My Dream Home

I don’t have dreams about a fancy home
I don’t fantasize about specific styles, neighborhoods, fences, or pets
I don’t dwell on decoration. {In pretty much any aspect of life.}
I don’t find myself daydreaming about paint colors or fabric swatches

I do, often, catch myself dreaming about church.
What?!
Now, I will be the first to admit that it is literally an act of God to get me out of bed & into church on many Sunday mornings. So, stick with me.

I find myself dreaming about a church community that I could call home.
A place where I would connect to people, deeply, and all our conversations would ultimately be about how it is that we can best live in the light of His truth, in every aspect of our lives. That His glory would shine through us so that decoration isn’t necessary.
I find myself dreaming about a church community where the sounds of children are not only welcome, but are cherished.
I find myself dreaming of a church that doesn’t shy away from the controversial topics, but leans into a discussion that has the goal of seeking truth together.
I catch myself fantasizing about a community where people believe everything is spiritual.
That God’s design is truly sacred, and valuable.
That His command for us to care for His creation is not empty & void, but full of ways to give us more life.

I dream that this community would be such that people are not made to feel insignificant, but valued. That the number of people in the crowd is of no consequence, but rather, that the connection, the vibrance of the community is what is measured & what is challenged to grow.

I dream that this church would use every resource available to better the precious creation around them. That they would seek out children who have no families, and be part of healing their hearts & redeeming their stories forever. I dream that this church would take hold of the responsibility we have to seek out ways to help, ways to provide, ways to love radically in a way that shocks the culture around us.

I find myself dreaming these dreams and waking, aching for it to be real.

I remember coming back to America from India, from Africa, and having momentary bouts of collapse… Feeling as though my heart had been ripped out of my chest in a way that I never dreamed could feel so real. I remember a conversation, with my then friend, John, who told me that I would & should always ache for home. And that some places will feel more at home than others – when I am most connected to my Creator – but that my home is not this world… that it’s a good sign that I would ache for home.

And, oh, I ache for home.
I ache for these dreams to be real.
I long for these hopes of heaven on earth.

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What do you dream of when you feel the tension & longing for heaven?

Why I Write. (Part Two)

Warning: I think this will be a long post, but I’m really hoping that it will be worth your time to journey with me.

Inspired by the last post, thanks to Dallas Clayton, here are my thoughts on why I (want to) write.

At some point during this fantastic friend and family filled weekend, I was sharing a teeny, tiny bit of my story and I noted that I was a Marketing major before Africa. And more importantly, that Africa totally wrecked my life, and now, that’s definitely not what I want to do or be.

If Africa changed everything, what do I want to do, who do I want to be, NOW?

A writer. Oh, how I do want to be a writer.

Hmmm.

Later, as we were driving to Orlando to be with family, I told John about how strange that felt.
How it seems like maybe after Africa I should want to be a nurse or a teacher, or a missionary permanently.
And maybe that’s what people expect to hear when I tell that bit of my story.

Even though I considered those things, I know I want to be a writer. Why? Continue reading “Why I Write. (Part Two)”