post-season success in his five years at UVA, Coach Gillen has come under a lot of fire lately, and although I too have some pretty serious concerns about the direction of our program, there's not a nicer or more genuine guy in the whole business than Pete, and I definitely meant it when I told him that I was rooting for him and the team this year. when we left the bank, I noticed that he too drives a minivan. Despite our automotive similarities, however, I'm guessing that his deposit was significantly larger than mine. Hmmm....

--A couple very important news items have come to my attention this week, and because I want you to be as informed as possible, I share them now (just click the links to educate yourself!): Vice President Dick Cheney has released an important statement that I think will really shake up next month's election. And the Boston Red Sox's Johnny Damon has won a very presigious award.

--Constantly I refer to Dougie MacLean's brilliant and inspired ballad "This Love Will Carry" and many of you wonder what on earth I'm writing about. For you I have good news! You can download the song in MP3 format for free from the website of NPR's The Thistle and Shamrock. Listen, share with friends, and send your thanksgiving!

Because students of English Literature (and of Religion, for that matter) believe that all writing, and indeed all thought, is and should be connected in some important ways, this post must inevitably return to the level of dreams. What follows is a far more profound and moving reflection on dreams than any of my own. This is also, incidentally, the best love song of a generation, or at least the best produced by four men who know nothing about logging or ballet but are from Montana. But seriously, they offer here a brilliant vision of relationship and grace (and love). Enjoy!

She was a girl who was barely seventeen
He was a boy and a man and in between
And they would dream an imaginary scene
He would be such a hero, she would be a queen
Dream by dream

He was a man who was searching for a wife
She had been fooled out of searching for her life
So they sold all their dreams, every one the price of two
Making love like lovers are supposed to do
Dream by dream

We were in love, so we dreamed our love away
Till the dreams we had loved had been broken day by day
By the grace of our pain, we have learned another way
And we found all the dreams we both had hid away
Dream by dream

Love's not dreaming life romanticized
Love is courage, love is open eyes
Love's not feeling like a fantasy
Love is listening, love is setting free

I am a man and a boy and in between
You are a friend, the most beautiful I've seen
As we learn how to love one another, not our dreams
All our dreams come true and we live the love we mean
Dream by dream

--The Montana Logging & Ballet Company, 'Dream by Dream'

Way back on March 1, Maggie was Visitor #5000 to these Musings. Unbelievably enough, we're now approaching 10,000, and I would like to know if you're that lucky visitor. So without cheating (I WILL know if you simply refresh your browser a dozen times), check the counter on the right side of the page and click 'Comment' below this post to claim your prize! Of course, even if you're not #10,000, I'd still very much appreciate a quick note on the comments page if you have the time.

A new, actually informative, post is coming soon, I promise. There's much to share of mission trips, youth retreats, seminary visits, and all the rest. In the meantime, Brian Vaughan (Rambling Man) is the latest addition to the land o'links, and you should definitely check out his sight . . . his posts are quite witty, if somewhat random.

For me, it's off to Medieval English Lit, an AIDS Services Group meeting (did you know that I'm leading a forum on sexual health at the ASG's upcoming Virginia Awareness Project youth summit?), and more work than I even care to consider. Have a peaceful and blessed day!