Today I decided that it was time to stop letting dreams silently die in my heart. Today is my day to go on record. There are things that have been bottled up inside my soul for longer than I can even remember. Things that you see or think or feel when you are 8… 12… 18… 33… and they don’t go away. They just keep circling. It’s almost as if they are beautiful fireflies dancing around your head just waiting for you to catch them. And they won’t go away until you hold them close, and place them in a jar for their light to shine brighter.
So I’m owning it today. And for a brief moment in time I’m going against the very nature of what women were created to do… confuse things. If that comment offends you.. go somewhere else. Because let’s face it. Women are confusing. And I am one of them.. and so are you.. so let’s just praise the Lord.. right arm…left arm…
Anyway… Today I’m getting it out there. In black and white. Where there is no guessing my meaning. There is no room for guessing or doubt or misinterpretation. Because here it is. Tried and true. Plain as day. My heart….
And ultimately my Prayer….
God please work. Please move. Please complete the good work you have started in our family. Please don’t delay… let everything here be my prayer to you. And change my heart if these don’t line up with your will. Move Jesus. Please. My heart is heavy and needs you to move…
I am a dreamer. A builder. A connector of hearts for what is true. I adore village living. Where everyone is in everyone’s business and we all take on the roles of helping raise each others kids. In a non creepy definitely not polygamy way of course. I live for family dinners… rooms full of people and farm to table dining. I dream of patio lights… large gardens… chickens at my feet and hanging laundry on a line in the sun. I have already decorated an old barn in my head as a meeting space and we gather there often for music or dancing or painting or paint ball for that matter. We live. Fully alive… for a cause greater than ourselves. We believe in cultivating the individual gifts of our children and not forcing them to conform to our preconceived notions of who they are and what they are supposed to do. We yield it to God and trust that He will build them up in HIS. PERFECT. WAY.
Outside there is a shell of a house with no walls or ceiling but under it streams an endless farm table with seating for 40. And chandeliers hang from it and light the way for laughing and dreaming and crying and community. Real community. The kind that doesn’t run when mess happens but joins together stronger.. and tighter. The oak trees adoring the property make it their purpose to support the greatest tree house known to man and the white columned porch faces the west overlooking the water. We make it a habit to pause long enough to sit there and oftentimes our friends do too… even if we don’t know they are there. Because our home is theirs. And we love it that way.
Somewhere on the property there is a guest house. For people like us. Who’ve experienced trauma in some way and are just trying to find their way again. People who’ve been lied to and hurt and betrayed and are just trying to find who God really is again. The God beneath all of the lies people have said about Him. Who need quiet… and love… and family to give their legs the strength to hold them up again.
And maybe they come for a weekend or maybe a few months.. but we can love on them… and stand by them…. and basically be to them what we’ve needed someone else to be for us these past few years. Because I truly believe that our pain is our ministry. And our cries teach us how to respond to the cries of others. And when you realize that you’ve lived in a religious cult for 6 years the pain and confusion is paralyzing… when you’re finally out and you can look back and see beyond the fog the feelings of isolation sting like frostbite. And sometimes you wonder if things will ever, ever feel normal again. If joy will ever be something you can feel in your bones again. And it is. With time. And love… and over the top doses of both. And I want our family to be that for someone.
I dream of worship nights and coffee shops and a space for us to work alongside each other pressing us further into God.. and deeper into the gifts He’s woven into our souls. I dream of a great tapestry of what “the body of Christ” truly means in the everyday nothings that make up our lives.
There will be chickens.. and goats.. and an English Mastiff named James. Because that seems dignified and strong. And it’s my favorite book in the Bible.
We will smile again.
And maybe dance in the kitchen for reals. Not just to bandaid the heartache for as long as Taylor can shake it off.
And we will hold hands.
And we will feel the goosies in our whole body when we kiss.
And we will feel Alive.
And at Peace…
Please Jesus… show up today. Tomorrow… and every day after. Move in our lives. Move in my heart. And if these fireflies swirling around my head aren’t your dreams for my life. Change my heart. Clean it. Heal it. “Heal my heart and make it clean. Open up my eyes to the things unseen. Show me how to love like you have loved me. Break my heart for what breaks yours…. everything I am for your Kingdoms cause. As I walk from earth into eternity.”
If you, like me, have things swirling in your head. Dreams you don’t want to say outloud but won’t go away. If you’ve been unclear… or people keep asking you what you really want… give yourself this gift. And today… Go. On. Record. Make a mark in the sand that today you are believing for these things. That you know God has put things on your heart on purpose. For a purpose. And most likely they are greater than you. But today.. you are going to own it. And believe for it. And pray for it. And watch God move. And in one year…. let’s all agree to come back and visit this post.. and see what God has done.
If you want to join me in this…. post your blog link below.. or share your thoughts/post on Instagram and hashtag #goonrecord Let’s commit to pray for each other.. and our hearts.. and our God dreams… and be the body of Christ for each other.