This feels like a fitting subject for the week of Valentine’s Day.  We all have dreams that haven’t been realized.  Maybe you don’t think that’s you.  You have your spouse, your 2.3 kids, the family dog, the house with the white picket fence, the amazing career or non-career.

And that’s awesome.

But I’m sure you’ve had a dream that didn’t come true.  Like landing the perfect job right out of college.  Or maybe you weren’t married by the time you were 25, 30, 35, 40, 45, 50.  Maybe your marriage fell apart.  Maybe your spouse is allergic to dogs and you’ve given up the idea of breeding Labradoodles.  Yes, he’s that allergic, even to Labradoodles, who are supposed to be hypoallergenic.

Or that dream car just isn’t going to happen right now, or maybe at all.  Or you can’t afford to live in the ideal neighborhood because it’s just too expensive.  Or you developed chronic fatigue and you can’t hustle like you used to.

Perhaps you can’t have kids for one reason or another.

Or you lost your spouse.

Or you are having to take care of a sick parent and put so much of your life on hold.

Maybe one of your kids has a disability of some kind.

There are so many ways that our dreams can get obliterated.

Maybe they just start to look different after awhile.

I always wanted to be a teacher.  I have a degree in secondary education.  But I’m not a high school teacher.  Rather, right now, I’m a tutor in my library’s adult literacy program.  And I love it!  I didn’t know that I would end up here after I graduated college.  I couldn’t find a teaching job when I graduated, so I moved back to the only home I really had and started working as a receptionist.

I started tutoring at the library because I hadn’t found a job yet and I wanted to keep busy.  4 years later, I’m still tutoring.  It’s so much fun and it’s rewarding.  And instead of grading papers, I’m working as a proofreader and editor.  So I get to work with a student and help with practical literacy skills AND I get to correct errors in papers.

It’s not how I imagined my life would look right now.

And I think I’m finally okay with that.

But I had to grieve the loss of that dream that I’d had since I was 5, because it doesn’t look how I thought it was supposed to look.

So whatever you are dealing with right now, take the time to grieve.  Acknowledge that some part of your life doesn’t look like you thought it should.

Take the time that you need to say good-bye to that dream.  Let yourself be sad.  Set aside time to cry, to let go, to accept where you are right now.

Is there any part of your dream that has been realized?  If so, celebrate that.

And if you feel deep down in your bones that your dream needs to happen, what can you do to make that happen?  Maybe you know that you need to write a book.  You’ve always wanted to be an author.  What can you do to make that happen?

Maybe you have always wanted to do something creative, like paint.  Figure out how you can do that.  Find a class at the community college.  Buy some paints and brushes.  They don’t have to be the most expensive paints or brushes.  Paint something.  Give it a shot.

Maybe making your dream a reality isn’t as easy as buying some watercolors.

Maybe it’s that your arms are empty.

I don’t have an easy answer for you.  I could give you all kinds of trite responses and platitudes.  Those won’t do any good.

I will cry with you.  I will listen if you need to talk.  I will grieve the loss of your dreams with you.  I will pray for/with you.  Message me if you like and we’ll get to crying and talking and praying.

In that spirit, I want to share a prayer with you from a lovely book full of prayers.  It’s called Every Moment Holy.  It’s a book of modern prayers for modern life.

The first time I read this prayer, I cried the whole way through.  May it touch you as it touched me.  May it echo the deepest cries of your heart.  May it give your faith a nudge.


A Liturgy for the Death of a Dream

O Christ, in whom the final fulfillment

of all hope is held secure,
I bring to you now the weathered
fragments of my former dreams,
the broken pieces of my expectations,
the rent patches of hopes worn thin,
the shards of some shattered image of
life as I once thought it would be.
What I so wanted
has not come to pass.
I invested my hopes in desires
that returned only sorrow
and frustration.  Those dreams,
like glimmering faerie feasts,
could not sustain me,
and in my head I know that you
are sovereign even over this–
over my tears, my confusion,
and my disappointment.
But I still feel,
in this moment,
as if I have been abandoned,
as if you do not care that these hopes
have collapsed to rubble.
And yet I know this is not so.
You are the sovereign of my sorrow.
You apprehend a wider sweep with wiser eyes
than mine.  My history bears the
fingerprints of grace.  You were always
faithful, though I could not always
trace quick evidence of your presence in
my pain, yet did you remain at work,
lurking in the wings, sifting all my
splinterings for bright embers that might
be breathed into more eternal dreams.
I have seen so oft in retrospect, how
you had not neglected me, but had, with a
master’s care, flared my desire like silver in
a crucible to burn away some lesser longing,
and bring about your better vision.
So let me remain tender now, to how
you would teach me.  My disappointments
reveal so much about my own agenda
for my life, and the ways I quietly demand
that it should play out: free of conflict,
free of pain, free of want.
My dreams are all so small.
Your bigger purpose has always been
for my greatest good, that I would
day-to-day be fashioned into a more fit vessel
for the indwelling of your Spirit,
and molded into a more compassionate
emissary of your coming Kingdom.
And you, in love, will use all means to shape
my heart into those perfect forms.
So let this disappointment do its work.
My truest hopes have never failed,
they have merely been buried
beneath the shoveled muck of disillusion,
or encased in a carapace of self-serving
desire.  It is only false hopes that are brittle,
shattering like shells of thin glass, to reveal the
diamond hardness of the unshakeable eternal
hopes within.  So shake and shatter all that
would hinder my growth, O God.
Unmask all false hopes,
that my one true hope might shine out
unclouded and undimmed.
So let me be tutored by this new
disappointment.
Let me listen to its holy whisper,
that I might release at last these lesser dreams.
That I might embrace the better dreams you
dream for me, and for your people,
and for your kingdom, and for your creation.
Let me join myself to these, investing all hope
in the one hope that will never come undone
or betray those who place their trust in it.
Teach me to hope, O Lord,
always and only in you.
You are the King of my collapse.
You answer not what I demand,
but what I do not even know to ask.
Now take this dream, this husk,
this chaff of my desire, and give it back
reformed and remade according to
your better vision,
or do not give it back at all.
Here in the ruins of my wrecked
expectation, let me make this best confession:
Not my dreams, O Lord,
not my dreams,
but yours, be done.
Amen.
***from Every Moment Holy
by Douglas Kaine McKelvey
you can find it here.

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