Living the Dream

It’s Sunday, and we are driving through the back roads of Colorado. This is a familiar scene in our family. The dreaded—in our kids’ opinion—Sunday drive to scour the surrounding land for a little piece to call our own. It’s been years now. Years of hunting. Years of dreaming. Years of waiting. It makes us tired, this ever searching, always coming home empty journey. But it doesn’t stop us. We won’t stop dreaming until our dream comes true. Today we are headed somewhere new. Friends have the older kids, so there is extra time as the little one in back sings lullabies to her stuffed Bambi. We turn down a road that we always pass, but never travel down. Through the forest, around a bend, up the hill…and then we see it. We gasp and I clutch Ryan’s arm, eyes widening, heart pumping. Had I sat down with God and described specifically what I wanted, this would still blow me away. It’s perfect.

A week later, we go again, unable to shake the memories. The kids complain, but we promise it will be worth it this time. Their eyes widen as the long-awaited dream unfolds into something they tangible. They don’t see the peeling paint, the blue carpets, or the tiny bedrooms. Neither do we. We tell them not to get too excited. We don’t know if it’s really going to happen. Don’t get your hopes up. But they can’t help it—I can’t help it. Suddenly, curtains grace the windows, paint splashes the walls, and chickens scratch the dirt. As we sit in the living room, gazing at the miracle around us, we laugh at Emery’s name for her horse. We dream up the garden, the parties, the memories. My heart swells with the possibilities. How close we will be when we have space to run! My dreams for my family will finally come true. No more fences blocking our view. No more neighbors watching our routine.

It’s Wednesday, and the lender calls to say he’s sorry, but it just can’t happen right now. They need one more year of taxes before we can qualify. Call again in January…

My heart sinks. My dreams dissipate. Maybe the house will still be for sale in January. Maybe. But what about my family? Now we are stuck in this fenced-in mircroscope for another couple months.

It’s Sunday again. Family night. We are teaching the kids about Creation, seeking to draw their hearts to the One who holds the world—and our dreams—in his hands. It’s the second day, the day God separates the waters and speaks sky into existence. We lie on the trampoline, ten feet intertwined under a blanket, making shapes out of clouds.

We laugh at Emery’s shapes, because none of them actually exist. We pretend to see the snake Gavin sees. We can almost make out the dog of Selah’s imagination. Isn’t it interesting that they each see what matters to them? The clouds become the symbols for their dreams. They see what they choose to see. I look around and watch them, and my heart swells once more. I watch this little family that laughs, fights, cries, and dreams. And I choose to see the fulfillment of my dreams in their eyes.

I won’t stop dreaming. I won’t stop hanging curtains and naming horses. But today I’m living. I’m living what a dream can never provide. Today. And right here, surrounded by fences and neighbors, a family scoots just a little bit closer as we stare up at the sky.

My cup runs over.

Psalm 118:24

THIS is the day that the Lord has made; I WILL rejoice and be glad in it.