Turtlehead Lake

There is a small fishing hole in suburban Chicago called Turtlehead Lake. My maternal grandfather, who enjoyed fishing, would take me there. I didn’t share his love for fishing, but I jumped at the chance to go with him because I loved spending time with him. Going fishing with Grandpa meant getting up early (usually before sunrise), packing up the car with him, and driving about an hour to get there. The sun would be just starting its climb into the summer sky when we would arrive at the lake.

The water was quite a walk from where we would park the car. With no formal walkway to the lake and the rising sun at our backs, we would trek with all of our gear through very tall grass and weeds to get to our destination. It was a peaceful place; there was still water, singing birds, an occasional fellow fisherman, and best of all, there was my grandfather. He would patiently teach me to cast, remind me to be quiet, and bravely take any slimy object or critter off of the end of my line. When I got bored with fishing, which was about ten minutes after the first cast, I would get the urge to wander around and explore other parts of the area; but I didn’t because I enjoyed being in his company so much. In those moments, sitting on a fallen tree trunk by the water next to Grandpa, it just seemed that life couldn’t get any better. In a way it didn’t; my grandpa died when I was seven.

I missed him terribly, and I still do. In the weeks, months and years after his sudden passing, I began having a recurring dream. It always started with our walk towards the lake. I could vividly see and feel him next to me. I would raise and extend my hand up to his and he would take a firm hold of mine. We would start walking toward the water through the grass and weeds, which were well over my head. I couldn’t see where I was going, but it didn’t matter because I was with Grandpa. His head was well above them and he could see where we were headed. The rising sun was unusually bright and radiant in those dreams; it would reflect off of the grass, weeds, and trees with such intensity that I would need to squint to keep from being blinded. The dream always ended before we got to the water. I was okay with that, because the water was never my destination anyway.

I can’t point to a specific time when I stopped having that dream. I can only share with you that I was incredibly sad that the dream was gone. I cherished it so much that I would force it into my mind as a daydream. It worked; what once was reserved for slumber, had become part of my waking life. I could be carried away by thought to those walks in tall grass, surrounded by radiant light, holding my grandfather’s hand. My mind would often attempt to go to the water and expand the dream, but I was never able to do that. The daydream would start and end in the same place as my night dreams did. In my adult years, I would crave the peace and safety I felt holding my grandfather’s hand, yet as hard as I tried I couldn’t conjure the dream, either at night or during the day.

Years into my Christian walk, I asked God to bless me with that dream again. He did something much better. God blessed me with the meaning of the dream I had experienced as a child. It was never my Grandfather’s hand I was holding; it was my heavenly Father’s hand. The unusually bright light in the dream was His radiance and holiness. The tall grass and weeds represented the world, which was and still is well over my head, but not His. God reminded me that I loved being with Him. He also told me that the destination was not as important to Him either - He loved my company, too. He also told me how sad He was when I pulled my hand from His. That made me very sad too, because somewhere along the line, I did pull my hand from His. I had stopped the dream.

As I write this, God just reminded me that He put the desire in me to hold His hand again as I sat by the water (the Chicago River). I wasn’t fishing, but He was. In 1 Kings 9:3 God told Solomon that He will always watch over and care for the temple that was recently finished. God reminded me that I am a temple for His Holy Spirit (Cor. 6:19), and that He has always watched over me and cared for me. I’m re-learning how much I love to be in His company. It turns out that God has a new dream for me. He has one for you too.

Grace to you.

Dave Paukner