Sunday, July 12, 2015

A Dream I Had

There was a main house. It was pretty big. It was an orphanage or shelter or humanitarian organization's headquarters. We were looking out the window onto the garden/back yard. There was a crazy guy (but not manic) that we knew was a murderer who was in a mini van in the yard. He was kind of being held up in the van by guys that were friends or workers of the organization. They had surrounded the van, but there were only about four of them.

I think we had loaded another van of people who needed attention (almost all children) to go to some hospital or specialty care facility. There was a woman in there with her child. She was black, and she looked to be suffering from AIDS or malnutrition. The sliding door to the van was open. Somehow, I was inside. 

Then, all of a sudden, our murderer in the other van decided to make his move: he quickly shifted from his van to the one I was in. I couldn't believe it, that he was so bold as to come out. He didn't look at us as he came into the van; he was just preoccupied with accomplishing his task. He opened the door and got in the driver's seat (which was on the U.S. passenger side of the car). Once I saw that, I jumped out of the sliding door as soon as possible and frantically tried to get out as many kids as I could. Some got out on their own. I think it was a combination of me knowing how severe the situation was--and they didn't move fast enough out of that van, motivated by fear--and I don't think I could speak their language. They weren't all black; some were brown. I saw one final child, a boy, that was within reach of getting out. I raised my eyebrows and made my eyes big, telling him, "You have to get out, now!" He held out his hands, and I grabbed him under his armpits and hoisted him out of the van, over that mother with her child. I looked at her. There was no time. The murderer drove off in a hurry, taking with him some few children and that mother in his escape. 

Hours later (or maybe days), I saw that mother and her child on a hospital/mortician's table. That was the photo that would tell the story.


I think the fuel for this dream was partly this book that I read a couple of weeks ago, What Matters. It's photojournalism and articles about the top distressing world issues--poverty, AIDS, water--all told through captivating pictures. As I read that book, I also thought, "Where is my place in all this? What can I do? What do I do?"

In my dream, I happened to be able to help tremendously those children, but some got away. I couldn't do it all, and we had some real losses.

Not all of the impact I make in my life will be as clear-cut as my dream. But I would like to figure out my purpose in serving others--what is my niche? Where is my small spot?