Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

hope

What a day

I woke up today with hope. A rare emotion these days but not on the brink of extinction. A job interview was scheduled for the afternoon, and though I was nervous and all kinds of freaked out and worried, I was excited.

A sense of expectation settled in next to hope. It had been more than a week since vials of my blood crossed the country in a box via FedEx to be tested against my cousin’s blood to determine whether I could be her kidney donor. That call might come today, I thought.

Our car was headed to the shop early this morning. A leaky something-or-other (yes, that’s the technical term) and even though our funds are tight, we felt the repair was needed.

By 9 a.m. hope and expectation slid over and made room for their oversized uninvited guest worry, who hardly ever comes to the party without his sidekick fear. I was on the phone with my mom, asking for money because the leaky thing in our van turned out to be the radiator and the parts and labor were the equivalent of a month’s rent. (Why is it never hard to ask your parents for money when you’re a teenager? The older you get, the harder it is to ask for money, even if it’s for important reasons.)

By noon, hope was passed out on the couch. The job interview had to be rescheduled for tomorrow and the job I applied for has been restructured in the past couple of days. Long story short, the company is hiring for two similar positions in two to four months. But I still get an interview. Hope isn’t dead; but she’s fighting for her life.

By 3:30, expectation had taken his leave. The call came from the hospital in Peoria where my cousin’s transplant coordinator is based. My blood and her blood didn’t like each other, so I’m not a match. And she still needs a kidney.

Where does that leave me?

Confused. Frustrated. Scared. If not this, then what, Lord? That’s what I’ve been asking. We had hope that when my husband had an interview, we were on track for the next step. Not to be. We had hope that this position for me would enable us to make the move we long to make to Lancaster. While that door isn’t closed, it isn’t exactly open right now either. We don’t have the funds to get us through two to four more months, and we’d feel lower than low at having to ask our parents month after to month to help us make rent.

Angry. Where did we go wrong? This isn’t funny anymore, God. What more can we give? Oh, sure, we’re learning some hard lessons right now, but I think it’s time for a summer vacation from lessons. I don’t believe God is cruel. He’s oh-so-good, better than we deserve. And we’ve seen His goodness. Over. And over. And over again. Still, when days like this come, I wonder if He’ll keep on being good to us or if He’s punishing us for bad decisions.

Doubtful. Are we sure we heard right? That we’re supposed to stay in Pennsylvania and move to Lancaster? Is my husband called to be a pastor? Yes to all those things but when life doesn’t match up with the way you plan, you begin to wonder if you took a wrong turn somewhere. And if you heard God at all.

Stressed. I want to take up a contact sport or learn to box. Years ago, I would have taken my tennis racket and a can of balls and just hit, hit, hit against the wall at the tennis courts until I was worn out. Maybe I’ll play a game on the Wii tonight. It won’t be exactly the same, but it might help.

Tired. Trusting, worrying, wondering, it’s exhausting work. I’m tired of life the way it is. Tired of answering questions at the WIC office about whether or not my kids eat breakfast every day. Tired of making eggs for supper because we’re rationing our meat. Tired of choosing which bills to pay when. Tired of feeling like a failure because two college-educated adults can’t find jobs to make ends meet. Tired of easy answers to hard questions. Tired of feeling like I’m deflating people’s hope balloons when they pray for us and nothing (so we think) happens.

Humbled. It’s not MY plan. It’s not MY way. It’s not what I think SHOULD happen. Or WHEN I think it should happen. It’s God. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. I can’t see where this is going. I don’t know what to do. But I know Him. And yes, it sounds easy to say all I can do is trust Him. That He’s good. And has a plan. These aren’t empty words I say to make myself feel better because they don’t always make me feel better. They are reminders of what’s true. Like my husband loves me, even when he doesn’t show it. Or the sun is in the sky, even if it’s covered by clouds.

These are the ramblings of a girl trying to work out in words what she’s feeling in her heart, mind and soul.

Today was a day.

Tomorrow is another.

In the meantime, I’m hitting up the freezer for some ice cream. And praying the kids fall asleep soon so I can cuddle up with a book and go to sleep early.

Thanks for reading.

Dream on

I’ve been thinking about dreams a lot lately. Not the whoa-what-was-that-all-about kind of dreams you have in the night and try to explain to your husband over breakfast. (Not that this ever happens to me …). No, the other kind. The awake kind. The kind that keep you afloat when you feel you might be drowning. Those far-off, seemingly unattainable hopes and goals for your life.

© Alexandru Mitrea | Dreamstime.com

We need dreams. I need dreams. In the past few months, I’ve found myself mired in hopelessness, wondering if life will always be this struggling just to get by, relying on others for help, worrying if we’re doing the best thing for us and our kids. In some ways, the answer to those questions is “yes.” But in other ways, it’s “no.” It doesn’t have to always be like this. To remind myself to keep dreaming, in the positive sense, I started a notebook just to record my dreams. Things like places I want to visit or travel to, features I’d like to have in a home, stuff I’d like to do before I die (the bucket list, you know). I wanted a reminder that I have dreams. And I should keep having dreams. And I need to keep dreaming because those dreams aren’t necessarily out of reach.

And I’ve been hearing stories of people, women mostly, who have dreams that scare the pants off of them. And I keep hearing this in my head:

Dream big.

I’ve heard that if your dreams don’t scare you a little, they aren’t big enough.

And that’s what I want to do: Dream big.

The company I’m applying to work for has this as their vision: to invest in the dreams of the poor. They offer small loans to people in poverty to start a business to help earn an income for their families.

Investing in dreams. I thought about the people who have invested in my dreams. My parents, in sending me to college and taking out loans and helping repay those loans. A generous couple who sent me to my first writers conference where I hadn’t a clue what I was doing there but the experience of being there sparked something in me that I’ve been fanning into flame ever since. My grandparents, who have given time and money and support, in everything. The list could go on and on with family members, teachers, professors, mentors, co-workers, friends and virtual strangers.

That made me wonder if I’ve invested in anyone’s dreams and how I can do that.

And I wondered how many dreams I’ve carelessly crushed. A line from The Waiting’s “Mercy Seat” haunts me: For there you cover every lie I spoke, and every promise that I broke and every dreamer that I woke.

Father, forgive me, for any dreamers I’ve tried to wake.

And then this, from the Psalms:

When the Lord restored the fortunes of Zion,
we were like those who dreamed.

Our mouths were filled with laughter,
our tongues with songs of joy.

Sometimes it’s good to remember what it is to dream. To smile at the prospect. To tremble in fear and excitement. To stretch beyond what we’re capable of and find that God is there to help us. To try something new. To fail. And to try again.

Not all of our dreams will come true, but that doesn’t mean we stop dreaming.

Whatever your dreams, dream on.

And on and on.