Cooking, Cars and Suitcases
There's a couple of words or subjects or issues that really bring up strong emotions up. The most obvious one is cars. My dad, who is deceased, was very mechanical. If I had a car problem, I could just call him up and say this part of the car made this kind of noise. He would be able to explain what the problem was and tell me which auto repair place has a special or a coupon. And if I got there and the mechanic told me that there was more that needed repair, I would say "That's not what my dad, who is mechanical, said." and they would say, "Well, we'll just fix the part that your dad said needed fixing." and I'd say "Thank you." But he's not around any more.
And my dad was a good cook. You could say he was a feminist or you could say he liked to cook. I never learned to cook from him or my mom. We always had people over who just went on and on about how great my dad's cooking was. But us kids wanted to go to McDonalds. It's only later after eating other people's cooked meals that I realized that my dad was a good cook. I mean, his roast beef didn't taste like leather and his turkey wasn't dry and his gravy was the right texture and my mom really knew how to whip the lumps out of mashed potatoes like nobody. And people look at me like I should be a cook. And I'm like I didn't grow up with that stereo-type honestly.
My dad died of food poisoning from his own dish. He was always experimenting with food. He was public health inspector. He had this dish called Slum Gum or Slum Gully. It was some form of golosh that was actually tasty. But he just experimented a little too far. The last meal he made was a Mexican Tator Tot Hotdish. It was not good and me and my mom and my dad barfed it up for a couple days. But my dad never recovered. He got kidney failure and went down hill soon.
There was this Mexican guy eating at my church and he asked the name of a hotdish. It was tator tot hot dish. I wanted to tell him the story of my dad and that sometimes it is not good to mix cultures. But really, it was not the taste but there was something rancid in my dad's dish.
I've had about 1 dream and 2 visions of my dad since he's died. I don't get visions often so I found it a little disturbing. But I was at a prophetic equipping place and we were all worshipping and then I had a vision. My dad was looking out of the clouds and he said "Now, I understand you." And his face was very different.It was more peaceful. It was very healing because we had some conflict the last few years of his life but not the last week of his life. He just didn't understand why I left the Finnish church. And there were many reasons. It's hard to go back to a place where people judge you for wanting to read the bible. They actually think you are being religious. A few months later I was reading the Seer from James Goll and there's a part in that book where James had the exact same vision. I'm thinking, maybe that was okay.
Another vision I had was after a gal from my church was talking about getting married and she was getting emotional about some of the planning stuff. And it brought up the thought that my dad will never be able to take me down the aisle. And I went home and jumped in my bed and started crying out to God. "He's not going to be at my wedding." and a vision came right that moment to me that startled me and there was my dad's face and he said "I'll be there." And I stopped crying mainly out of shock.
So this week I am dealing with car issues again. And then I will be dealing with cooking issues soon. So it's all in my face. It's grieving time again. I'm crying in the isles of Target while buying oil.
Grieving is a strange process. It hits you by surprise and then there's the vision and then you refocus and wonder why God felt he had to send the vision. They say (I mean the experts) that you need to grieve. But every time I try something gets in the way. I get interupted.
But yeah, my dad was different. It's too bad I only realize it now. He served his kids and you don't see that too much. He may not have been the most verbally expressive (thank God.) But he was a giver and a server he did the things that he wanted to do even if they were considered feminine. And he was called gay by some women in his church while he was growing up.
My grandpa died when I was a sophomore in college. And I remember the day because I had eatten a hotdog and a banana split at the dorm. I walked into my room and then I got this really bad pain where I thought I was going to die. I thought it was food poisoning. I rolled into my bed & couldn't even get up to call an ambulance. (This was before I was born again. But I was a believer.) And I just thought: well I guess I'm going to die and here I come. But then the pain subsided and I was okay. And about an hour later I got a phone call from my dad saying that my grandpa had passed away an hour ago. I remembered that a few days ago for some strange reason and I started to connect the dots. I'm thinking maybe I was there at grandpa's death. Maybe I was was interceding for him to go to God.
The dream I had of my dad when he was in the hospital was that my family was arguing over what to do with him right over his bed. Then my dad started pulling the tubes out of his body and just walked away. He recovered and left intensive care. But he got pneomnia and had to return. Then he chose to go to hospice. Then he had a dream about this machine that he refused to give into. It seemed like to him it had spiritual significance. And he died after I read the poem I wrote to him.
I went to grief camp and I went to grief counseling but could never really cry. Something always interupted.
My uncle got hit by a truck one day as he was crossing the street to get some cash. He ended up in intensive care where we visited him. I had a dream of him where he was in a wheel chair and my dad was behind him holding the bars. I was about to grab my suitcase on the ground when he stood up out of the wheel chair and said "Let me get that for you." and he carried my suitcase for me.
I visited him in the hospital and I felt the Lord wanted me to say "You're going to be okay." to him as he lay in his coma. And so I waited for everyone to leave the room and I said it. But just around the corner one of my cousins was standing there listening. Later he seemed to be the only one who was not worried about his father.
Afew years later my aunt and I traveled to New York on a plane. When I got off the plane, my uncle was there and I was about to grab my suitcase and I heard him say "Let me get that for you." and he picked it up and brought it to the car. But the moment he said those words I remembered the dream. At my dad's funeral I told one of my cousins the story and it changed the way some of my cousins viewed God.
Intercession and dreams may not be very normal things. But I'm telling you this story so that you can believe that God heals and God knows what's going on and he can reveal insight.
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I used to be more intune to those types of visions myself. What a wonderful gift you have. The first time I heard those words I was freaked out, but hopefully you are in a place where you can accept your gift.