Resting Like Winter

   

    I saw the birds flying in a V making their way back north in the middle of February. This has been the warmest Winter I can remember and yet I am not celebrating. I didn’t realize how much I liked the snowy days of January until all I received were rainy days. Winter as my daughter's science notes stated last night: is a time of rest for plants and animals. Normally I don’t see a fly until late April and yet I saw one buzzing in the window last week.

    Living in the Midwest usually affords a good taste of all four seasons. I don’t think I realized how special this opportunity was to have bugs actually die or go into hibernation until mid-spring. I don’t know about you but by September I am ready to see the little creatures disappear for a while. With the children constantly leaving the door open flies are a problem. Gnats seem to repruduce on the apple cores I find discarded under beds and in the crack of the couch. Gross! I know but this is the life with children.

    I saw a Robin roosting in a tree as I went on a walk this morning. Yes, Spring is on its way and with it the return of color. I love the sage greens and the light pastel colors that begin to decorate the gray world Winter in the Midwest leaves behind. It is like a new hope is born each April.

     I have often wondered if the birds have the right idea of migrating to the south in the winter. Thinking of the Florida beaches with their white sand and warm breezes I have been tempted to follow them. Still, there is a principle that Winter offers us that Florida does not understand, it is to give “rest” to the land.

    When the snow comes pouring down there is nothing more delightful than a cup of hot cocoa or tea, a warm fire, and a great book. When the wind is howling outside families gather to play board games together because all other events in their usual busy schedules are canceled due to weather. On such days the grocery stores are jammed with people buying extra things for the storm. Children press their faces against the window praying for enough snow to play in, sled in, and snow angel in.

But alas this year we just got rain.

     It is important to rest even if there isn’t a snow cancellation to give you permission. Rest was important to God in the week of creation. He set aside the seventh day to rest from his work as an example for us. Ironically I have spent many years under the bondage of the idea that a minister’s work is never done so I rarely rest. I am not happy about this habit, but it is hard to allow for rest in my life.

    From Creator God’s example, I believe rest must be something we plan to do. It cannot be something that we merely hope for because for many of us we will never get to a place of rest. I am starting to learn: to find rest I must first trust. I must trust the Lord to cover the demands of life I am resting from for a short time. Like the birds flying back north after the cold winter the Lord will guide me back to the things I need to do most. For a season can I trust him to allow me to rest?

  So if I finally cut out time to rest, what does that look like? I have often been frustrated at friends and family that have looked me in the eye with concern to suggest that I should "take it easy." In my lack of experience with rest, I couldn't even imagine what that meant. 

   Rest is not vegging out to a good TV program, though I have labeled such activities "rest" many times. It is not doing yard work or folding socks. It is sitting down and breathing in the breath of God. It is clearing your schedule to hear from the One who created you. It is taking the time to remember what makes you tick, by drawing closer to the One who designed the ticker, 

    To find rest is to draw near to God. And in those rare moments of getting a glimpse of who we really are through the eyes of the One who has intentionally made us for greatness lies the deepest sense of living this life can afford.   

Time for the New Chapter

    The writer had spent exactly 5 months and 23 days, 7 hours, and 42 minutes on the first chapter. It took ten re-writes and a bottle of Tylenol just to get through the first 300 words. But on a cold drizzling morning in early February with a hot cup of coffee and his desk light illuminating the small room he called “the den” he stared at the blank screen. The cursor was blinking at the top left corner as if to say: come on, get going…what happens next?

    It was time for the next chapter but the procrastinating writer didn’t know where to begin. He had spent so much time on chapter one that the blank screen seemed intimidating. I know this feeling well. I can still remember the nervous excitement I had on my first day of Junior High. I had spent days planning my first-day outfit, my first-day make-up, and my first-day “walk.” Hey, if Phil Collins could write a song about it I figured how you walk into the first day of your next chapter must matter.

    I still laugh when I think of our first full day of our marriage. After the wedding, friends, gifts, and lovely dress wear. We were driving to Indiana when Brad’s souped up Cutless broke down on the side of the highway. Trying not to panic and show my new husband the most stressed out form of his new bride I prayed silently as he examined the car. This was back in the 90’s when we didn’t have the luxury of a cell phone. We ultimately decided to walk to a country house out in the middle of nowhere.

    Approaching what appeared to be a communal living house I said, “Hey I think someone lives there.” We spotted at least 5 tents erected and heard the psychedelic sounds of “The Doors” playing in the heavily forest covered property. “I don’t think so.” He said.

    We finally found a house a mile down the highway perched on a large hill. Nervously I hoped we wouldn’t meet a vicious farm dog. With each step, my heart quickened because I didn’t know what lied just beyond our view. Fortunately, an older man answered Brad’s knock and agreed to let use his phone to call AAA roadside service.

    Out of the kindness of his heart, he allowed this young newlywed couple to ride in the back of his pick-up truck the mile and one-half to Brad’s stalled prized hot rod that showed prophetic signs of its reliability.  The sun was hot in the sky on that mid-May day.  

    Oh and I remember that precious midnight gathering of undergarments and a baby outfit into the duffle bag as we rushed off to the hospital after I discovered my water broke. Passing the freshly painted baby’s room we nervously loaded the car as a family of two for the last time. In a rush, my young husband backed out onto the road approaching yet another new chapter of in our lives.

    From then till now many new chapters have been written, but I don’t think that I have quite become comfortable with the cursor blinking at the top of the page. To be honest, the new chapter always seems alluring, mysterious, and attractive in the middle of the previous chapter, but when the last sentenced is typed it is time for the new chapter, period.

    How do we prepare for the new chapter? Hmmm…there is probably a whole shelf of self-help books to aid us in navigating through the new, but to be honest when I really need advice I don’t seem to be attracted to the books with all the answers. Or I read the books that are supposed to help me put the pieces together and I am still in want.

   When the clock strikes four in the morning and tired eyes pop open because anxiety has been making the last two hours a toss and turn I find myself calling out. “God, will you lead me?” I don’t know what I am doing, I don’t know which way to go.”

Back to the writer…

    After washing the dishes he returned to the flashing cursor at the top of the page. And he sat, he tapped his pen on the side of the desk. He stretched out his arms. He decided to answer a text, but each time he returned his concentration to the screen the Chapter was waiting.

     In the frustration of the writing block, he almost shut down his beat up Laptop and gave up for the day. He almost declared this story was over and he might as well have a Chapter one burning, when he paused...He remembered…all the chapters he had lived. All the battles he had won and some he had not, and somewhere deep inside he decided to believe.

    In faith he began to write. With grace toward himself he allowed his pen to speak. Without editing or punishing he allowed his fingers to begin to paint a new picture, a new vision, a new idea for the characters he had created from the ashes of his memories.

    Here is the point: Where you have been lays a foundation for where you will go. We can change, we can improve, but ultimately we will have to step into new chapters not knowing if it will all work out or not. I am thankful that I have faith to lean into at such times. I have a testimony of how God has made a way in the new chapters for me when I couldn’t seem to figure out what I should do.

     Today if you find yourself at the top of a new blank page and anxiety is threatening to steal your breath stop for a moment. Rest for a moment. Remember the road you have already traveled and allow God to enlighten your perspective. He is found in the waiting, pausing, and pondering. Perhaps that is how the next chapter will begin…

I found God in the stillness of before dawn when sleep escapes and light still slumbers… 

    

  

Get Back Up Again

      As a little girl of the eighties in a house full of boys one movie was reenacted more than any other. Only one movie theme song was hummed, chanted, and air-guitared to intensify a brother wrestling match or a backyard race. One character was quoted by GI Joes and echoed by Lego figures so repeatedly that no one needed to sight the source. If you don’t know who I am referring to let me give you some hints.

     Each of my brothers from one time or another had a gray hooded sweater shirt that they wore as they jogged around the house or neighborhood. If we happened to go to a government building with a lot of cement steps my brothers had to jog to the top arms pumping and finish with a victory dance at the top of the landing. When one of their GI Joe figures was losing the battle without fail you could guarantee the plastic fellow would yell out, “Adrian…Adrian.” And the top song for many years in our home was “Eye of the Tiger,” beating out both El Shaddai (Amy Grant) and Father Abraham (children’s bible song from antiquity).

     Yes we loved the movie, Rocky. Though I felt squeamish in the fight scenes I still watched the movies with the boys. I cheered for Rocky, but the best scene of each of the movies was when he got hit so hard that he saw visions of his childhood or his precious Adrian while hitting the ground in slow motion. Blood and sweat flew in the air as we all sprang from our seats to encourage him. 

"Get up! Rocky, you aren’t through yet. Stand up!"

    In life I find myself feeling like I did in that tense fight scene when I listen to the stories of many of my friends, family, and fellow believers who are fighting serious battles all around me. I pray for the fighting spirit to come alive in these loved ones and friends that they would not lose heart in the heat of the battle. I find myself chanting, “It isn’t over yet, get back up again.”

    I am reminded daily that life is full of battles, surprise blows, and cheap shots but I feel that deep within us lies the "Rocky" spirit. Rocky was from the other side of the tracks. He was smaller than he should be and it took him determination and training to actualize his dream, but in the storyline, we learn quickly no dream comes without a price. He had enemies, and there was the strain on the love of his life. He had to make a choice just as we do today to fight for the dream.

    In Ephesians 6:11, Paul exhorts us to put on the full armor of God so that we can take our stand against the devil's schemes. I think to get up from the mat we have to first determine in our minds who the real enemy is. If we think that a person is against us or worse yet the whole world is against us we might as well stay down for the count because we have already given up the battle.

    I have to remind myself over and over that I don’t wrestle against flesh and blood but against rulers, against authorities, against powers of this dark world and against spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms (Ephesians 10:12). That means that God is on my side always and that people may stand in the way but there is a way around them. There is a blow to the enemy that he can’t stand up against. There is a technique that is difficult to learn but will take down the enemy for the count.

It is…

         Forgiveness.

    Forgiveness has never been a natural defense move in my skill set. I have been more of a master at keeping records of wrong. Recently as I have decided to write this blog I realize I have a vast memory and hurts are the deepest groves in my recollection. Fortunately there was a day when I decided I had to yield this ancient weapon even if I hated to do it.

    I remember I was sitting on the floor in my bedroom. Something like Gloria Estefan was playing on my new CD player when I realized I couldn’t go on. I had a routine, like I am sure many emotional teenagers do, of trying to unwind after school. My favorite way to do this was to feel sorry for myself. I am not sure why this was my go to habit. Could it be the sad songs I loved to listen to on the radio? I don’t know, but on this particular day I sat by my mirror studying my young face with a frown.

    I didn’t like what I saw and the temptation was to blame others for all the reasons why. As I looked at myself the Lord spoke to me, “Dianne you need to forgive as I forgave you.” 

    What? I thought. Trying again to work up the “life’s not fair” emotions. But something supernatural happened for the first time in my life, I felt the hand of the Lord on my back. The many angry and hostile words I imagined saying to my offenders lost their lure. I had to turn off the radio in this strange moment, because I could tell something was changing deep down in my heart. I was beholding the Lord Jesus the ultimate fighter for forgiveness.

    For a moment I saw his wounded body on the cross as his own people mocked him. I saw the Roman guards who knew nothing of this “King of Jews” standing aloof and hardened as his blood flowed down for them.

“Father forgive them for they know not what they do…”

   Suddenly I was catapulted back to my bedroom. I sat looking at this sixteen year-old girl with brown curly hair and a complicated complexion. “I forgive, I forgive, I forgive,” I said out loud.

    The months to follow are still a shock to me today. I made a list of everyone I was upset at and made a vow to talk to each one of them and apologize for my own rude behavior. I made phone calls, and met with teachers and x-friends. With each awkward confession I felt this new weapon growing in my spiritual arsenal.

    I declared over my life a new way, a life of love. Slowly the change in my attitude became apparent to others. I wish I could say that I never fell into self-pity again, but that wouldn’t be true and I wouldn’t have much material to write about. No, I must remind myself daily who the real enemy is.

   Jesus fought the enemy of our souls that day on the cross with forgiveness. And though he gave his life on the cross the miracle came on the third day when he rose again from the grave. The devil had thrown the final punch and was doing his victory dance as heaven counted 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9…

    At the first beam of the light at dawn on the third day there was a rattle in the borrowed tomb. Angels came to witness the “King of Jews” arise from the tomb no longer defeated. Right before the referee could declare 10- he broke through death, hell, and the grave. Shining like the sun he made a way for us. At that moment He won our freedom to live in this new way of forgiveness regardless of the circumstances we will face.

    So today if you are down for the count I am standing at the side lines shouting “Get up Champ!” The battle is not over yet. Don’t give up. Get that old “Eye of the Tiger” theme song in your heart and put on the gray hoody and start fighting your real enemy.  I declare over you, “Be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power.” (Ephesians 6:10)  Remember the devil started the fight with the Son of God before he turned his sights on you. Though the fight might be fierce God has given you the power to give the Knock-out punch!

"Father, Forgive them for they know not what they do…" Luke 23:34

Dear Friend,

Get back up again.

    

There is Room at The Well

   

     Most preschoolers learn a little rhyme about a girl and boy named Jack and Jill. They are on a mission to climb a hill to fetch a pail of water from the Well. That sounds easy enough especially for the little energetic children reciting this story. But like most memorable stories, something goes wrong at the top of the hill with the pail full of water.

    Did the water splash on the grass to create a slick spot that caused Jack to slip? Did he step in a rabbit hole that caused the fall? Why did Jill come tumbling after? The poor couple had been so close to accomplishing their goal when it all went wrong.

    There is another well I learned about through flannel graph stories. As the Bible story began my Sunday school teacher in a corduroy plum colored skirt and lavender pearl buttoned silk blouse smiled at us. Her brown nyloned legs crossed at the ankle as she sat in her big blue teacher’s chair next to the easel holding the flannel graph board. With brown feathered hair that framed her pastel painted face, she held the unnamed Samaritan woman in her hand.

    The paper figure in a white and cranberry stripe dress held a tall jar on her shoulder but her brown curly hair was left uncovered because she was a “bad” woman. I watched spellbound as the teacher placed the slender figure on the blue flannel graph board.

    Next our proper teacher placed a Well next to the woman. I had already learned that in the “bible days” there was always a Well. In fact this paper well, was worn on the edges from its repeated use. We had learned a few weeks before that Abraham had to move away from his nephew Lot, because their servants were fighting over the same well. Then the week before, Isaac had to dig three wells before the Philistines would allow him to settle in the land.

    Now Jesus was coming to the Well. The same well this Samaritan woman was standing by with her sun dried clay jar. She was a lone figure at the common biblical location. I could relate to the need for water. I felt thirsty and I was quietly hoping for a snack of saltine crackers and a Dixie cup of water as we sat in the little chairs around the bean shaped almond finished kindergarten table.

    Next to me, Art Detmer, my distant cousin was playing with his brown clip-on tie. He saw me looking at him and quickly stuck his tongue out at me. I wondered again why we had to be related. Fortunately, our devoted teacher’s voice captured my attention again.

“And the Samaritan woman was alone because she was a sinful woman. Sin separates us from the life we really want…but Jesus spoke to her.”

“May I have a drink of water?” he said.

Next, the teacher with powder pink fingernails placed a vibrant sun above the Well.

“In the heat of the day Jesus came to the Well, and so did the Samaritan woman because she knew no one else would be there at that time due to the heat. She came alone because she didn’t have any friends.”

I leaned in as if I could see the perspiration on their foreheads. Jesus pursued this lonely woman at the Well, but why? I wondered.

     Looking at my patient teacher I spoke, “Was Jesus thirsty, because I am.”

The teacher with lovely feathered hair smiled at me but continued the lesson.  She took the Samaritan woman down and replaced her with a second image of the woman’s profile with arms out imploringly toward the Well.

“You are a Jew and I am a Samaritan why would you talk to me, let alone ask for a drink of water? The woman asked.

    She replaced the tall composed Jesus with a leaning forward Jesus standing on the other side of the Well with one arm extended toward the woman and the other toward the water.

“If you knew who asked you for this water you would ask for living water that never runs dry. You would drink it and never thirst again.”

Did I see the Samaritan woman inch closer?

Our well-dressed teacher paused. She fidgeted with her string of pearls while finding her place again in the bible lesson she was reading to us.

I continued to wonder:

Could Jesus really satisfy her thirst?

What kind of water filled this flannel graph well?

Finding her place, the lavender silk arm placed a paper jar at Jesus’ feet.

“This is the Well of our Father Jacob, but it is said that when the Holy one comes He will lead us into all truth.” The Samaritan woman said.

Jesus replied, “I am He, do you believe?”

From that moment my little hands felt sweaty as I thought I saw the one dimensional Samaritan jump up and down.

“Yes, I do believe.”

Under the hot sun, this woman found the refreshment her soul needed. In my little 5-year-old heart I too whispered, “I believe.”

    Like Jack and Jill I fetched my pail of living water that day, but as the years of my young life unfolded I found myself tumbling down the hill spilling the living water on the ground and injuring my soul in the process. But I am thankful that by God’s grace He helped me back up again.

     My faith had many one-dimensional moments of narrowed focus. I went to church (period). Then I lived my life how I wanted. Still the living water drew me back to the well again and again.

This living water still draws me back to the well in the heat of the day when I wish to see no one. Jesus is there willing to talk, willing to listen, and willing to revive. I have learned by such great love that there is room at the well for me and for you. All it takes to be refreshed is the simple act of believing.

“Come see the One who has told me everything I have ever done. Could this be the Christ?” The Samaritan Woman (John 4:29)

Historically Speaking

   

    I have always liked to study history. I enjoy reading documentaries about famous people that have gone before. I even like to hear the eulogies at funerals because it gives me a keener picture of the life one has lived in the world I have inherited from them.

     It was the first warm spring day we had experienced in the new season. We walked on the boardwalk passing a little yard where a sheep and two ewe lambs were sitting in the long green grass beside the 19^th Century home. Across the way, the drug store stood to beckon from a different time and a different age. People in period clothing crossed the dirt road as a wagon passed by with a little boy in suspenders buttoned to brown pants over a white button-up shirt and clad in a blue hat. He waved from his perch in the back of the wagon between two bags of grain.  As we neared the corner we saw the local doctor’s home, the bank, and the mercantile. Like the old plunky sound of an antique upright piano, the air was filled with the sound of the ancient.

     My children looked around the historical farm community in wonder. Once Upon a time, there lived a group of people gathered in a community to live in harmony and support of one another. As we crossed the street to step into the drug store the clerk greeted us at the door. Walking in on to the wooden floor our feet scuffed across the dimly lit room. Bolts of fabric lined one wall, pharmaceuticals lined the opposite wall and barrels of necessities were gathered in the middle.

    I tried to think of the last time I had baked fresh bread. What did a loaf taste like at this time in history before gluten allergies were a worry? I walked by a washboard used to clean clothing by hand. The clerk explained how most families only had two changes of clothes. “Everyday” clothes and “Sunday” best. I thought of the many times my hands grew raw after scrubbing baby messes out of little outfits, and wondered at the job the women of my ancestry must have had to perform daily.

     Life it seems is like the fluff of a seeding dandelion in spring. It is light and hard to hold on to. Once one feels they have a hold of it the wind blows scattering all our plans to the wind. Did the ancients feel the uncertainty I feel as I hold little hands and wonder if my parenting will bring about responsibly grown children?

    As I looked through the many old things that once were new I wondered at the frailty of life. Like sands through the hourglass, time is constantly slipping away, but I rarely notice. It is only in old photos I realize how much my children have grown, how my own face has changed.

    On the other side of this lingering anxiety, I felt hope with this thought: This is all I have, this moment. So I wish to live it fully alive. I wish to live it with a heart fully engaged. When my time has come and gone, I hope that something will be left behind more valuable than a pair of lightly used shoes or a fancy purse. I hope that the love I have planted endures.

    The question is…have I planted love? Or have I been too busy chasing my own way to stop and look at the community around me? This community of family, friends, neighbors, and people I have yet to meet that surround me. I hope to live fully awake, fully aware, and fully awestruck at the blessing of life.

    Placing a nickel in each of my children’s hands I give them permission to purchase a lemon drop. With excited smiles they each hand the clerk their money in exchange for the sweet confection. After the purchase, we leave the quiet space of the little store to again embrace the warm breeze of the spring day. It is time to go live, love, and enjoy the simplicity of this day.  

  

Heaven Touching Earth

I still believe even when life is tough and the skies are gray. Even when the things I trust in become shaken and the ones closest to me are discouraged. When I am tired and I can't see the breakthrough I believe is coming. I still believe...

I was listening to a song today that began to stir a fire in my bones. The stirring started somewhere near the center of my being and moved out to my extremities. "Lord, can you revive me again? In a raspy voice, the singer evoked my heart.

"Our Father, all of Heaven knows your name 

Sing louder, let this place erupt with praise. 

Can you hear it the sound of heaven touching earth…?"

   In the beginning, the Spirit hovered over the waters with mighty wings of mercy. The essence of love swept over the unformed child, the apple of the Father’s eye. When the voice of creation spoke and the darkness transformed into pure resplendent light He was there. When the seas were formed and the land took shape when the green beauty of plant life sprung up like little hands clapping at the magnitude of their Creator He was there.  When the eye of the Father formed all the creatures of earth and sea He felt the absence of his own reflection and so he knelt down in the dirt to form man.

    With one mighty breath the first son of man awoke. This reflection of God formed a little lower than the angels arose. On shaky legs, Adam beheld his new playground. Not as some type of ape-man but as the very reflection of his Abba Father he looked around. Intelligent and strong he met the creatures walking on earth and swimming in the sea. He walked among the fruited trees yet even in all the beauty and wonder his heart felt lonely.

    The Lord knew Adam’s desire to be known. Even in the newness of creation man could not find his equal in all the vibrant majesty of his organic home. In the sweetest sleep, Adam lay so that God could perform the first surgery. Removing one of two ribs designed to protect the man’s lungs, his breath supply, the Creator gently covered the vacancy with flesh.  

   In a moment Adam was healed by the touch of the Great Physician. As he lay in slumber on lush carpets of grass and nectar scented flowers his wife was being formed from rib and dust, light and the breath of God.

“He makes beautiful things from the dust.”

He awoke to see a beautiful she creature lying next to him. “Adam,” the Voice of many Waters spoke, “Behold your wife.”

   With tears, he arose to study the woman over curves and smooth skin. As he stirred she too awoke. Taking her hand they ran through the garden of God to celebrate their new life together. All around them the animals uttered and the birds sang in the wonder of man and woman, husband and wife, Father and Mother and keepers of the earth.  As the man and woman walked in the garden they praised the only Father they had ever known.

   Of course, there is more to the story than the perfect beginning. Soon perfection unraveled with the trick of a snake and the lure of a piece of fruit. Still, there is a longing God placed in each one of us to be known and to again be invited to walk in the garden of God’s presence. Such a hope is only found through the acknowledgment of one name. The name of the one who was there in the beginning when Heaven touched Earth, when light pierced the darkness, when emptiness became full of life.

I hear my own voice join in with the singer's

"King Jesus, you’re the name we are lifting high,

Your glory shaking up the earth and skies,

 Revival we want to see your kingdom here.

We want to see your kingdom."

I still believe…

Dream Catcher

   

    What good is a dream if you don’t have someone to share it with? It is like going to the ice cream stand to indulge in a frozen treat or riding a rollercoaster that thrills your socks off all by yourself. Such adventures beckon a companion to share in the encounter.

    That makes sense I would say, but I am not sure what my dream even is. I know I had a lot of them as a kid. I wanted to be an actress, a lawyer, and a choreographer and that was all in my fifth-grade year, but lately…I have been trying to figure out what is “the dream.”

    Maybe I lost it because I have lived a little too long.  Am I too old to dream? It seems sometimes that it is unrealistic to look beyond the responsibility of family life. Maybe I have been so overwhelmed with the to-do list that I forgot to take a minute to ask: what is it that I would love to do anyway?

   Sometimes I think dreams have been over-rated. I used to dream of getting married and having a family. Now I have one and I have learned no dream comes without a price. Right now the price is…tween mood swings and being the screen police. So maybe I am discouraged.

    Whatever the excuse I can come up with it doesn’t change the fact that I need to dream, you need to dream. We were made to dream. In the dreaming we have hope that what we see today doesn’t have to be what we live tomorrow and the next day and so on.

    I love to hear stories of unlikely dream pursuers. My husband’s grandmother had always dreamed of finishing high school, so in her sixties, she got her diploma. I recently met a woman that at 91 still goes snow skiing weekly. I have a dear friend that decided to become a missionary to India in her retirement and has spent her time hugging children and helping families in India ever since. Such stories inspire me to stop making excuses and start taking the time to dream.

    We limit ourselves with all the reasons why we can’t dream without uttering a word to anyone else, but what if we started to share our dream?  What if your hope could ignite someone else’s? Who knows how your dream might just set off a chain reaction in the lives of your friends and family.

    In reality, life is complicated and at any moment we can list a lot of reasons why it is better just to drudge on, but I want to encourage us to let the little child dream from within us. That little one that believes we can be anything we put our minds to. Now that we are older we have a better grasp of what it is that really excites us. That thing that makes you and I come alive. What if that thing was tailor made for us to pursue?

Maybe I am just dreaming here, but I invite you to come along for the ride.