Dream about American Indians
Near the same time (a little before actually, I think) that I was dealing with the Life Sciences people, I had a dream that due to its clarity was prophetic. This was borne out by later events.
In this dream I found myself working in an automotive repair facility attached to a Western Auto store. When I was a kid there were a lot of these stores in the western states. Today only a few survive. At any rate, I was doing an oil change on a car in the back shop when I heard a commotion in the front of the store and recognized the voice of a customer whose car I had recently worked on. Thinking there must be something wrong with the work I had done, I went forward to find out. I found out the front end people had overcharged the man and straightened it out.
Once that was taken care of, the older Native American gentleman looked across the counter at me and said, “Can you help us?” The information came flooding in as usual in these types of dreams and I knew that this fellow’s village had been raided by federal agents and only he and his family had escaped.
I looked out the plate-glass windows at the front of the store and saw his old Ford station wagon out there with his possessions piled on top and his family inside. Somehow the answer came readily to my tongue and I began to say, “Yes, there’s a man named Roger Henderson.” Right there the scene changed and we were now in someone’s living room. There were now several more Native Americans in the room with us.
On the table in front of me was a coffee table with a map spread out on it. On the map were the states of Washington, Idaho, and Montana. The area that including the Panhandle of Idaho, part of eastern Washington and part of western Montana was curiously highlighted. Pointing somewhere in that area I said, “He has a refuge right here.” Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell exactly where I was pointing and I was pulled from the dream.
It’s a strange feeling being pulled out like that. I didn’t know what to think but I was pretty certain it was from God. I don’t know where the name Roger Henderson came from. I don’t know where that Western Auto store is and have no recollection of seeing one that had an auto service bay. The unknowns abound.
A few weeks after that I was in the local coffee shop and saw on the table a local paper, The Spokesman Review.
There on the front page were three major articles. On the left was an article about the problems the Nez Perce tribe was having with a group of government agencies who were trying to deprive them of their water, timber and mineral rights. The surprising thing was what the chairman of that group said. “If the Nez Perce don’t come to terms with us, it could lead to bloodshed.” The reporter writing the story queried someone higher up and was told, “We regret that he stated it that way but we stand behind it.”
On the right side of the page was an article about the government plans to release Grizzlies into the Bitterroot Mountains of Idaho and Montana. It showed a map with the same highlighted area as the one in my dream. I nearly fell over.
Well, as you can imagine, I wondered what to do about this situation. I found a number for the Nez Perce tribe and tried to find someone interested enough to talk to me about it. They definitely weren’t going to talk to some crazy white man about his crazy dream. At some point, I decided that I would take a trip into that area just to see if anything stuck out to me. I traveled through several small towns but didn’t see any Western Auto stores.
I passed Sandpoint in the late afternoon and was headed toward Bonner’s Ferry when the alternator in my car quit working. I coasted into the NAPA auto parts store just before they closed. They kept the door open long enough for me to inspect my alternator and find it just needed new brushes. They didn’t have any but one of the guys was able to modify some that were close enough.
While this was going on I told them about my quest. They told me they were all Christians and were just about to have a prayer meeting and would I join them. As it was getting dark by the time I left I decided to head home. On the way back up the hill toward Sandpoint In picked up a hitch hiker. He turned out to be a Nez Perce who was just coming from the Chief Joseph battle ground memorial site.
He told me he was headed to a rehab clinic for his alcohol addiction. Another impromptu prayer meeting ensued and I dropped him off in Sandpoint. After that, I returned home in pretty high spirits even though I hadn’t found what I thought I had been searching for. End of story.
~~ More to come …