I dreamed Barack Obama sat at my kitchen table. He was dressed in a uniform, which I realized later in the dream was probably a disguise. I mean, after all, the president would need to disguise himself if he’s going to ride around the suburbs and visit people in their houses, right? And obviously, no one would suspect that this president would be wearing a military uniform.
The first thing I did in the dream was confront him about not really doing anything right or important or something. He replied with a long speech of verbose babbling about what he does and who does what. But in the dream I walked right up to him and, smartly condensing all his words into one word, I stated, “You mean you delegate.” Then I smugly glided away with a smirk on my face to go take the clothes out of the dryer. Because that’s always what you do after you put a president in his place…
Next scene found Obama sitting on the stairs by my front door waiting on the man who had driven him to my house to return from filling up their car with gas. I questioned Obama about what kind of car it was since I had apparently arrived at my house not realizing the president was visiting, so it must not have been the presidential limo. I am at least that observant in my dreams.
Then the discussion became serious. I confronted the president about his stance on abortion. I told him something to the effect of, “Fifty-five million babies have been killed, probably 60 million. And one just died right then when I said that.” He tried to defend himself, but I silenced him. It was my house after all. I informed him that it doesn’t matter what else he stands for if he thinks that abortion is okay. I told him that all that blood is on his hands. That’s not exactly true in real life, but it sure felt right to tell him that.
I also told the president that I pray for him–but not often enough. And I asked him if there was anything I could pray specifically about that wasn’t secret and that he wouldn’t have to kill me if he told me.
At this dramatic climax, I began to hear a faint tap-tap-tapping sound over and over. Swimming up out of that foggy state between dreaming and waking, I realized it was my real-life daughter knocking on my real-life bedroom door. So I never got to hear what my dream Obama wanted me to pray for him about.
Interestingly, the Obama in my dream appeared to be Middle Eastern. I am sure this part of the dream stemmed from my belief that he is a Muslim sympathizer, if not a Muslim himself. The dream Obama was also smaller in stature than in real life.
Please note that my dreams are not prophetic in any way and there is no way to interpret them, nor do I believe that dreams need to be interpreted. Most of mine make no apparent sense. In fact, once when I related yet another strange dream to my husband, he warned with a puzzled expression, “I wouldn’t tell those to anybody if I were you.”
Normally I just chalk them up to my creative, exhausted mind performing its nightly data dump and leave it at that. But for what it’s worth, I decided to write this one down and share it because it triggered a few thoughts to ponder.
First, I have actually wondered on occasion what I would say to Obama if ever given the opportunity. I hope I would have the courage to confront him about abortion. I also hope I would be able to honestly tell him that I do pray for him daily.
Secondly, it makes me wonder, what would you say to him?
Now I’m off to finish the laundry since it was interrupted by that pesky presidential visit.
Janice Powell 2014