When It Gets Real … Get Grateful

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Dreams, Grateful, Inspiration, Waiting, Writing, Writing Life

That dream? You know the one. The one you’ve held tight to, let go of, buried and unburied and brushed off too many times … that dream you sometimes wouldn’t share with anyone because it scared even you? That dream you maybe cried over, prayed over, cursed and called yourself names over … because somehow you knew, deep down, it would never happen. The one that hovered close sometimes, yet still so out of reach.

Pipe dreams. Pie in the sky dreams.

Sure we all have them. And I don’t know, I happen to like dreams. It’s fun to imagine the impossible. You know?

Call me a sucker for punishment if you will, but I’ve always been a dreamer. But it’s a dangerous line, the walk between a dream and an obsession. Sometimes we’re called to let go of those dreams. Sometimes they grow like weeds and take over everything else, choking good roots and covering new growth. I’ve had to do a lot of weeding. Leaves the hands dirty, mud-caked and bleeding a little.

When you travel the road of self-doubt and insecurity as I so often do, its hard to hold onto those dreams. The good ones. Its hard to believe those well-meaning friends when they tell you not to give up. Tell you you’re really going to make it, you’ve got what it takes. And you wonder if they’ve had just a few too many that day because surely … surely if that were true … it would have happened by now. Right?

And so you shove them off and tell them to go find another simpleton to sell a bridge to. But they don’t quit. Those friends. Those lifelines you have that somehow love you, the real you, like you wouldn’t believe. But you know they do because they’re still here, still hanging in there and saying those things. Still reaching out through the darkness, grabbing your hand and holding tight. And they don’t quit. They don’t quit because they believe in you and they want … sometimes demand, yeah you know who you are … they pretty much up in your face order you to believe in yourself too.

So you don’t give up that dream. Because maybe it was never really an option. And so, eventually, it turns into a goal.

See, this is where things change. Because dreams are cloud puffs on blue sky that make you smile in slumber. And goals? Well, you gotta work for those. You’ve got to get behind that thing and push. Push with all your might. Push with everything you’ve got and then some. Even when it hurts and you don’t think you can go one more day doing what you’re doing because it doesn’t make sense anymore. And those friends? Well they come back around. And they help you push too. Because they want you to finish this thing. To finish strong.

That’s when it gets real.

That’s when you grab hold and go … go because you know you’ve come this far … you don’t get to the finish line and quit. You’ve got to keep going because ____ ? You fill in that blank.

For me, it’s about proving something to myself. Showing that shy little girl that she really does have what it takes. She is worth this. She’s just as good as anybody else out there and maybe, maybe even better.

For me, its about looking back at a trail of broken dreams and promises and things left undone, and not doing that this time. It’s about believing. And when that believing turns to knowing … what freedom there is in that … its so overwhelming I can’t find the words.

I can’t tell you why I’m sitting here smiling stupidly, have been for days. I can’t tell you yet. And I’m frustrated by that because you know I’ve got this thing with patience, and we’re duking it out, have been for years, and I suck at waiting. But this time? This wait? It’s okay. Because over and over I’m hearing this … “wait, it’ll come … this is just between us for now … because its that awesome … stay here with Me in this moment … “

And. Wow. Yes.

That’s when it gets real. When you know beyond any doubt, you’re sitting in the midst of a miracle. Your miracle. A gift you asked for and maybe thought somewhere along the way you deserved because you worked so darn hard for it … but deep down you know you don’t deserve anything. Not really. Yet here you are.

And yeah, thanks be to God.

And thanks be to you, my friends, because you refused to give up, you refused to let me give up.

You believed in me and for me and you let me rail and rant and go all kinds of crazy on you.

And you just kept on loving.

And I can’t say thank you enough for that, but I will anyway.

A million times over.

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What Do We Do Then, With The Broken?

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Encouragement, Grateful, Happy Thankgiving

We’re officially in holiday season. Tomorrow, my friends and family in the US will celebrate Thanksgiving. And then the Christmas decorations come out, the tree goes up and before we know it we’re singing Jingle Bells. Silent Night. O Come All Ye Faithful.

But there are those around us who do not want to sing this year. Those who feel they don’t have a lot to be thankful for. Those who ache and wrestle with wounds so deep that healing seems impossible. I know them. You do too. And on some level, we’ve been where they are.

Broken.

She comes to me one Sunday after service. It’s been awhile, years really, since we’ve talked and I’m surprised to see her here. And she tells me her story. Why she’s alone now and fighting the battle of her life. But she still smiles somehow and keeps saying God is good. Keeps saying it.

And I have to work hard to not shake my head. Because, really? All I can think is, Jesus, where are you in this? How can this madness, this horrific heartache, possibly be part of a plan that works all things together for good? And my second thought is, there but for the grace of God go I.  Because, this? This is my worst nightmare.

Complete abandonment.

That’s my trigger. Those roots run deep.

When you know that for the first few days of your life, you were left alone, unwanted, unnamed, unloved, abandoned by the very one who gave you life…well…you never quite get over that. You slap smiley faces on it and show the world the happy family photos and proclaim that it all worked out in the end. But. Still.

Still, forty-nine years later, I wrestle with it.

So I feel that friend’s pain perhaps a little more deeply. I lay awake some nights and wonder when the day will come that I too will be alone. Because I’m a wreck. A mess, really. I just can’t seem to get it right and I’m sure that one day it’ll catch up to me. Because why would anyone want to put up with this? Yet, they do. They choose to stay. They choose me.

What do we do then, with the broken?

Words like faith, acceptance, forgiveness and love join hands and dance ’round my mind until I have to pay attention because they just won’t stop. And they’re kicking up a lot of dust.

Do I have faith? Yes. Most days. Some days I have more, some days I scrape the bottom of the barrel to find it. But it is there.

Acceptance? Okay, that one smarts a bit, but I don’t have a choice. My history is mine. It can’t be changed. So yes, I accept it.

Forgiveness?

That’s the kicker.

I don’t know how to forgive on the level it would take to break those kinds of chains. I never have. Coming to terms with a thing but truly moving past it are two entirely different tasks. Perhaps if I had told her then, my birthmother, on the one occasion that we got to meet before she died, that I forgave her…perhaps that pain might not still simmer. But I didn’t think she’d care, really. I didn’t think it mattered so much.

And finally. Love.

They say love is a choice, not a feeling. You can fall in love, but you choose to stay. I guess that’s true. I suppose if you’re loving, really loving, someone on the level we’re called to, as Christ loves the church, you just do. I can never wrap my brain around that one. And I wonder if I’ll ever love myself that way.

So. What do we do then, with the broken?

We can’t fix the pain. I know that full well. I’ve tried. I keep trying. And I keep failing. Until finally it occurs to me to let it go. Slow learner that I am. Why do I hold onto this crap? All God wants is for me to be free. Really free. Do I think the cross was just for kicks?

Ever try to take away a toy from a toddler when they don’t want to give it up? Screaming and kicking and wailing and you wonder who the demon-possessed child is…but then it’s gone. And there is blessed silence. Then comes the laughter.

How quickly they forget. And forgive.

Perhaps that is what child-like faith is all about. Give it up already and move on.

What do we do then, with the broken?

Love. Accept. Listen. And hold tight.

Because one holy night, a lifetime ago when stars burned bright and all was still as the world held its breath, hope was born.

We know it. We have it. Hope lives on.

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