Most of us dream each night, our minds painting pictures that float in and out of conscious memory. We often describe our dreams as surreal—sometimes odd, perplexing, or even foretelling. Yet, throughout my life, no matter how hard I’ve tried, I’ve never remembered mine. At least, I could never remember more than a rare, hazy fragment—until one night in 2014.
In August 2014, an unexpected visitor “like a thief in the night” suddenly appears to Wells in a dream. Christ, the twilight visitor, gives Wells a mandate:
Take your dad back to his roots.
On each of the four days traveling with father and son, you can anticipate laughter, confrontation, divine intervention, and wonder as Wells comes face-to-face with his own troubling past.
Before I go any further, allow me to elaborate on my limited experience when it comes to the mysterious phenomenon of dreaming. This insight might clarify why my August dream remains one of the most meaningful events in my sixty-plus years. Remembering the simplest of dreams was practically nonexistent most of my life. And I found that void, the inability to remember almost all my dreams, extremely frustrating. My wife, Missy, often remembers at least half of hers. Plenty of my other friends seem to recall a significant number of theirs. So, what was wrong with me? Was I dreaming every night? I wasn’t sure. And if I were, why could I recall only bits and pieces at best, and then only on rare occasions?
