Can I tell you a secret, dear readers?
Lately God has been whispering to me of big and brave things.
A dream, I guess you might say. One that was always there, but until now has remained safely tucked away in the quietest corners of my heart. I must say, I rather liked it there, where it was unacknowledged and safe, requiring no risk on my part.
You see, I’ve never really been a big fan of risk. I actually happen to be in a very long-term, exclusive relationship with my Comfort Zone. We have an unspoken agreement not to stray from each other’s side.
Yet here I find myself, in a season of change. A season of knowing, whether I’m ready to or not. God is slowly, inexorably drawing The Dream up and out of me. It’s exciting, yes, but also uncomfortable. Like a needle pulling a thread up and through as he sews it into the fabric of who I am.
For me, The Dream has always been writing. This is no surprise. I’ve spoken about it here often, bringing you guys along (whether you like it or not) as I’ve begun to sort this dream out for myself.
Besides, is it really any shock that I would go so far as to write about wanting to write? I am an over-sharing, unfiltered kind of person who feels the need to talk to everyone about everything that happens to me. We know this. Let’s just say I’m working on it and chalk it up to art imitating life… imitating art. Or something like that.
I’ve shared with you how this writing journey has felt much like a dance, to which I do not know the steps.
How it was slow and cautious at the first, with me learning to trust and let God lead. That I moved more freely once I finally realized that it wasn’t about how I looked as he spun me across the floor, it was about what was happening right there between us. I told you when my heart quickened with the pace and I felt as if he’d winked at me and whispered, “The dance floor is ours. Hold on to me, and let’s go.”
All the while he’s been pulling that needle, up and through, piercing my heart with The Dream; at each turn leading me further out and away from my Comfort Zone.
At first I only had an up-close picture of the tapestry he weaved. Just this one little square space, two inches from my face. “This spot right here. This is where I want you to work,” he whispered.
I busied myself in my little writing space and I loved it.
I realized in one breathless and audacious moment that I actually had something to offer here.
I could make this space lovely and in turn it could make me come alive.
And then of course, as soon as I started to get comfortable with this version of The Dream (my version), it began to shift and change. It grew. Suddenly that neat little space that was two inches from my face fell away to a tapestry that was much larger and more lovely than I’d ever dared to see.
Not long ago that I wrote about how sometimes the biggest things in life happen in one small, quiet moment. A moment of knowing, but also choosing.
I think I’ve just had one of those moments.
In one breathless and audacious moment I knew.
I want to write a book.
It was a moment of knowing, but also choosing. A moment when The Dream seemed to fall apart and together at the same time.
I cannot even tell you how terrifying it is for me to say this to you. It all has me feeling a lot like Kristin Wiig in that “Surprise Party” sketch on SNL. “My mouth is dry and my knuckles have locked!”
Because now EVERYONE KNOWS. Saying it out loud makes it real. Once it becomes real, I am responsible for it.
And what if I fail?
Saying that I want to write a book at this point in my writing career (and by career I mean hobby that no one pays me for) feels a hell of a lot like strapping on a space suit and saying that I’d like to land on the moon without a rocket. Like, literally just hurling my body at the actual moon in hopes to land there.
Hi. Remember me? Huge fan of her Comfort Zone? You guys, what if I never accomplish The Dream? What if I crash and burn, free-falling through space and time, forever adrift with my book dream just outside of my reach?
What if I look foolish?
What if I’m humiliated?
These are the things I wonder, lying in bed at night, while my book dream nags at my conscience like a petulant child who refuses to be ignored.
But maybe, just maybe, I’m not so responsible for The Dream after all? Maybe my only responsibility is to let go of my own version of it and trust in God’s. To keep taking the next step I know to take. Maybe if I just focus on each little square space in front of me, one day I’ll look up and the tapestry will be there, just as it always was, only I’ll see it fully for the first time.
What about you, dear readers? What is your dream? I wonder if you have acknowledged it yet. I wonder what kind of tapestry he is weaving, and if you are able to see the beauty in yet. Maybe you feel too close to it to see clearly. Maybe it still feels a million miles away.
Wherever you find yourself, I hope that you can be brave. I hope that in one breathless and audacious moment you will know it and choose it.