dreams are written.

“Far away there in the sunshine are my highest aspirations. I may not reach them, but I can look up and see their beauty, believe in them, and try to follow where they lead." Louisa May Alcott

:::::::

No dream haunting aspiration is a guarantee. Its reality is shaped. In the earning does the dream fade into reality.

And dreams are not pixie dust and floating fairies but days we bleed into existing because of effort, not necessarily perfected ...given.  We give of ourselves today to the future tomorrow and dreams transcend the sky, no longer too big and out of our grounded reach.

Discipline is the measure of dreams materialized.

...words drawn onto pages ...canvas stroked with brush ...hours in pursuit of solution

Some dream dreams that they don't currently belong in. The day and the dream must be pulled, merged together.  Discipline is the pulling.

Let’s be honest, discipline doesn’t naturally find us.  Or better stated, we don’t easily or naturally take to discipline.  But desire, that is an intrinsic emotion threaded into our heart and humanity.  The problem with desire in not having it, but having only it.  Desire shows you the way and points to identify the dream.  Discipline is the vehicle that actually gets you to where you want to go.  Desire without discipline is a mirage clearly visible to the eye but vanishing in the distant landscape.

Dreams unreachable, unreached for.

Just as I believe that everyone has a story (worth telling and needing to be told), I also believe that everyone has a dream waiting to be claimed and conquered.

That dream could be anything: raise a family, race a car, find a cure, write books, start a business, climb a mountain, find love, travel the world, lead a nation or father a son. Whatever it is, it is yours and as personal as you are to the world.

And the world needs you to live your dreams.

Why?  ...because there are too many people half alive floating through life pushed by desire unbridled by discipline.

Discipline is by far the greatest challenge on a daily basis in my life.

...so I write words even when they’re not there capturing a little more each day the dream still too big to talk about seriously at times to friends who ask, “How’s your book coming along?”

:::::::

I’m not writing a book.  I am writing a dream.

:::::::

inspiration

feed the dog.

Tomorrow is discovered and conquered and inhabited in every thought allowed residence in passing moments today. And why is tomorrow worth so much?

Today. Now. The day in which my feet stand. The smiles I see. The tears that fall in life too thin. The successes small and big. The sinking seen and untold. The hope and reach for more. The blind following.

These are all made worthy not by what’s behind or for the glory of present, but what’s ahead and in front.

And when what, whatever what is ahead in tomorrow, is lost, maligned or forgotten, we spin aimlessly through today unsatisfied and lost.  Hope runs distant, the day shrinks to minutes needing escape and we fade into the background of our own lives.

Feed the dog.

Maybe you’re like me.  Just maybe you have days traveling in reverse when you feel nothing works in your favor or goes your way.  Stub your toe in the dark of morning and fog of mind type of days when the coffee is not enough and smiles set flat on faces familiar; when deadlines race and friends go missing and you forget who you are.  Those days aren’t so bad, actually.  Everyone expects to have a bad day here and there.  They have a way of making the good days sweeter and forging a fortitude and perseverance in our pace.  No one hopes for those days, the bad ones, to last.  And there’s fear and anxiety all wrapped up in those days lasting longer than you can.

Feed the dog.

Some days, the feeling of inadequacy lingers uninvitedly.  Days age into week.  Week into weeks.  Weeks into months and beyond.  Then I’m living maimed by the acceptance that inadequacy exists as more of a plausible, lasting reality than not.

The book still being written.  The daughters still in need of strong guidance and whole love.

Inadequacy rules in my life when I give it living space unhinging dreams, dismantling hopes, ridiculing courage.

Feed the dog.

There’s a parable of sorts that will always stay with me.  I heard it in my younger years.  It was a simple teaching of a inner struggle and control.  Often, I go back to this teaching when circumstance and thought tilts life too far off path for too long.

"A Native American elder once described his own inner struggles in this manner: 'Inside of me there are two dogs.  One of the dogs is mean and evil.  The other is good.  The mean dog fights the good dog all the time.'  When asked which dog wins, he reflected for a moment and replied, 'The one I feed the most.'"

Feed the man inside of you who is good and capable and courageous; the man who dreams and wins and pushes through; the man who receives God’s immeasurably good grace to do all that pulses within your heart.

Starve the liar inside breeding contempt and fear and disconnect.

Each day, wrap up tomorrow with the thoughts given lasting residence in your heart.

in dreams.

Years settle deep. Lines carved within the years weaning, faded into the work resembling him. Days push back. Bones creak at the sound of dreams demanding.:::::::::::

In regard to dreams (i.e., life’s ambition), there is a foretelling difference between those who wield their dreams, owning and shaping them perfectly and others who are slaves to their dreams, owned by them.

::slave Dream, ambition, goal, reach and the pursuit of, owns the whole, the man.  Happiness and value are found in the work and accomplishment.

::owner The man remains a man apart from the dream.

Each man wants to make a difference, find significance and give cause to their existence.  No one aspires to exist as a shadow.  We reach because we want.

One day we find it, the dream.  A worthy pursuit deserving of our effort and affections.  One that gives meaning to our days and strength in our steps.  The discovery (and pursuit) of the dream finds us, unlocking more of ourselves than we’ve ever known.  We work longer and harder, tirelessly accomplishing and reaching.  During late nights and earlier mornings a diligence to the dream forges and we are connected to a sense of meaning that touches our soul.

Tirelessly we work and trade time for another step closer to the dream.  We work.  We think.  We rethink.  We obsess ...and craft and tool our dream.

All the while accomplishing more and drawing closer, somewhat.

We immortalize the dream and the dream becomes us.  Our words, our thoughts, our relationships, all owned by our dream.  Somewhere along positions are traded and the dream drives us.  All that we are and hope to become hangs on and is validated by the dream.

The dream is not enemy.

For the past two weeks, I’ve been much busier than usual.  We moved into a new house which required time after my work day and ran late into the evenings.  There are still mountains of boxes to unpack.  After long days, the last thing I wanted to do, or was mentally able to do, was write.  Work on my book halted even though first round editing is now complete.  My blog stagnated and quieted to an activity-less silence.

I felt diminished and guilty, even depressed.  Not a word written.

As a writer, still insecure in the dream and admission of being an actual writer, not writing for two weeks caused all sorts of emotion, most of which pointed back to some derivative of failure.  Thoughts of shelving the book unfinished and abandoning plans of my writing career were constant all because my dream wasn’t being given proper attention.

Here’s the reflective bottom line.  Never should your dream, no matter the brilliance or genius, own you ...or your time ...or your worth.

If your dream owns you, your affections, your motive, your emphasis and all desire, you are slave to it; a thought, an image or a goal, your master.

You must own the dream in every way.

I need time to rest from my pursuit and determine the pace at which I will run after and toward it.

My dream is writing.  Yours may very well be something different.  Whatever it is, it is yours: own it.  Don’t serve it.

{{Matthew 6:34, The Message}}

in homage and honor.

[gallery link="file" columns="5"]

“Tomorrow found in today; what’s ahead discovered in days behind.”

This has become somewhat of an echoing mantra and anchoring core value in my life.  Often what we need for today and beyond lies in the path behind us.  A risk that taught us to trust more.  A failure that taught us bravery.  A mistake that taught us humility.  A hurt that taught us to bleed.  A loneliness that taught us to find.  A darkness that taught us courage.  A victory that taught us to win.

Whatever those steps pressed into the ground of yesterday hold, above all, they hold life and answers and path.

The writing of my book gave perfect opportunity to look back, gaze upon the burning heap of dreams behind ...look ...love ...want ...hurt ...break, and mostly ...find.  Recounting pieces of my past floating, stretching further apart on life pulling like the tide and swelling waves, has, in a way, been the greatest happening.  Many days I felt like a scavenger walking through barren lands once rich and fertile, now hollow and uninhabited.  And then, I would stumble upon deep wells of remembrance whispering words I couldn’t understand but laced with promise and passage finding penetrating way into the chambers of my heart.

Losing my wife, a woman whom I loved indescribably, did nothing less than change me completely.

Life turned unexpectedly and unforgivably.  I stopped lost in tracks.  The steps behind me began to guide me with each faith-filled, God following, narrowly trusting, grace infusing step into the unknown.

Future bowing to past in homage and honor.  My eyes learned new, the value of unknown and how to choose.

Here’s an excerpt central to my story from a chapter currently entitled, “Surely Goodness and Mercy.”:

I saw a man alone, subdued by pain, frightened by the fear of all that may be some day, and I quietly asked to never be that man.  I can't.  I won't.  The man fumbling through fading memories like a thief holding a leaking bag, the man stumbling drunk on why things settled they way they did, talking to himself, mumbling angrily and hurt.  That will not be me.

My daughters will not know him.  They might see me wince and wrestle to the ground... But they will never know a hollowed heart comfortable only in shadows.  I may not have much greater to give them than that but it will be an echo that resounds like bells of freedom in their warm little hearts.  Always.  I pray.

I will not allow myself to be the man hollowed by pain, afraid of shadows and those things which lie in waiting. Life may indeed only seem to take from us, days, memories, happiness, but courage is mine to give. And the source, it is immeasurably and unfathomably deep. It is unending. Through darkened spots and failing strength, the reason for courage remains.

For months following her death, I only prayed for God to piece back together the life I was forced from.  So little did I know and perceive the beauty of his bridge building redemptive ability lies within the thinnest, most inescapable steps when I am invited to only follow and not need bearing or direction or understanding.

Each day, a decision. Choose wisely.  Trust ridiculously.  Step faithfully.

... A day forsaken is a day forgotten. So many want only to escape.

18 inches of trust :: a guest post.

Recently, along with a few others, I received an invite to write as a guest for a friend’s site (sayable.net).  The scope of topics were laid out for our choosing.  I chose to write about trust.

Trust does not always come with natural and effortless ease.  For me, and I’d imagine for quite a few of you, trust cuts against the grain of comfort and quiet in my heart.  Even in sinking moments when obvious cues scream move, jump, hold, remember, and the promise of better fades into plain sight, trust is not a neatly resolved conclusion.

It is the first step onto a rickety bridge promising to hold you some 20 feet above a crossing that bears the most fear ...and the most trust.

You must value something as true before you give trust.

In the day to day, trust adds up to more than disconnected, autonomous decisions.  Trust is a journey both into oneself and out of the shifting wasteland of one’s life as center and end.  What we trust reveals what we belief, value honestly as supportive and sustaining and ascribe as true.

I’d like to thank Lore for inviting me to guest on her site during her hiatus and allowing me space to draw from below my heart’s surface and bleed a bit on paper (or screen).  Make sure to visit her site and subscribe for regular updates.  She’s working on a book that you’ll want to read.  Trust me.

Here’s a direct link to my guest post.  “18 inches of trust.”