Dreams

* This post was originally a comment I made on a post written by Whimzie of Snoodlings .  Recently I had a conversation with a friend on how life often works out differently than we envisioned or planned. So I thought I would share my thoughts here too.

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As a kid and young adult I wanted to be a performer or dancer.

I had to let go of that dream.

Sometimes (specifically, some certain-times-of-the-month times) I still ache from the loss of that dream.

But that wasn’t God’s dream for me.

I dreamed of stardom, beauty, and grace. My dream was to be center-stage.

God’s dream for my life? 

One that is robust, and full. Multifaceted. 

It certainly wouldn’t have fit into my tiny, limited, romantic notion of what I thought I wanted my life to look like and be.

The life I live is His dream for me. And, now, I wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Being a wife, mom, friend, and teacher is far more fitting than the slim picture I had envisioned for my life. Sometimes I still dream that pink, tulle-y, self-focused dream and I forget that God has called me to a deep and filling life. A humble life that isn’t supposed to hold ME at center-stage.

His dream for me is worth earthly dreams set aside.

The Lord reminded me of His call to this humble service this morning when I flipped to 1 Cor 1:26-31 .

Yes, I agree. There are times in life when God calls us to stop “doing”, especially when the “doing” isn’t the “best” for us. But often the “do/be” is one in the same: to sit with our faces lifted to Him, watching, waiting, listening for Him to tell us who we are, and who He purposes us to become.

And the good news? As long as we keep our eyes focused on the Lord, there are no worries about what we want to be when we grow up, cuz we’ll always be growing in Him.

Until one day…

That beautiful day when we will be right where we want to be, doing exactly what we were made to do, gazing face-to-face with the Person we want to see…

Dream fulfilled.

Re-Occurring Dream

For four years I attended a school that was also a convent.

It was a small parochial school, quietly set in the middle of town. Most people didn't even know it was there.

As a matter of fact, this school was set back in a preserved corner of desert that was like walking back in time-- with dusty roads, and a very old adobe ranch-style home as the center of its campus.

We had Chapel every day, with mass on Wednesdays.

The founders, administrators, and a few teachers of this school were nuns, dressed in all-white habits. They each looked the same by outward appearance, but their personalities were far from identical.

There was Sister A, a sweet-yet-spunky soul, who had a 1000 watt smile and a laugh to match. She loved to watch Magnum P.I., most specifically Tom Sellack.

There was Sister AC, who worked in the kitchen, preparing the food for the boarding students and the teachers. She didn't like nonsense, and was a hard worker. We had to pass through the kitchen to get to three different classrooms...if  one was smart, when she was working you didn't linger in the kitchen for very long.

There was Sister MC, a soft spoken and gentle woman, who was often sickly. But her long and lanky frame was calming in the hustle and bustle of our little school.

There was Mother Virginia, a tiny go-getter, in her late 70's, who drove the biggest car in town with the long veil of her wimple blowing in the desert wind. We loved her because she was such a delight to talk to, always listening and appearing interested when she spoke to you. Her size and age made her appear unassuming.

Looks can be deceiving.

In ninth grade I got caught looking at another girls math test (commonly known as cheating) and was immediately sent to Mother's office. Her quiet disappointment and firm reprimand let me know that there was giant living beneath those ivory robes.

And then...

There was Sister ML. The Disciplinarian. I'll never forget being asked to take a note to her from another teacher. I walked down the dirt road through the center of school to the building where she taught fifth/sixth grade.

She wasn't there.

So I walked to the kitchen where she was pouring Palmolive into a students open mouth.

When she finished squirting about a tablespoon of soap upon this girls tongue, she closed the bottle with a snap, and said with a low tone and firm authority, "Now swish...You will not again take the name of the Lord in vain."

To say that I silently high-tailed it out of the kitchen would be an understatement. I decided that the note would be better delivered to the top of her desk.

Sister ML wasn't all prickles and consequences. She had a soft side that she would show students from time to time. She was the first teacher to encourage me to sing, and she was generous with hugs, if one dared to approach her.

She is the reason I am writing this post.

Sister ML eventually became Mother Superior over our little school, years after I was gone, until she died several years ago.

I was sad when I heard the news, but I hadn't really thought about her as I moved about my life. Its been over 25 years since I was apart of that little school.

What's weird is that for the last 3-4 months I keep dreaming about her. Even last night, she was in my dreams and I told her, "I'm always dreaming about you."

The mind is so funny. Who knows why she is popping up into my thoughts when the day is over, but I am grateful. My years of walking the campus in my blue plaid skirt and white blouse were good years, and I am happy to remember them.