There was a woman standing before a stove in a strange kitchen. I recognized neither the voice of the woman, nor the room we were in.  The woman was concentrating intently on stirring the contents of the pot.

I did not see, but felt, as the woman turned her head toward me. As she turned, she spoke, saying,  "Try this oatmeal, Suzanne, you will love it." Since I detest the smell, taste, and texture of oatmeal, I politely declined her offer.  She persisted in her efforts to get me to sample a small taste.

Finally, after what seemed like a half hour of this coercion, I agreed to a minute taste.  I loved it, just as the woman had assured I would.  As I looked up from the pot, I saw only the woman's mouth stretched in a wide smile.

Suddenly I realized I was stirring the pot.  It was not the pot on the stove, but one at my feet.  I did not stir with a spoon as the woman had,  but with a four foot long, two inch in diameter dowel.  It was not the large round pot the woman had been stirring on the stove, but a two foot by eight inch rectangular vessel.

Looking into the content of this strange pot I now stirred with the same diligent concentration as the woman, I keep repeating, "They would love this if they tried it."

Standing there stirring, I realized something else was different about this pot.  This pot held the same wonderful oatmeal as the other pot had, but this one had the addition of cranberries.  I attempted to incorporate the berries into the meal, but they remained in single file moving only against the sides of the rectangle.  They never lost their perfect line no matter how I stirred.  I awoke that morning still trying to bring those two ingredients into harmony and unity, but the cranberries refused to be mixed in.

I had this oatmeal dream two nights in a row.

Pastor Suzanne L. Taylor
Copyright © 2003