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. . . I some how found myself in a lumber yard standing with my father. Together we looked at the back end of a lowboy trailer much like the one I once used in the military to haul armored vehicles and howitzers. We discussed how to add a piece of wood to protect the back where the tracks of the vehicles had chewed up the wood. We decided upon a piece of hardwood, attached so that it could protect the other wood, take the abuse, and be easily replaced.

Then a fork driver came over to put a load of lumber on the trailer, which morphed into a flatbed. My mother appeared and told the lift driver to put the load toward the back. He questioned her about this decision, and I supported it, pointing out that the weight center of the trailer was different than the physical center.

I recall having some sort of music player, and telling my mother it could store lots of music, even the Welsh music that was now unplayable, as it was vinyl records and we had no record player.

The trailer was nearly loaded now, and my father asked if the strip of wood was ready yet. I started toward a building and looked back to say that I’d be back, I only needed to get a sweatshirt and use the bathroom. I headed toward a large, steel building, not unlike the one in which I worked for many years at Camp Roberts.

As I approached my own bathroom, in my own bedroom, the steel workshop faded away and I awoke.

That’s the second dream in two days in which Camp Roberts appeared. In the other dream, the night before last, I had returned to Camp Roberts, and was once again wearing olive drab, and heading to an old warehouse where the supply office would issue me steel-toed boots.

If I literally returned to Camp Roberts, to the East Garrison where once I spent ten years, that steel building and the other wooden buildings would be long gone. Even as I was leaving that place, before I entered the Forest Service, a new, large maintenance facility had been christened and moving begun.

I remember my fist day in that steel maintenance building, which was fairly new at the time. I met Sargent First Class Edwin Spickert. People were pretty much on first name basis then, and I was introduced as Terry. Ed said, “I knew a Terry once, and you sure don’t look like her!” I became “Robi,” then and there. I stayed Robi until I hung up, or layed out in the trash dump, my uniform with its bittersweet memories.

Ed worked with the designers and engineers planning the new maintenance building many years later. He made Warrant Officer, too, as did several of the other “old timers” at the shop. When I started there there were a handful of “new guys” like me,  and a hand full of these older guys who’d been around what seemed like forever. When I left after ten years, most of the old timers were still there, most of those formerly new guys, too. But there had come a hoard of others, as the shop grew and grew, busting out its seams.

I learned a lot while at Camp Roberts. I worked hard. It wasn’t easy. I made mistakes. When I left, I left. I never went back. At least, not until my dream the other night, and the one early this morning. I made a lot of mistakes while I at Camp Roberts. I’ve made a lot of mistakes everywhere I’ve ever been. Hind sight, it is often pointed out, is 20/20.

Today, opening the online Bible to which I often refer to, I  found before me:

There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus.

Romans 8:1

There are a number of people that it would me nice to say something like, “Hey, I really learned a lot from you.” There are a lot of people that I could also say, “Hey, I’m sorry.” I still have nagging regrets of things done and things left undone. I appreciate that regardless of my life, imperfect in my eyes as it is in others’, is seen as perfect in my Savior, Y’shuaJesus. And I am thankful that there is now no condemnation for all of us who are in Messiah Y’shuaJesus. Thank You, Y’shua!

Lord Bless, Keep, Shine. . .