Dreaming again

Wednesday, October 17, 2012 § Leave a comment

I’ve got a dream — it’s big in scope. It’s grand in nature.

But I lost it. Or did it die?

All I know is that I woke up one day realizing I had lived my days just as they came.

Make no mistake, I am all for living life one day at a time. Isn’t that what the Israelites did on the desert? Relying on God for manna on a daily basis? Looking up to him as their cloud by day and their pillar of fire by night? Yet they still had their sights on the Promised Land, did they?

I didn’t, and I was alarmed at knowing this because it meant only one thing: I was just going through the motions of life, having no ropes to hold me in place. I lost my grasp of my dream, grew unexcited for my future. That’s dangerous, if you ask me.

I wanted to cry. And I did. My spirit did.

Because I know how it happened. And I know why it happened. Because my dream was big in scope and grand in nature. Because in the natural realm, it looked impossible. Because I didn’t seem to progress to just get a glimpse — just a glimpse! — of my dream.

And then one thing led to another. Discouraged, I opened my palm and let the dream fly away, flutter in the wind, and be blown far into obscurity.

Tragic.

One of the greatest tragedies is to give up your dream, and with it the anticipation of a future God designed even before he breathed life into you. Because to dream is to hope, and to hope is to live. A person who dreams is a person passionate to live, his appetite for attaining a quality life drives him to live intentionally. His hope wakes him to a new beginning every morning.

My dream is God’s dream too. He put the seed here in my heart. So when I lost the dream, God cried too.

I could sense His heartbreak because I myself was heartbroken. And then, with full knowledge of what I needed, He told me, “I’m restoring the dream.”

My spirit cried again — not out of dejection but of rejoicing. My God, who is the author of life, who speaks life to the dead, who calls nothing into being, is going to plant a new seed of dream again. I know my God, and He doesn’t stop at a job half-done. He will water my dream into full bloom and until it grows into every particle of my soul.

Sometimes it takes a brand new chance for us to see where we slipped, to have a real understanding of our roles. And in this, I know my role is to move myself into action. To continue walking toward the dream no matter how far it seems to me. To receive all the tools God is sending my way to keep the dream branching out. To protect it from the enemy that will snatch it and bully me into silence.

And the enemy will try his hardest to not only snatch but also kill our dreams, because he knows very well that our dreams have a special place in God’s plan. To see them triumph is the enemy’s loss.

I won’t allow him — or my faithlessness — to steal my victory. So I’m clasping my arms around my dream and never let it go. I’m letting hope to drench my spirit once again. My God, who also dreams for me, will watch it into fruition.

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