I’m a dreamer. My dreams mount higher than the clouds and grip on me so hard I can’t yank loose if I tried. I hope till I run out of hope, I get a running start till the only way up the hill is back at the bottom.
Dreams keep me alive, they give me the sense I have a reason to live. I’m here for a reason–that’s what I say to myself when I’m stuck in a pit, when I need to pull myself out of the mess I got into. But who am I to hope for what I cannot see and can never seem to understand? What are dreams for anyway?
Too often dreamers and doubters go hand in hand. The hope of God, of a Savior, of a Spirit–fantasies so out-of-reach at times, and yet so close and precious at others. Who am I to decide what goes on beyond my mind? Continue reading