Monday, July 23, 2012


 Weaved through my existence are glimpses of my dreams poking and prodding for audience in the constant noise and afflictions of  mind and heart.  Like a ball in a rushing stream...being pushed along with the force of the flow, but buoyant enough to surface in a rolling, heaving moment for air  before being forced just underneath the surface again, quickly slipping away into darkness. 
Dreams;  how they propel, how they make distinctive a thought, a moment, an idea, a feeling.  Like the prize, a dream is worth contending for, for dreams are the stuff of God.

When I was a young girl, the drive home from Sunday service took us past a two story house of worn white painted bricks with an old wrought iron fence tucking in the hedges and tiny yard surrounding it.   You could see it's former glory, but the comfort of the place was in the years of wear and tear.  Like your father's favorite recliner, now feeling more like that warm place up against his chest than a chair, especially now that he's gone.  You just want to curl up in that chair and stay awhile.  I was just a girl then, but that is when I first saw my dream surface for a moment in the stream's current.  It was my house for a moment, as our car was passing by, warm with the faces of my children  in the yard and each had  a place at the table and a bed in the upstairs rooms.  There were six of them who were mine and it seemed the most heavenly thinking  I'd done up to that moment in my few years here. I saw myself, and I was "Mother".

Childhood passed as all childhoods do and into the current the dream submerged.  I didn't think of it anymore. Besides, no one dreams of disappearing into obscurity to tend a garden that leaves you dusty, dirty, tired, and doesn't produce any visible fruit for years upon years?  In my day, we hashed out the purpose of our lives holding tightly to class schedules and slipping student loan payments into business sized envelopes.  We looked smart, ambitious, and paid homage to the wisdom our day at the same time. 

But, there always comes a day, doesn't there?  The day when you run out of  ambition for chasing the dreams created in the cauldron of the day.  The day when your own heart begins to chastise you.  A few days ago the Lord added to the dialogue going on within  and he sunk my heart deep into the waters of the thing with just a few simple words.  From Kari at  Broken and Beautiful I found these beautiful words and I swallowed them whole:   When we push down our deepest desires and do not face them, we put ourselves in a very vulnerable place. We end up doing things that we know is not what we truly desire deep down in the depths of our hearts…but in the moment it seems easier and we rather trade in feeling that at least some of our needs are being met, rather than every part of our heart.  

That day I took those words with me out onto the path where I would walk and meet with Him...that Dream Maker, Him.  I felt a fire within and expectation that these words and these ideas were to mean even more to me in the coming days.  That as a mother hen spreads her wings over her young, that He had begun to expand the span of mine.  Behind our home and onto the trail I walked around and around, since the trail is circular. 
  I took the words and I held them  up to the light shining over the farm, I turned them upside down and looked at them out of the shadows, I studied them like some kind of sculpted object not wanting  to miss even one stroke of the chisel.  It was hot and I was tired from walking now and thinking of my dreams and all, and there "he" came carrying water.........the fruition of the Almighty's dream placed within me, carrying a container of water......because this thoughtful boy imagined that his mother was thirsty. 

I laughed out loud.  I drank the water and hugged my boy, and inwardly danced a joyful dance for my son and his three brothers.  I rejoiced knowing that He had lead me to this place...that my heart was full and and yet longing for more of HIS plans and more of His dreams for all of us.

 How precious  are Your thoughts to me, O God!
How great is the sum of them!
18 If I should count them, they would be more in number than the sand;
When I awake, I am still with You. (from the Psalms )

I would love for you to check out Kari's blog at Broken and Beautiful and read about the time she is spending right now in Uganda imparting the hope of Jesus to children of war.  Imparting the hope of God dreams.

The story of Lopez Lomong.....Sudanese child stolen from his family who dreamed of running in the U.S Olympics.  His story is utterly inspiring and will help you if are having trouble believing, finding hope, and dreaming your dreams
Running For My Life

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