“Where did you learn to dream?”

“Where did you learn to dream?” I’ve gone back to the writing prompt a dozen times. The first time I read it, my reaction was dread. Why would I feel dread over such a lovely question? Dreaming is full of hope and desire. Yet, my heart and soul have been far from hope and desire. I think back over my life — did I ever dream? Who helped me to dream? What did I dream? Will I allow myself to dream now? And I must admit that in my mind, I’m not sure if I am able to distinguish between dreams, imagination, hopes and desires. Maybe they are all the same thing. But this word “dream” feels complicated — far more complicated than I imagine others experience. I’m able to cobble together snippets of dreams. As a little girl, I remember starry nights lying in the cool grass gazing into the expansive sky. I felt freedom and connection to something much larger than my world. I didn’t know what it meant, but it was a dream of sorts where I knew the connection was significant. I sense this was a hopeful desire to connect deeply with beauty and mystery. I remember nighttime dreams about God and about evil. When I woke, I would replay those dreams through the day which were vivid in my memory. Yet as a young girl, there seemed to be no place to process those images and thoughts. So nocturnal visions were a gracious gift allowing room for me entertain ideas that were hope-filled. I grew up in a time and place where thinking of the future meant replicating the family that you knew. So I dreamt of being a wife and mom. I’d be married to a man who worked construction, played softball, laughed with friends and had dinner with his family each night. I’d be a mom who volunteered in school, lead girl scout troops, and prepared family dinners. Our family would be perfectly content. Married life wasn’t as I expected and the daily routine did not invite dreaming of a future. Instead, life was lived. The replicated life I expected did not materialize in the way that I planned but it was a full life. Yes, I had a husband and a family, and while there was joy, there was also an atmosphere of pain and secrets. Dreams are small and practical in a home filled with secrets. The practicalness of life has always taken precedence over dreaming. Instead of dreaming of a career, I kept taking the next logical step up the ladder. After 20 years in a fulfilling career, without dreaming, I took the next logical step of leaving my career in order to help build the family business. Later, when I had a desire to learn more about caring for people, I took the next logical step and enrolled in classes at a local seminary. Without dreaming or planning, I took each next logical step until I earned my master’s degree in counseling. Now, at 54, my marriage has ended, my children are grown, my time in the family business is over as a result of the divorce, and my “position” in my church no longer holds influence. It has been a season of dying and descending that has been necessary. But where do I go from here? If I allowed myself to dream, what would I dream? My future seems both very open and yet very constrained. Open in the sense that I have no real ties or responsibilities to prevent me from moving toward something. Yet, I feel constrained by the realities of life. Dreaming is complicated for this ambivalent soul. I long for more and then I limit those longings with the practicalities of life. I doubt I will ever be one who has pie-in-the-sky dreams of what life can be. But it seems that I’m being invited to explore. And while dreaming feels hard to access for now, I’ll start with my hopes and desires. I long…. to be known deeply--mind, body and soul ...to belong to true community with shared purpose ...to dance, laugh, and sing ...to invite others into their interior worlds…..to open my home as a place of refreshment ...to explore story through curiosity, warmth and laughter… all of these with family, friends and strangers ...and in front of a real wood burning fireplace. “Where did I learn to dream?” I think I’m just starting.