“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.

Her Name is Ambivalence

She has been prominent in my life for as long as I can remember.  Nearly every memory includes some part of her.  Her presence is always near and she influences my emotions, thoughts and actions.  She has more power than I’d like.

Her appearance is complex and chameleon like.  Sometimes she is unkempt and messy as she rushes me from one thing to the next. When she enters a room, her presence is noisy and overwhelming -- demanding to be noticed.  When she is like this I am left feeling chaotic and confused.

Other times, she is tidy and buttoned up -- feigning the appearance that she has it all together.  She moves with apprehension and fear as she quietly waits to be noticed by those around her.  Her interactions leave me feeling constrained and uneasy with myself and with others. 

Her name is Ambivalence. 

I remember her in my childhood home whose family rules were to be independent and to have fun.  And while I easily adapted to those rules, I was also the one with feelings that ran deep and wide.  Sensitivity was a handicap in a family that encouraged independence and merriment.  Ambivalence was born from that constant tug back and forth within my soul.

Ambivalence was present in my teen years as I dated boys.  Being noticed and wanted gave me a thrill and enjoyment that unleashed the messy and noisy me that loved the chaos.  It felt life giving, empowering and fun to my young soul.  But soon, the buttoned-up me would show up, speak through the chaos, and fill me with shame and remorse for being so sexually charged.

As a wife, Ambivalence would make herself known during every conflict. The neat and tidy persona told me time after time not to rock the boat.  Be happy with what you have and certainly don’t ask for too much.  Then resentment would kick the messy and demanding persona into action where her anger was loud and violent.  Back and forth, back and forth, and back and forth again.

As I’ve grown older, I am kinder to myself when Ambivalence shows ups.  I take the time to explore the conflict within my soul which unleashes her more desirable side -- I like her best when she is like this.  In this casual persona, her hair is loose, her smile is genuine and her eyes are filled with kindness.  When she enters a room her movements are fluid and steadfast and she speaks with self-assurance.  When Ambivalence comes to me like this, she invites me into confident ease.

Yes, I still wish Ambivalence had less power in my life.  But when I took the time to know her, I understood and appreciated her much better.  She was born out of genuine emotion and conflict within my soul that I want to honor.  So I invite her to stay and to continue to encourage me to explore my longings and struggles with depth and meaning.  May she free me to embrace the the steadfast me with the confident ease and a genuine smile.

I Am From

I am from hushed voices and eggs frying before dawn

Percolating coffee and kisses goodbye

Dads leave for work while moms take care of the home

I am from shared bedrooms and one bathroom 

A phone on the kitchen wall with a stretched out cord

Dinner for seven every day at 4

I am from crab feasts, softball games and late night campfires

Peeking through stair railings to see late night dance parties

A classic jukebox singing Elvis, Jim Croce and beloved CCR

I am from bikes on the front lawn and catching cooties from boys

Firefly chasing, quiet stargazing and sweet summer crushes

Freedom filled days paused til tomorrow when the street lights came on

I am from emotions that run deep with nowhere to go

Sensitivity is a flaw so keep it fun, keep airy, keep it low

Smile big and look pretty and you will be loved

I am from dreams and longings of Father, Son, Holy Spirit

Fragile faith not knowing how yet craves to enter in

Lovingly He woos me.  He knows me. And He ushers me in.

Finding My Way Home

A battle of wills -- it is constant within my soul.  There is a longing to be at home and to sit in God's presence and trust Him in the midst of the chaos that is my life.  Yet I'm struggling to gain control -- to handle this myself -- to get myself out of the pain.  The battle is real.  I wish I could say that my longing to sit with God was winning.  It is not.

The battle makes writing this reflection a struggle.  Daring to be with people is a risk.  Allowing myself to nurture my soul feels like a luxury that I can't afford.  Focusing on God for more than fleeting moments seems impossible.  I'm in survival mode and I desperately want to find my way out -- to find my way home.

So I must ask myself, what would it mean to trust rather than to survive?  I know that if God wanted the pain and chaos to end, He would do it.  And since He has not, will I trust that He is still with me in this?  Will I trust that He is present in the pain?  Will I desire Him more than I desire the pain to end?  Will I make my home in Him?

I want to, I really do.  Staying in the battle in an act of faith that takes more energy than I want it to. My body, mind and soul long for the rest that comes with trust.  And I know that when I am able to have deep spiritual connections with Him and others, I rest in that trust.  My heart rate slows, my mind stops racing, and my soul exhales.  I feel like the me that God designed me to be.

Today, I read this quote from Henri Nouwen "...come home and trust that God will bring you what you need.......when you come home and stay home, you will find the love that will bring rest to your heart."

I've allowed fear and chaos to keep me from being at home with God and who He created me to be.  Spiritual disciplines have been ignored and rejected.  So now I'm committing to return home.  Each day, I will spend time with God through meditating on His word and listening for His voice.  I will engage in physical activity to help release the unhealthy energy being held in my body.  And I will also be purposeful in pursuing spiritual conversations with others as a return to who God designed me to be.

I long to release the battle and allow myself to be at home with God.  Spirit, intercede for me that when I wonder from home, that I will quickly find my way back.

Tornadoes and Tethers

 A tornado has hit -- my life was ground zero.  It seemed to come without warning and hit with a fury, ripping my life to shreds.  My safe and comfortable life has been lifted off its foundation.  Debris is spread as far as I can see.  Hopes and dreams are shattered.  Family unity is destroyed.  Home is a shell of loneliness.

As I look back, signs of the coming storm were everywhere.  The distance in our marriage was like a dark and ominous sky.  Discord was like hail raining down, beating down signs of life.  Heavy clouds told me that a serious storm was coming -- but I did not expect this.

I've been hit by a tornado before.  I knew the signs.  And yet, I believed a tornado would not hit the same place twice.  Naive hope.

When the storm hit, my life went into the whirlwind.  It felt like the tornado and I were one.  Spinning.  Churning.  Violent.  Unpredictable.  My thoughts raced with little direction or purpose.  My emotions spun out of control leaving destruction in the midst.  My body ached from the force of the storm.  It seemed that the cyclone would never stop.

Fierce friends and family kept me tethered.  They came and sat in the rubble and helped me explore the damage.  They cried with me and their tears told me that the storm mattered.  They fed and nourished me in every way possible.  They were the hands, feet and heart of Jesus.  They kept me from losing my way in the storm.

How does one survive a tornado without tethers?  A tornado is bent on destruction -- ripping apart all in its path.  In the spinning and chaos, it is easy to lose your bearings, to lose your way, to lose yourself.  Yet my lifelines were ever present -- loving me, caring for me, nourishing my heart and soul.

Destruction and beauty co-mingling.  Both are true and real.

Lord, as I live in the tornado's destructive wake, may I hold tightly to the beautiful tethers that You have provided.  May I know the realness of both.