Why you really need to dream

The invitation comes gently at first, watching a housemate dream big dreams. My own start to push their way to the surface.

It has been a while since I’ve had the courage to dream.

Another conversation and the daring to speak the first of the impossibly big dreams, and I realize that ignoring them now is painful in its pulling away from God and His call to dream with Him.

God has the words waiting when I arrive home, an echo that insists I not miss His meaning: “God gives us dreams a size too big so that we can grow into them.”

Blossoms burst from  ancient trunks, stalks of new life reaching for the sun.

 Gold blooms behind peeling fence and limits can be a frame that magnifies glory. (2 Corinthians 4:7)

Petals cup, faces uplifted in the joy of being what they are made to be.

 And this, this is why we really need to dream: God dreamed first.

“God had a dream and wrapped your body around it.” (Lou Engle)

We, together, are God’s poeima, his finest work of art, each of us irreplaceable and perfectly suited to the dreams God has knit into us. (Eph 2:10)

And those dreams beginning to push their way to the surface “are the seeds of possibility planted in your soul, calling you to pursue a unique path to the realization of your purpose.” (John Maxwell, “Put Your Dreams to the Test”) Our dreams, prayerfully received as gifts from God, are the whisper of God’s own dreams knit into us, and our answering actions the way we love God and others.

 So join with me, will you? Let’s dare to dream the dreams that God is stirring in us.

 Because we know that this extraordinary day is just ahead, we pray for you all the time—pray that our God will make you fit for what he’s called you to be, pray that he’ll fill your good ideas and acts of faith with his own energy so that it all amounts to something.  If your life honors the name of Jesus, he will honor you. Grace is behind and through all of this, our God giving himself freely, the Master, Jesus Christ, giving himself freely. (2 Thessalonians 1:11-12, The Message)

 

How to soar

 

Curled in the chair by the eleventh floor window, I watch rain and the early lights of a downtown evening, boats tied up quiet in the marina and cars rushing over the bridge.

 

I feel foreign in this new world, out of place here. Is this really to be home for the next few years? I wonder when I’ll waken and discover it a dream, a fancy hotel in which I’ve been granted a few nights until someone discovers I don’t have a seven-figure bank balance.

 

A tall canvas leans against the wall next to the guitar case lying open and the bookshelves not yet organized. The lonely figure struggles up the rough slope, doubled beneath the weight of a cross. He climbs, a silhouette against the many-layered planet behind. So small he seems, just one bent man before this giant ball.

 

So small I feel too.

 

A gull soars at eye level, lifted.

 

The small figure at the center of it all has invited and he has paid and I belong here because this is where he has placed me. And in him it all holds together, the mud-brick home where I have lived without plumbing and this many-windowed building with its own swimming pool. In him I hold together, too. There, here, he always calls me closer, and no one can snatch me from his hands.

 

The guitar lies forgotten on the loveseat across the room. We had sung truth together. “And I will soar with you, your Spirit leads me on, in the power of your love.”

 

 

The gulls rest now, held, but they will soar again on the morning’s breath.