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Dreaming Again

Let’s start dreaming again.

Did anybody else have some dreams when they were a kid?

When I was young, I wanted to be a doctor. My grandpa, who I love dearly, is a doctor, and as a kid, there was no one funnier or smarter than him (I’m still pretty convinced about that). So, of course, I wanted to be a doctor…when I was around five. Then I grew up and realized that being a doctor meant taking a lot of math and science. Granted, I didn’t know what I wanted to do yet, but already I knew that math and science were not for me. So that dream ended.

Then for the longest time, I wanted to be a singer. I even wrote a song. But I never pursued that dream. Actually, I just let it take a back seat and stopped looking at it through the rearview mirror.

Then I wanted to be an artist. Draw great pictures. My parents bought me a sketch pad, went up to my room, tried drawing a couple of pictures – and in one afternoon, I knew that I was not meant to be an artist (I remember trying to draw something, but it ended up looking like a pig, and a pig is not what I wanted to draw).

Then I tried photography, which I did enjoy but then again, never pursued.

But do you know the one thing I never stopped doing this whole time of switching dreams?

Writing. I was always writing. In third grade, I loved writing poems. They weren’t great. I had such gems as, “Seven and eleven, aren’t they good pals?” I don’t even think that can be considered a poem. I was trying to comment on the fact that seven and eleven rhymed. Even when I wasn’t physically writing, I was always dreaming. I was always making up stories in my head. I used to love to go to bed because that meant I could start dreaming. Little did I realize I could daydream! Which, I don’t recommend doing during things like…school or driving. Make sure you stay focused. But I kept dreaming.

What do you dream about?

Sometimes, I think we let too many dreams slip away. Why couldn’t I become a singer? Or a photographer? I liked both of those things. Don’t get me wrong – I love this gift of writing. I love having stories and telling stories. I love it.

But how many other dreams do we give up on? Because we say we can’t? Or people say we can’t? Or our circumstances say we can’t? Beloved, this is no way to live. Whatever dream you have, it’s there for a reason. Somebody else needs your dream. I heard it said this way, by Joyce Meyer…actually, I forget her direct quote, but she basically said that we’re meant to enjoy receiving other people’s gifts, and then people are meant to enjoy receiving our gifts. But when don’t use our gifts because we think it’s not as good or important, then somebody else loses out.

What’s your gift? (And if anybody else happened to think of a cool movie where people receive cool gift dispensations, then maybe your gift is storytelling too.) If you don’t know your gift, look at what you’re good at. And what you enjoy. Usually, those go hand in hand. For example, I was good at algebra 2 when I took it in school, but I don’t enjoy sitting down and doing math. So that’s not my gift. But I do enjoy writing and creating a scene, a character, a story, a back story, a memory….

And don’t count yourself out on your gift and talent. Gifts can be anything. Your gift can be cleaning and organizing. I’m serious. I have a cousin who loves to organize things, and she’s good at it! That’s a gift! I’m organized to a point, but she is gifted for it! Maybe you’re gifted to clean. I’m serious! That’s a gift. Keeping things clean is a gift, believe me, because there are plenty of other people who do not enjoy cleaning. So don’t despise whatever gift you have. We rate gifts, you realize that? Actors, chefs, famous painters, doctors – we all consider these to be great gifts. But what about plumbing? Because I tell you what – I don’t want to try to fix my toilet or sink. I will gladly call over a plumber to fix any plumbing needs because I’m not gifted for that. My uncle is a gifted electrician. I don’t want to try to wire my own house for electricity. My other uncle is gifted in selling shoes, and I get shoes from him and free advice on taking care of my feet!

Whatever your gift is, don’t despise it. I started doing that for writing. I started, unknowingly, began to think of writing as an “eh” gift. Not an important gift. (What is an important gift, anyway?) Because writing changes things. Writing is how we got things like The Declaration of Independence, the Magna Carta, the Federalist Papers, the Constitution –

I realize I just named the biggest pieces of literature in American history, but you get my point. Writing is important too. Because everybody uses writing in some way. You need a skilled writer for marketing; you need to know what words will entice people. You need to write in the medical field.

Beloved, you have a gift, and it is a lovely gift. Making coffee is a gift. That’s an excellent gift because not only are you providing me with caffeine, but you are also providing a sense of comfort, and often, a sense of community. Because we don’t we all love getting together with a friend for coffee? Or tea? Pastry? Glass of water?

I don’t know what your gift is, and maybe you don’t either, but God didn’t create you into this world gift less. He didn’t say “oh boy. Forgot to give them something. Bummer.” No! He gave you a special gift that fits you and you alone. So be bold. Ask God what your gift is.

And then when you know what it is? Use it. Use that gift like crazy. Do you know what God says? “Make a careful exploration of who you are and the work you have been given, and then sink yourself into that. Don’t be impressed with yourself. Don’t compare yourself with others. Each of you must take responsibility for doing the creative best you can with your own life.”

The creative best you can with your own life. What does that mean to you? Beloved, I pray that God will begin to show me – us – our creative best. God, show us our creative best.

Remember, there is only one of you. And as Joyce Meyer also says "be you! Because everybody else is taken." You are deeply loved, beloved.


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