Three weeks ago, Ryan's Dad died. Eighteen months ago Ryan's Grandfather died. Two nights ago, Ryan received a beautiful gift in a dream. The following account is in his own words.
My Dream
We gathered in a mansion, we knew to belong to Mom. The mansion was modern and open, with sharp angles, and highly architectural. Mom, Kristi, Adele, and I sat in a living room on green couches, while waiting for guests to arrive. Kristi explained the house smelled faintly of smoke and was too cold. Mom explained her method for saving money on air conditioning.
As guests arrived and the general hum of conversation began to emerge from elsewhere in the house, I noticed a utility room in the back of the house. The utility room had four sinks of different sizes and the room itself was sunken a whole step. The room was flooded with water, but the water was not rising anymore. Stressed about needing to fix the problem, I was pleased to discover an easy solution and the waters began to recede quickly down various drains. I stepped down into the utility room and heard Kristi call from the hallway in a singsong voice, “Look who’s here.” She ushered Grandpa Bisel forward into the doorway, at his side was a woman. Amazed, I grasped him slowly with hands on either of his shoulders. “You’re here.” I said. “That cannot be. I must be dreaming.” Then, I held out my own hand and clasped it saying, “Ryan, wake up!” Grandpa smiled quietly as I turned back to him. I hugged him, now knowing the interaction was “real.” I understood immediately he delighted in my embrace. He also said, “I am proud of you.” He spoke slowly and with great compassion. He also mentioned a trip I once took to Seattle—I was unclear about his meaning, but held him tightly with my hands just the same.
Meanwhile, I was aware of Mom conversing in the hallway outside of my view (perhaps with Kristi) that this was my opportunity with the special visitors and to not bother us and keep others away for the time being.
Somehow, I found myself behind the house facing west into a low, but warm sun. The yard was a steep decline, and lush with green grass. Dad appeared from the shine of the low sun. “It’s you!” I said. And again, I grasped him by the shoulders almost wringing his shoulder muscles to confirm his realness. He smiled warmly. We hugged and he ushered me with a gesture to sit with him on the grass. I never released him from my grip. We smiled at each other. He exuded peace. He spoke slowly through a big smile. “[I want you to] Keep doin’ what you’re doin’,” he said with a nod to finish. “I also want to assure you I made it,” he said slowly. As he spoke, I saw in his right pupil, the silhouette of a human figure clothed in light. “You just can’t know [what people are going through]” he said. Then, he told a story about a friend, who he admired, who went to Bible classes frequently. Perhaps he meant that he went too, or was contrasting the behavior with his own? He explained that one day he made up his mind about Jesus quietly and privately when no one was around.
As he finished explaining this last part, a cow came close to us, grazing as she went. Her nose brought us to our feet. Friends from the party were gathering in the front of the house in preparations for a picture to be taken of grandchildren among a great garden that had spontaneously sprung along the east side. The garden emerged from the same beautiful grass. Decorative trees, lush ferns, beanstalks, and berry shrubs were neatly sprouting. A bench was among them and Phoebe and Moses were with a caretaker, being settled for the picture. As I walked around back of the bench, I realized Dad and Grandpa left the gathering.
