On fevers, Dwight Shrute, and pleas for deliverance . . .

I knew I was very ill, not mad, when Dwight Shrute showed up in my nightmare. It was just after midnight, and there he was, stating the phrase he had earlier on that night’s episode: “Look at this face—this is the ghostly apparition you see right before you die!”

Yep. I'm ready to die.

My kids are fans of “The Office.” 

I am not. 

Now, I’m not . . . even more so.

I shivered in bed, even though I had three blankets. Every joint ached. I had a high fever, I know. But I couldn’t push Dwight away from me. For at least an hour I shook in bed, wishing I was magical enough to send ibuprofen through the air to my bedside. 

It took me that long to realize I had something better than magic—prayer, and I hadn’t even used it yet. You would think one’s first impulse when seeing Dwight Shrute next to the bed would be to cry out, “Dear Lord, save me!” But oddly, it wasn’t. 

(Is it because Dwight looks like my other nightmare, Newt Gingrich?)

But after a weary hour, it was. My prayer was simple: help me push away Dwight so I can get to the bathroom! About ten minutes later, I felt stronger and braver, and Dwight had stepped away from my bedside to let me pass.

An hour after I downed my pills, the man with boxy glasses and menacing stare, along with the orange shirt, had faded away. Instead I dreamed of America’s Funny Home Videos, each one starring my family members doing something potentially dangerous, but escaping just before the gratuitous groin injury. Instead of the usual manic music in the background, there was a softer melody that slowly overwhelmed the dream until it woke me up.

I listened to it again for another minute until I recognized what it was: “Jesus Savior, Pilot Me.”

Prayer answered.

I grinned. Not only did He know my pains, understand my fear, and know how to succor me in my illness, He was also powerful enough to destroy Dwight Shrute. 

Now that’s a God worth worshiping!