Much to my husband’s chagrin, I collect mugs. I bought this one about a year ago to give to someone whom I feared would give up on her life goals. Then weeks turned to months before I saw her again, so the mug crept into my cupboard. It’s been staring at me for a year— sometimes as my morning companion while I sip cold coffee.
Daydreams are hard for the realist near cynic. It makes no sense to me some times. I have an innate belief that I’m really not that special or unique, brave or bold. I’m rather content with a quiet life of routine at home. Travel is overrated, and so is money and fame. For the most part, I’m not particularly self-motivated. So daydreams — though I have them— are often quieted by my own worldview, personality and life stages.
Enter Amy. My sister-in-law was a daydream believer ( but not a homecoming queen). If you told her you were a writer, she was planning your book signing event. If you told her you were an actor, she was planning her trip to see you on stage in NYC. If you told her you wanted to stay home and have babies, she planned your baby shower and bought you all the things. If you told her you wanted to go to the moon, she bought herself a NASA cap, cute rocket-ship high heels and told everybody that her friend was a future astronaut.
While in remission, Amy had a daydream she worked hard over many years to attain. She was tenacious about it! Often we made purchases toward the end game. It was a favorite topic. She was the kind of person who celebrated and believed in her own daydreams, too.
Then, cancer. Treatments that cost money. The same money set aside for daydreams and plans and projects and the realization of her tenacious hard work. Money that slipped through iv tubes and blood vials and chemo lines.
Her daydream arrested. Her plans put on hold.
Yet, she daydreamed up until the last days of her life. She never gave up. She never quit. And she encouraged the daydreams and the plans of a multitude from her death bed. In those moments, she made a daydream believer out of me.
I’ve owned this mug nearly the same amount of time Amy’s been gone. Every time I look at it, I think of her. She was one of the first people that I told about Barn Paintings and Sadie Speaks. She was already planning to be a guest collaborator. She believed in my daydream when it was simply my pipe dream.
So, this blog is my offering. It is my hope and my desire to help others in seasons of life that are hard because of the markings of abuse. It is my wish that you will be empowered toward hope and healing in these pages. It is my longing that you find your voice - in music, poetry, painting, or prose. I want you to find your voice in the real life of marriage, motherhood, education and homemaking. In the sacred spaces of pain and healing, my prayer is that you might find Jesus’ voice both clear and true, loving and faithful.
I’m not one to make life choices and decisions based on the mugs sitting in my cupboard because
I still believe myself to be neither brave nor bold, special or unique.
But, I do believe in this endeavor. To that end, I will continue to use my voice. I’m a daydream believer.
Never quit your daydream. — Moe
