A Beautiful Nightmare

What are dreams?
People throughout history have tried to understand what causes these strange visions we experience while asleep. Some insist the explanation is strictly scientific—that the subconscious simply sorts through memory, stitching images together into an alternate life or fleeting story. Others believe dreams are spiritual and prophetic. After all, how many times did God speak to people through dreams in the Bible? My personal favorite will always be Saint Joseph (MT 1:20–21). And those who are young at heart might prefer Disney’s explanation: a dream is a wish your heart makes.

Last night, I had what I can only describe as a beautiful nightmare. I dreamed of my wedding day. For those who are curious, I am not married, nor am I currently in any form of romantic relationship.

The entire thing took place in the parking lot of the parish I attended as a child—Sacred Heart Church. Yes, the parking lot. Never once did I, or any of the guests, step inside. I stood there watching people arrive when a shocked specter informed me that this was, in fact, my wedding—and that I was in absolutely no way ready to walk down the aisle.

Everyone else was dressed exactly as I would expect for my kind of affair: suits, fancy dresses, polished shoes. I, on the other hand, was wearing sweats, a ratty T‑shirt, and socks.

At first I felt excitement. I was getting married! The day had finally come.
But… to who?

I wasn’t in love with anyone.

I began to peek around the guests as I recognized several men from my past arriving in their suits. Some surprised me; others terrified me. Just the thought that it might be one of them made my stomach knot.

Then joy filled my sleeping body as I saw my nieces, all dressed in the same beautiful blue floral bridesmaid gowns. Some of them looked noticeably older, which was how I realized the dream must be set sometime in the future.

People were waved down and asked to take their seats. The ceremony was about to begin.

Panic set in. I was nowhere near ready to walk down any aisle. I still had no idea who I was marrying.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a woman dressed in a white wedding gown, layered with a deep plum‑colored cape, lining up to walk the aisle.

It was me.

There were two versions of me in the dream—the one still standing there in her sweats, and the one about to get married.

I ran after her. No matter how fast I went, I couldn’t catch her. All I could see was her back, and I desperately wanted just one good look. How did I look walking down the aisle? Was I happy? And who on earth was I marrying?

Somehow, in my frantic pursuit, I ended up at the altar before she did.

All eyes turned toward me—sweats and all.

I smiled and gave a small wave.

A man stood up from one of the pews. An acquaintance at best from high school. He looked genuinely happy to see me, while I felt hot terror melt from my brain down into the rest of my body.

Please, Lord… not him, I prayed silently. Tell me I didn’t somehow fall in love with him.

The Lord hears prayers even in dreamland, because he simply congratulated me—and sat back down.

Relief washed over me.

Then my nephew Joseph ran up to congratulate me as well. Seeing him filled me with joy; my wedding wouldn’t have been complete without him. I noticed he was older in the dream than he is now, with small streaks of gray just beginning to show in his sideburns, and I stood there admiring him for a moment.

At last, music began to play. Someone was walking down the aisle, surrounded by guests.

My palms were sweaty. My heart was racing.
Who was it?

The crowd parted.

It was a woman.

Carrying a basket of mints.

The old‑fashioned white and red kind, wrapped in thin twisted plastic.

…What?

All this time.
This elaborate wedding.
And I was marrying a basket of mints.

No wonder the wedding wasn’t held in the church.