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I had a dream the other night. Dream nothing, it was a nightmare, if you must know the truth. Normally I don't put too much stock in dreams — or — nightmares, as the case may be, but this was different.

My grandmother believed in dreams. The most important part of her night were the dreams that visited her. She usually indulged in several dreams during any given night.

Upon rising in the morning, and before her breakfast coffee, grandmother always checked her "dream book" for the interpretation of her latest dream.

The dream book was alphabetized, enabling her to look up the meaning of her dream. If grandmother had a dream about apples, for instance, she would look up apples in her book and decipher the meaning of her recent nocturnal reverie.

In some ways, my grandmother was superstitious. If a dog barked under a window at midnight, someone was going to die, and other equally credulous ramblings. As a youth, I always envied grandmother's dreams. I wish I had her dream book now.

However, back to my dream.

In my dream, I walked into a sportsman's store and I can't seem to remember the name of it. The store was filled with all kinds of sporting goods and I remember looking around for some time.

Eventually, a man approached me and asked if he could help me.

"Can I get me a huntin' license here?" I found myself saying.

"Sure," the salesman chirped. "Walk this way, please."

In my best imitation of John Wayne, I sauntered behind the salesman to a counter. Above the counter, I remember, a sign read . . . actually, signs don't read . . . the sign said . . . no, signs do not speak . . . on the sign was printed the word, LICENSE.

The salesman, now behind the counter, opened a large book and began leafing through the pages. Without looking up he queried in monotone, "What will you be hunting for, sir?"

This caught me by surprise. I wasn't exactly prepared for this. I mumbled something to the effect of, what is in season right now?

"Well," the salesman stammered putting the pencil in his mouth in a meditative pose, "the only thing in season right now are politicians. You want a license to hunt politicians?"

This, as you can imagine, gave me pause for thought. I've hunted many things through the years. My left sock, my car keys, a book in my library that I just knew was there, but never in my life have I even had the inclination to hunt for politicians.

But, I'm always game for something new and adventurous and this seemed to fit both. I looked at the salesman and said, "Sure, I take a license to hunt politicians."

My reply seemed to please the man and without looking up from his record book he asked, "Will that be for a Democrat or Republican license?"

This threw me for a loop because I thought I could buy me a huntin' license for both. Quite quickly and rather sternly, the salesman informed me that it would be impossible and I had to choose one or the other.

I told him which one (but I'm not going to tell you) and he proceeded to fill out my hunting license form.

"I have a question for you. Can I get a license for just a wing shot?" I asked. It seemed like a logical question to me and I awaited his answer.

"Yes, sir, you can," he said rather mechanically. "Will it be a left-wing or right-wing shot license?"

I didn't know how to reply, so I asked another question: "What do you hunt these politicians with?"

His answer was somewhat predictable, "An airrifle."

Right here is when I awoke. I probably never will know what license I ended up with, but this I do know, politicians are cagey query to be sure.

As I sipped my morning coffee, out on our back porch, I pondered the age-old question: Where do politicians come from?

Politicians come in all sizes, shapes and genders, but they all have two things in common. (1) For some reason they all believe that what they think and say is extremely important and will solve all my problems. (2) They assume I want to know everything they think and say. All I can say is, they have another good think coming to them.

After more than 228 years, the greatness of America can be witnessed in the fact that we have endured every known type of politician and we still survive. What a nation!

As I prayed for America, several passages of the Bible came to me.

"Blessed is the nation whose God is the Lord; and the people whom he hath chosen for his own inheritance." (Psalms 33:12 KJV.)

Our strength as a nation does not come from what we think we possess, but from a Higher Source. That Higher Source is the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob — and the Father of the Lord Jesus Christ, our Savior.

And, "There is no king saved by the multitude of a host: a mighty man is not delivered by much strength. An horse is a vain thing for safety: neither shall he deliver any by his great strength. Behold, the eye of the Lord is upon them that fear him, upon them that hope in his mercy." (Psalms 33:16-18 KJV.)

If only we could figure out where politicians come from, perhaps we could return them with a polite, "No thank you."

About the Author

Rev. James L. Snyder is an award winning author and popular columnist living with his wife, Martha, in Ocala, FL.


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