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.


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.


I’ve got mail!

Thursday, June 21, 2012 § Leave a comment

Since mid-March I’ve been meaning to blog about this. But I had to wait until June. That’s roughly three months. In my book, that’s a long time.

So here’s the story. I’ve got a letter from the past. (March, specifically.) Scheduled to arrive on my birthday. Written by myself.

It’s actually an e-mail. Though I would have wanted the classic handwritten, hand-delivered letter—receiving a letter you yourself penned and mailed to yourself and which you totally forgot about until the day it arrives would feel a heavenly surprise, wouldn’t it?—I couldn’t complain about receiving an e-mail from my past self. And I have FutureMe  to thank for.

Some things weren’t going smoothly when I wrote that letter. That’s in fact one reason I wrote to myself. To sort of breathe out. To organize my thoughts. To give myself some pep talk.

Turns out the letter did more than what I originally planned it to do.

Turns out when I was writing that letter, I was unknowingly setting myself up for some surprise.

I didn’t know then that the words from the past would reverberate loud and clear in the present, that they would rouse me to believe more, that they would talk to me with wisdom bred from suffering. Because even though they are layered with anxiety, they are not bereft of hope and faith.

“Let’s see.” You’ve used that phrase a lot these days. It only goes to show how clueless you are of the future. But that’s okay. Just keep believing God’s in control. It is this belief that got—and still gets—you through the night. Please continue to harbor it in your heart. Things are going to be better.

Things got better indeed. What a difference three months make! I feel grateful that as I read the letter, I am reminded that whatever situation we find ourselves in, it will always turn for the better down the road. Night always gives way to day. And the moment light stretches out from the sky, it brightens up everything it touches.  Always.

So yes, the letter made me one happy, hope-filled birthday.

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