I wouldn’t know if my dreams came true. I’m not sure what I ever dreamed of being. I remember deciding against being a lawyer, because sometimes lawyers have to lock up good guys and let the bad guys go. I didn’t have the stomach for it. I remember deciding to become an accountant, but that was only because I was good at it. I was really good at shorthand as well, but no one does shorthand anymore and it didn’t take a rocket science to realize there was no career to be had taking dictation. I loved dancing. I mean, all caps, I LOVED DANCING. I’m unsure how I ended up no longer taking dance lessons. I had one year of jazz, did my recital, and that was it. The only dancing I did between ages 12 and 20 was in my living room with my imaginary dance friends. Maybe that counts as a dream. In college, I took a semester of Jazz because I needed another half a physical education credit. I LOVED THAT CLASS. I love my instructor. He invited me to join the Longwood College dance troupe and I turned him down. There was no way I was good enough for that and girls my size could never become good enough to be in a dance troupe. See, I knew better than to dream of being a dancer. Dreams should be realistic. I’m not sure there is a teenager alive that hasn’t sung into their hairbrush. We all wanted to be rockstars, right? Surely if singing was supposed to be my dream, then I would have made Show Choir, right? Theater seemed super cool. I’m not sure how the “drama kids” were chosen, but I missed the boat in high school. They were both nerdy and super cool. I never could figure out how to get in that crowd in high school, so when I landed in college I knew I shouldn’t even try. How could I possibly take a drama class when I had never even done a school play? How dare I? The only dream I ever had, that I deemed worthy of being a “dream”, was to be a wife and mom. I’ve been that for 21 years now. Seven years in I was pretty sure I was failing. A few years later I realized I wasn’t failing, it’s just a tough job that only sends out employee evaluations every 25 to 30 years. As my fourth child eased his way out of toddlerhood and into kid-mode, needing me less and less, I started to ask God if I was doing this whole mom thing correctly. “This is what you made me for, right God? To be a mommy? Am I doing it okay?” “You’re doing fine, child. And yes, I did plan for you to be a mommy…but that was not what you were designed to do. Keep looking, it’s there, go find it and do it.” I couldn’t figure out what to do, or where to go. I grabbed at a few straws. I came up with a few wild ideas. Every path I take, I can see a sharp curve up ahead. All of them heading to same place, a place I can’t really see, a place I am scared to see. How am I supposed to go for something, when I don’t know what I’m supposed to be going for? How can I dream of doing something if I’m not good at anything? God would have given me a talent or gift to go with His plan for me, right? Isn’t that how this is supposed to work. Did you hear that? That’s the sweet chuckle from heaven as God enjoys my naivete…. “Dream it anyway, Lisa. You know it’s there. You’re scared. What if you fail. What if that’s NOT what is in My plan. But child, what if it IS? So go ahead, you aren’t hurting anyone. Dream it anyway.” Ok God. But please don’t let them laugh at me.

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