23 September 2006

The George Bush of My Dreams


Thursday night I had a powerful dream. I found myself in what I guess was the White House, and in some kind of receiving room. (It was actually my grandparent's bathroom, but that's really distracting from the rest of the story.) George and I had an appointment. We sat and talked, uninterrupted, for quite some time.

Friends asked me, "Did he see it your way?" I had to answer no, but it was because I didn't try. This wasn't a dream where you get all your aggression out on your worst enemy. Instead it was the kind of dream where you recognize their humanity, and somehow love them and care about them. Waking up from these dreams is always uncomfortable but calming for me. I always remember that this former object of my hate is probably doing their best, however pathetic their best turns out to be. And in this case, that's really fricking pathetic.

The thing is, he knew he was doing a shit job. He shook his lowered head to me like a bad dog. In the dream, he was ashamed of himself, and I was the comforter, the encourager. He was sorry and alone, and I had so much compassion for him. I was open about all my disappointments, but...we had a moment. He was so sad in our meeting, so weary and discouraged. It was tragic, and he roused my sympathies in a real way. He asked how my family was doing, and how my work was going, and I could tell he really did care. Poor George, I woke up thinking (quietly to myself, of course), poor, poor George.

It's not very fashionable to love our President. I've never been one to call us to more love or compassion for him. When my women's bible study in Columbia bowed our heads and the leader prayed, "O Lord, just be with our President during the debate tonight. Lord, just give him your words like you always do," I suddenly had to go, and never came back. I'm not very open to seeing his charming side. But I believe in the prophecy of my dream. I believe that he knows he's doing a bad, bad job like only a bad, bad President can. And now he's not my enemy; he just really needs a rescue. He needs an out. It's better for me to think of it that way. So let's get this guy out as fast as we can, and minimize the damage he does in the next two years. After all, he told me he was sorry. :)

3 Comments:

Blogger Ann said...

George Bush in your grandparents bathroom? Guess that represents the job he is doing? Anyway your blog reminded me of Anne Lamott's Plan B where she spends much of the book trying to pray for him and not hate him.

5:24 PM  
Blogger Zinnhead said...

thanks for solving that mystery. I'm reading Plan B right now.

3:41 PM  
Blogger LutheranChik said...

Happy Delurking Week!

The great thing about grace (of any kind) is that it means a second chance...he could have the sort of transformation Jimmy Carter had post-presidency, into a great ex-President. Maybe.

5:38 PM  

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