Comfort

Last night, I had a series of really horrible dreams. Some samples:
1) My house was under invasion by all sorts of monsters and evil beings and try as my family might, we could not fend them off.
2) My dad DIED while I was at some sort of 8-day camp. Nobody told me, and by the time I got home he was gone and buried and my Mom had a new boyfriend already. (Mother dear assured me that that would never ever happen in real life when I told her this morning, accompanying her assurance with the exclamation, "gross!" Praise God for my wonderful mother!)
3)The Servants of the Pierced Hearts were under house arrest during the Nazi invasion in a house with no bathroom, only a small shower in the wall.

I have never in my life been so happy to hear my alarm clock's cheerful beeping. As I pulled the covers off and shuffled to the bathroom to brush my teeth, I realized that, comparatively, my life really is not bad at all. Sure, commuting sucks, but at least my dad isn't dead and my house isn't under attack. As I climbed on the trolley this morning, I felt truly happy for the first time since school started. I most certainly can make the best of things.

And one more thing:
I pray a rosary every morning on the trolley. Usually I keep the beads enclosed in my palm, with only a few peeking out over my thumb and forefinger as I count the decade out. But today, I let my rosary fall loosely over my lap. I made the sign of the cross joyfully and noticeably. No more hiding. I'm ready to show the world my faith. Is this display in response to my dreams of last night? Perhaps. For without God, all things seem impossibly bleak.