dreams

Wake Me, I’m Dreaming

May 6, 2026/in Southern Style Columns /by Randall Franks

Some nights the line between dream and reality feels thinner than the sheet on my bed.

When I was a child, I was taught not to tell anyone what I had dreamed until after breakfast. I never understood the reason for that warning, but I have followed it all my life — at least on the mornings I could remember my dreams at all.

Sometimes they hover just beneath the surface, right on the tip of my tongue. Other times they sink deep into my subconscious, muddled and lost forever. For some dreams, that may be a mercy.

I still carry one vivid childhood dream I never speak about. In it, I experienced my own death up close and personal. I woke in tears, ran to my parents with my heart pounding as if the event had truly happened. Of course, my childhood was also filled with the classic falling dreams — those endless descents where you never quite hit bottom and always wake just before you do. I had always heard that if you ever did hit bottom, you wouldn’t wake up.

As I moved into my teen years and young adulthood, my dreams changed. They became guides. Often they were remarkably detailed, placing me in places I had never been, among people I did not know, and then quietly showing me exactly where I was supposed to go. The experience felt almost like a video game — years before video games were common.

What amazed me most was that, days or weeks later, I would find myself standing in the exact setting I had dreamed, surrounded by the same people. Suddenly I knew what to do, whom to see, and why the dream had come in the first place. It was as if heaven had given me a dress rehearsal for my own life.

I realized God was using my sleep to prepare me — showing me where He wanted me to go, whom He wanted me to meet, and what He wanted me to pursue. Through that guidance my early years seemed to flourish. There were times, however, when I failed to follow the map: either because I couldn’t remember the dream clearly or, more often, because of sheer foolishness — insisting on my own will instead of letting God’s plan unfold.

You might say this is all a bunch of malarkey. If you haven’t lived it, I suppose it’s hard to believe. But I am convinced God communicates with us in many ways, and for a season He chose my dreams.

Eventually those guidance dreams faded. Perhaps I had reached the place He intended, or perhaps I had strayed so far that the coached path was no longer open to me. I still miss those days. Life was often a struggle, yet I felt I knew where I was going.

That certainty was far better than the uncertainty that has marked so much of the path I walk now. A few times since, I have experienced something similar — that sudden, powerful sense of déjà vu, the feeling that I have been exactly here before, doing and seeing precisely this. I have always taken it as quiet reassurance that I am where I am supposed to be.

As the years passed, my dreams grew gentler. They became dreams of comfort, carrying me back to the past or forward into some possible future, but almost always returning me to my childhood home no matter how old I was in the dream. One recent dream left me especially baffled. There was no one I knew, no event being replayed, nothing familiar except the setting itself. Everything else was new ground. The only clear message I carried into waking was a feeling of being in a situation beyond my control, unable to help people who I sensed needed help.

Perhaps it was preparing me for something still ahead, something I cannot yet imagine.

I try to limit my time in the sleep world. I want to be fully awake for every moment of this life rather than spend it slumbering. Still, I cherish the nights when a dream carries me back to the past, forward to a possible future, or lets me steal a few precious minutes with loved ones who are no longer here. When I wake from those visits, I always thank God for the gift.

Maybe that’s why I sometimes whisper, even now, “Wake me — I’m dreaming.” Not because the dream is bad, but because it feels so real and so full of grace.

Dreaming, like life itself, has its dark sides. Yet overall my life has been enriched and blessed by what I have seen in that quiet, mysterious state between sleeping and waking.

I hope the same is true for you — that your nights bring pleasant dreams and your days bring happy moments, whether you are awake or asleep.

Read more Randall in his books found in our Store.

A breakfast that lingers

May 22, 2025/in Southern Style Columns /by Randall Franks

As Mother’s Day morning drew near, I dreamed I stood over the stove in my childhood kitchen, frying pan in hand, setting it on the glowing red burner. Bacon sizzled, filling the air with its familiar aroma, while eggs waited in a bowl for a cheese omelet. Slices of Spam—a lunch or dinner staple from my youth—sat ready, perhaps a quirky twist of memory blending meals across time. I rarely eat breakfast, usually skipping it, but in my dream, I was stacking tasks like a seasoned cook: frying bacon, prepping Spam, whisking eggs. My mother sat in her favorite chair by the kitchen table, watching me work, our conversation as warm as the stove. I didn’t see biscuits, but I imagined them baking just inside the brown oven door below.

That vivid dream stirred memories of Saturday mornings long ago, when the smell of bacon frying would coax me from sleep. Our small kitchen buzzed with activity as my parents worked side by side. Dad, the omelet master, grated cheese and cracked eggs, while Mom patted out fresh biscuits, her hands dusted with flour. Bacon and sausage crackled in the skillet, and the oven warmed with the promise of golden biscuits. That cramped space never bothered them—they seemed to cherish it, perhaps recalling leaner times with even less.

Pearl and Floyd Franks

When the feast was ready, the table groaned under plates of cheese omelets, crispy bacon, sausage, and steaming biscuits nestled in a bread basket. My brother and I, still in pajamas and robes, stumbled in, bleary-eyed but eager. We’d bow our heads to thank the Lord, then serving plates would fly as the food disappeared. Homemade apple butter, a sweet Southern staple, was slathered generously on those biscuits. As we ate, we talked—about the day ahead, weekend plans, or some milestone from the week. Those breakfasts were more than meals; they were where love and laughter solidified our family’s bond.

Why, in my dream, was I the one cooking, Spam sneaking into the breakfast lineup? Perhaps I was stepping into my parents’ roles, honoring the care they poured into every dish. My mother’s been gone 19 years, but in that dream, we shared a moment across the veil, her presence as real as the sizzle in the pan. When I woke, I got up, fried some bacon, and made a sandwich—a simple act I hadn’t done in years, but one that felt like a quiet tribute.

As this next Saturday rolls around, gather your family for a meal or a memory, whether it’s bacon and biscuits or even Spam. Those moments, steeped in love, might linger in your heart long beyond the years.

Why Do Our Dreams Return Us to Familiar Places?

May 8, 2025/in Southern Style Columns /by Randall Franks

Why do our dreams so often transport us to familiar settings—our childhood homes, old schoolyards, or long-forgotten rooms? For me, these recurring landscapes are no coincidence. I believe our minds seek comfort in the known, anchoring us in spaces where we once felt safe to help us rest, reflect, or even receive deeper insights. My dreams, in particular, consistently return me to my childhood home, a place of warmth and security that continues to shape my sleep and my soul.

In these dreams, I’m back in that modest house, creaky wooden floorboards underfoot, the faint scent of my mother’s L’Origan perfume lingering in the air. The faded diamond-patterned wallpaper in the hall is just as I remember, though the scenes often defy time. I might be my current age, chatting with my parents about challenges they never witnessed, or joined by an old friend I’ve lost touch with, as I was just last night. Nothing extraordinary happens—just a visit, a conversation—but I awaken wondering what it meant. Was that dream a quiet reassurance that my friend, wherever they are, is okay? These familiar surroundings feel like a canvas where my mind paints comfort and connection, even when reality offers none.

This sense of comfort leads me to reflect on why my mind chooses this setting. I’ve read that our brains often choose familiar settings in dreams to process emotions in a safe, recognizable context—a theory that feels true to my experience. My childhood home isn’t just a backdrop; it’s a sanctuary where I feel grounded, whether I’m reliving memories or imagining new moments. It’s not my favorite vacation spot or a fantastical realm—it’s the place where I felt loved, allowing me to rest deeply or confront life’s uncertainties with clarity.

In my youth, dreams of home felt like more than nostalgia. As I pursued a career in entertainment, I believed God used these familiar rooms to offer guidance, showing me paths I might have avoided—opportunities my fears could have blocked or people I wouldn’t have met. These dreams were guideposts, blending divine insight with the study and practice of my waking life. Another dream left me awestruck: I saw a portly, gray-haired black woman, unknown to me, tenderly caring for a young boy. She addressed me by name, offering gentle advice with a warm smile, as if I were one of her charges. A man’s voice called her Grace. When I shared this with my mother, she was stunned. Grace, who died before I was born, had generously given her time caring for my older brother when my mother was a struggling single working mom, long before my time. I’d never heard her name, yet there she was, a guardian angel in my dream. My mother’s eyes lit up, and she said, “You have a wonderful guardian angel watching over you.” Though I didn’t always follow such guidance perfectly, these dreams shaped my path, placing me where I could grow and serve.

But dreams of familiar places aren’t always serene. Nightmares from my youth—tossing and turning in my twin maple bed—still linger in my psyche, like one so vivid I woke bouncing in fear, running to my parents for comfort in the wee hours. These moments, though rare, show that even in distress, our minds cling to familiar settings to confront hidden fears or traumas. For me, such nightmares are exceptions, and my long-ago home remains a refuge where sleep brings solace.

So why do our dreams return us to familiar places? I believe they are the heart’s safe harbor, where we rest, reflect, and sometimes glimpse deeper truths. Whether it’s my childhood home, your old classroom, or another’s quiet street, these settings remind us that even in sleep, we seek comfort to face life’s uncertainties. For me, these dreams are a gift—a blend of memory, faith, and hope that guides me, one familiar place at a time.

Dreams that inspire

February 8, 2023/in Southern Style Columns /by Randall Franks

I ran down the dark corridor. My heart was beating fast as I heard footsteps rushing towards me from behind. I opened the door at the end as it swung inward and next, I found myself dangling from the doorknob over a dark pit that seemed bottomless.

I held on for dear life trying to pull myself back up into the hall.

Which was worse? Falling into the dark unknown or making it back to the solid hallway where I was being chased by who knows what.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to find out as my alarm went off bringing me safely back into my bedroom.
Dreaming can sometimes bring us to smiles, sometimes to fear, sometimes in between.

I have spent time in many dreams sitting and talking with loved ones who were long passed. Those moments are usually cherished opportunities to spend a few more minutes with a dear friend or relative.

Other dreams have found me in places I have never been experiencing new adventures with people I have never known or with faces I recognize. Those are usually quite comforting as well.

As a youth I saw dreams as roadmaps to where God wanted to take me, and often he placed the footsteps out ahead of me as if they were flashing in neon.

Those took me places I could have never dreamed of in my waking hours.

Are dreams simply our imagination running wild?

Are messages from our past, our future, or from our loved ones gone on hidden within?

I know that people in various forms of study have spent endless hours trying to answer those types of questions. From the Biblical stories of Joseph interpreting the dreams of pharaoh, to whatever scenario one might surmise from their own research, dreams play a vital part in our lives.

They give us relief, sometimes hope, and sometimes fear. No matter what they provide, if you are blessed with a good dream experience, be thankful for what has passed. Perhaps it is a God wink to uplift.

If it’s not such a good experience, maybe that is an inducement to examine your life and find where you might improve to clear your heart and mind, so next time it can be.

For me, despite a few frightening ones along the way, the good ones outweigh those, and from time to time, I do believe God’s drops in a bit of guidance here and there to make my life better, if I only recall it.
So, get a good night’s rest…

The rhythm of finding one’s path

August 11, 2021/in Southern Style Columns /by Randall Franks

The waves beat rhythmically against the shore in an endless pattern that seemed would never stop.
I had stretched out in the back of my white Ford station wagon near the shore and the sound lulled me quickly to sleep.

What’s in a dream?

November 4, 2020/in Southern Style Columns /by Randall Franks

I am walking across what seems to be an endless stretch of desert, with each step I hear my feet sink further and further into the sand. Each step is harder to make. The heat is unbearable as I stop and wipe my brow and replace my hat as I look up at a cloudless sky.

I am walking towards a mountain range. I don’t know where I am headed but I know the journey is one of life and death. If I don’t make it to where I am going I will simply fade into the sand that envelopes my feet never to be seen again.

Posts