Do you ever stop to look at your dreams?
Really l o o k at your dreams?
Sometimes, they seem like someone else’s. As if I were reading about them, seeing third-person into another’s ambitions. It’s easier then – to cheer for them. That seems backwards, I know, but for me…it just is.
I become so scared of my “one days” and “hopes” and “possiblys” when I look through the lens of mine. Because if those “could be” moments have my name on them and if they never materialize yet drift ever-distant from my fingertips, the pain of loss could be more than I could bear.
I have longings in the sinews of my bones. To be many things. To do certain things. This hope – this hope is the sinew itself, binding my joint to muscle, giving permission for my limbs to function. I am called, beckoned to hope without fail. To live in the truth of its definition. To be unashamed.
The focus landing on the Giver of dreams. The producer of hope. The author of life in its fullest.
He has hope for me.
Desires for my days.
Purposes for my breaths.
I believe that. I know that to be true. Yet still, I find space to fear instead of trust. To second guess instead of surrender to those desires. To try and change His mind to see that maybe I’m not cut out for this – as if I could avert the eyes of the One who fashioned my cells and structure to see anything other than the glory of Calvary’s cure.
He languishes over my unbelief, for all His being longs for me to see the beauty He’s made within me. For His Spirit is there. The Comforter, breathing within my frame. When I match my inhales with His, my exhales in rhythm, my dreams are His dreams.
And His dreams always come true.
His word fulfills His intention. To the fullest letter. The greatest capacity. Far greater than my imagination can take me. Farther than my fear can bind it.
My dreams are mine to ask for, to walk towards. When I abide, when I seek first HIS righteousness, my “possiblys” will match up with His
everything. The surpassing greatness.
I won’t lie. I’m still terrified. And I know I can’t possibly be the only one. Right?
But what else am I to do? I’m implored to hope over and over again. Emphatically. So at the root of it all, I have a choice to make. It usually comes down to this act – choosing.
Do I stay crawling on the ground as I did when crippled – though I’ve already been told to rise and walk?
Do I settle for less, when I’m given abundance?
Is that what I should do in response to a life rescued?
Or should I boldly seek,
freely ask,
and consistently walk in the directions laid before me,
no matter which roads the travel calls to tread?
I am always free to choose.
And because of love triumphant, I am also free to live in glorious hope.
What do you hope for?
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Posted on March 1, 2012 by Leigh Gorham
Dreaming Out Loud
Do you ever stop to look at your dreams?
Really l o o k at your dreams?
Sometimes, they seem like someone else’s. As if I were reading about them, seeing third-person into another’s ambitions. It’s easier then – to cheer for them. That seems backwards, I know, but for me…it just is.
I become so scared of my “one days” and “hopes” and “possiblys” when I look through the lens of mine. Because if those “could be” moments have my name on them and if they never materialize yet drift ever-distant from my fingertips, the pain of loss could be more than I could bear.
I have longings in the sinews of my bones. To be many things. To do certain things. This hope – this hope is the sinew itself, binding my joint to muscle, giving permission for my limbs to function. I am called, beckoned to hope without fail. To live in the truth of its definition. To be unashamed.
The focus landing on the Giver of dreams. The producer of hope. The author of life in its fullest.
He has hope for me.
Desires for my days.
Purposes for my breaths.
I believe that. I know that to be true. Yet still, I find space to fear instead of trust. To second guess instead of surrender to those desires. To try and change His mind to see that maybe I’m not cut out for this – as if I could avert the eyes of the One who fashioned my cells and structure to see anything other than the glory of Calvary’s cure.
He languishes over my unbelief, for all His being longs for me to see the beauty He’s made within me. For His Spirit is there. The Comforter, breathing within my frame. When I match my inhales with His, my exhales in rhythm, my dreams are His dreams.
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Category: Choice, Christ, direction, dreams, goals, His will, Hope, plans