When I first began to dream about my life, I imagined all sorts of daring scenarios. I envisioned myself as a heroine daring to live life on the edge for the sake of the truth. I saw myself at the forefront of the battle to turn hearts back to God: challenging, calling forth, aflame with passion and filled with the Spirit of God. Those dreams were like stars–bright pin-pricks of light in the dark unknown. I held them close to my heart and entrusted them to no one but God alone, Who was the only person who truly knew me. Eventually, I grew up and became “realistic.” The hot glitter of stars faded into a shimmery dust brushed up into the corners of my heart; still warm, but neglected.
I get the feeling, as I look into other people’s eyes, that maybe some of them neglected their dreams, too. Maybe they never even had them. And that is something that, while they might be able to accept it for themselves, I am not okay with for myself.
Dreams can change, and that’s alright; they can be rearranged into new patterns, fresh designs. But, they must never be left to smolder in the corners. I wonder what would happen if we left them there too long–would they burn out, go cold as if they had never existed in the first place? Would they then return to the One Who had made them, crackly-new and unused? What a waste, to have the chance to do something incredible with your life, and instead, to borrow other people’s mediocre dreams, to live as copies of them, and not ever give yourself the chance to see what a dream on fire might mean.